Showing posts with label Wendy Smith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wendy Smith. Show all posts

Monday 8 October 2018

Scribbling on trains

How many poets are there writing on commuter trains?
Does every carriage contain someone?
Are they scribbling in a notebook?
Or tapping their phone?
Each one reflecting on their own view reality.
While the world is too busy to look.
But each one wants to share something,
And sometimes someone peers over another's shoulder.
And wonders!
Meanwhile each one adopts the rules
Specific to writing on trains,
Pretending not to want attention.

Friday 23 February 2007

High White or Mossy

I used to live alone
In a high, white, house.
Sepulchral and remote,
Stone built,
It felt like ancient bones.

Now I live in
A quite different place,
Verdant,
Ringing with voices,
And the sound of water!

My desert house
Would crack in the sun at noon.
My forest house is flexible,
Stretching with sunshine
As it falls through the leaves.

Desert thought was ever clear and other.
Green thought is chaotic but always now!