Another poem that wears its origin on its sleeve. I was in a car driving down the M5 looking at a spider's web. The rest of it took sometime to shape.
you drive down the M5
we talk
the sun sets behind us
across the wing mirror
a web flexes
vibrates in the turbulence
I think of my own anchor points
how little it would take
to send me tumbling in the slipstream
Someone said of Burning Music, my first collection, that it was all rather accessible, as if this was a bad thing, no cryptic verse to worry over long into the night. At the time I was upset by this, thinking the act of producing a book was akin to climbing Mount Everest. Now I wear my accessibility as a badge of pride.
I wrote this after watching a man cross the road. It is what it is.
he is his own master
the crosses the road
disdainful of the traffic lights
his odd splayed gait
carries him safely to the other side
what need has he for lights that inform
when to step forward when to wait
he knows best
Here is a song from 1970, The Move, in all their glory.
Until next time.
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