THIS IS GROWING OLD

I wrote a poem about Tinnitus a long time ago, twelve years in fact, you can read it here.

I have revisited the topic recently and this is the result.

Tinnitus 2

This is growing old:

in my left ear three notes

played on a piano accordion,

stuck on repeat, plenty of sustain.

The right as in the last poem

carries the sound of the sea,

an older tune than human time.

In the night, when I awake

the street lamp patterns

leaf shadows on the blinds,

ancient music in my ears.

I think it is self explanatory. I wrote it one morning after lying in bed catalouguing the sounds in my head.

Here is a rewrite, courtesy once again, of The Secret Poets. You can read the original here. 

scintilla

as the buses turn the corner

they catch the sun and bounce the light

straight into our sitting room

as the driver turns the wheel

patterns of leaves stroke the walls

move and then are gone

in silence this morning

I await the next illumination

Only two words have been removed from the middle stanza. Sometimes that is all it takes.

Here's Cosmo Sheldrake.

Until next time.