I've been going through a pretty fallow time writing wise lately. I tell myself you have to take in before you can give out, so I've not been that concerned, and it looks as if the poems are starting to arrive again. This one I wrote today. It was one of those that came almost complete. I think it needs a little work but here it is.
all new borns have this old soul stare
as if they’ve not quite got used to being back in the flesh
or just where they’ve ended up this time
they look into our eyes
[yes I know they can’t physically see]
and speak to us soul to soul
this place never changes does it
let’s make the best of it eh
and usually we do
My poetry is direct. What you see is what you get. Sometimes I call it reportage, I am reporting what I have seen. But this poem is the result of a number of thoughts I've had over the years about how wise newly born babies look.
I've just bought the new album by Basauo Kouyote. It is as excellent as you would expect. He's touring the country in June. I am shocked that I cannot access a video from youtube! I leave you with Baba Maal instead, who also has a new album out in March.
Until next time.