Friday, 19 February 2021

HYDRANGEAS FLOOD THE HOUSE

 


In this endless lockdown I am finding it increasingly more difficult to write. I draw much of my inspiration from the outside world and that necessarily has contracted to what is local, within walking distance and I know I am luckier than most. I have beaches and parks within minutes of my house. I give thanks for that.

All of this is the lead up to this post's poem which is about sleeping or rather dreams.

the night in five segments

1.

hypnagogic patterns

or people endlessly morphing

projected on the cave wall of my skull


always I wonder if I’ve seen them before

weigh their significance


fall into the black


2.

but for not as long

as you might expect

just one hour or two


hydrangeas flood the house with the smell of winter


the night is still


3.

so I don’t look at my hands

though there is something I must do

this buzzing internal puzzle


I walk through that door and

am under the ocean


4.

awake at three or four

this house a dreamscape

the floor boards in the bathroom

wooden warm smooth


the tree dances in the street light


5.

this final waking in

the winter's miserly light


a rich day waits

ritual begins


at the kitchen table

I recall the hectic night


I have been working on this poem for the last couple of weeks and I hope it conveys that dreamlike world we experience waking in the night. I shall put it away until the summer now. As I have said many times before, time grants us distance to see the flaws in our work.

Here's Ryley Walker. He has a new album out in April. This is a taster.

Until next time.

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