I was looking through old note books the other day. ( I never throw them away anymore. I used to and lost a lot of material) Most are full of all sorts of things. And … a lot of unfinished poems, and drafts of poems that I have finished. I realized
Firstly that I need to write long hand to be creative. I cannot write directly onto the computer
Secondly that there is a lot of good and some really bad material that I either need to throw away or to complete.
I found the two pieces below in the same book on two different pages. For the life of me I cannot remember when I wrote them, after my brother’s death or after my mother’s death.
They are pretty rough, not proofed at all. More a scrambling of thoughts, and both stop abruptly as if I could not finish them. It’s very painful reading them, and I am awake at 3.30am so not really coherent, but I feel the need to share them:
Shattered Soul
The news imparted
for an instant the world stands still
all life suspended, a nothing, a void
Soul shatters like glass
peace and calm hover briefly then
beat a hasty retreat never to be seen again
then the senses crowd in,
bereavement, resentment,
the beginning of pain
You begin to feel, oh how you
begin to feel, from deep down within
the very depths of your soul, that
which is the well-spring of you,
the pain starts to scream it’s way up out of you
And the world as you know it is change forever
……………………………………………………………………………………..
……………………………………………………………………………………..
And sometimes in the middle of the night
when the pain is too much to bare
I cast off my shackles, let loose my soul
to pretend that you’re still here
still here that is, in body
and not ashes blowing in the wind
In mind you’re with me always
part of everything I do
there isn’t a thought I have or action I take
that doesn’t belong in part to you
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