When I was younger I thought poetry was a load of pretentious posturing, I didn’t get it at all. But then I went to uni and my eyes were opened to how expressive it can be. Plus, it’s a lot easier to hurl a few words at a screen and call yourself a poet than it is to work hard on becoming a novelist. Thousands fewer words needed. An art form for lazy dreamers such as myself. This poem padded unbidden into my mind last night as I struggled to sleep.
What capsule clarity the minutes bring before dawn
The throwaway epiphanies recede on starlight
Fade to day
How often I’ve travelled the well turned fields of my mind
The more I learn the less I know
With the languid urgency of missing dreams
Flitting zoetrope of unsought images
Unchased and unplaced split second sight runs down at night
The still rage of the insomniac leads to shaky days
Did I walk to this place or fall?