Friday, 24 August 2018


A poem about potential this post.
I have asserted many times that poems are all around us and that the job of the poet is to spot them. This poem is about how at times we are more susceptible to their allure than we are at other times.

The Possibilities of Poetry

The night creaked with potential,
even the rotary washing line hinted at a masterpiece,
as it sprouted from the weed flecked gravel,
each green shoot a hymn to the tenacity of life
and the sky’s subtle shift towards darkness
spoke of relationships rebalanced,
distances altered and subsequent enlightenments.
The stars, when visible, whispered age old stories
in languages almost within my comprehension,
for my head lacked a trip switch and reality poured in.

We need to cherish those peak moments of awareness when they occur.
Needless to say I did not write any of the poems that presented themselves. I chose, instead, to write about the process.
I think I should end with a masterpiece.

Until next time.

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