assuming that there is a you right there and now
but
hesitated, a little unsure of itself
this poem
though all ready to be
a bouncy, Tiggerish, extravert sort of poem
is going instead to take a quiet moment for
introspection
this poem
remembers that computers are essentially
binary – built up of millions of yes-no choices
so
this poem
is above all,
yes;
hoping
in still a Tiggerish way, to hear you also, say
yes
this poem
finds that it has
certain hidden desires
which it rightly or wrongly
was going to lay on you
like
this poem
would like to tell you
something new which
you might or might not believe
until some time later
when you’d say
yes!
this poem
would like to touch your heart
(impertinently assuming
you might need aortic massage)
so that when you finished reading it,
you’d say
yes!
this poem
presumptuously
would like to enable you to
see the whole world with fresh eyes,
as if never before,
be the first day
of Creation for the
rest of your life
so that you’d say
yes yes yes
this poem
would love to
be Irish, throw magical, spellbinding words round you
like two hands throwing wild flowers
over you in a summer meadow,
looking into your eyes, laughing, kissing,
dancing over the green hills to blue skies hand in hand
enchanted with a life you’d passing forgotten,
always known, while time
is eternity and
you and I and all things are
yes, yes, yes and
yes
this poem
at this point
introspectively with a touch of humility
thinks
maybe it’s sufficient, purer,
just to want to
pass you in the street,
smile right into your eyes
maybe shake hands, even
kiss both cheeks how ever many times
and know that without necessarily
saying anything
the answer’s
yes
this poem
hopes it’s made its point
without mentioning
love or other well-known,
complicated things like that and
moreover it’s gone on long enough
because
this poem loves
what happens in silence
what happens in stillness
and just wanted to say
yes?

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see, it’s wagging its tail,
it will follow you anywhere,
run off and come back,
a perfect companion;
this poem
loves fun:
you want to play dressing up,
it’ll laugh and rush off to the attic,
the basement, the dressing-up basket;
this poem
is serious:
you want to be silent awhile,
rest your head on its shoulder,
it will wait for you in
sympathetic stillness;
this poem
is humble:
turn it over, write
a love poem on
the other side,
it will glow with your love;
this poem
is disposable:
write a few lines, be angry
with yourself, scrumple it up,
throw it on the pavement,
someone may pick it up,
someone may tutt and place it
carefully for recycling;
this poem
is an origami:
you can make any shape you like:
a paper boat on
the waves of destiny;
a ladder to reach to where
you always wanted that fruit;
a crown; a dunce’s hat; a witch’s conic;
this poem
is elastic:
a tablecloth for a picnic,
a sheet to cover two lovers,
a ground plan for a new world;
this poem
knows where
nothing meets something,
nowhere meets everywhere,
no time meets all time,
anyone meets everyone,
this poem
has a bright eye
whether you read it or not;
this poem
likes you though it
hasn’t met you;
this poem
is impervious to scorn;
it knows who it is,
and where things begin and end.

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Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

see, it’s wagging its tail,
it will follow you anywhere,
run off and come back,
a perfect companion;
this poem
loves fun:
you want to play dressing up,
it’ll laugh and rush off to the attic,
the basement, the dressing-up basket;
this poem
is serious:
you want to be silent awhile,
rest your head on its shoulder,
it will wait for you in
sympathetic stillness;
this poem
is humble:
turn it over, write
a love poem on
the other side,
it will glow with your love;
this poem
is disposable:
write a few lines, be angry
with yourself, scrumple it up,
throw it on the pavement,
someone may pick it up,
someone may tutt and place it
carefully for recycling;
this poem
is an origami:
you can make any shape you like:
a paper boat on
the waves of destiny;
a ladder to reach to where
you always wanted that fruit;
a crown; a dunce’s hat; a witch’s conic;
this poem
is elastic:
a tablecloth for a picnic,
a sheet to cover two lovers,
a ground plan for a new world;
this poem
knows where
nothing meets something,
nowhere meets everywhere,
no time meets all time,
anyone meets everyone,
this poem
has a bright eye
whether you read it or not;
this poem
likes you though it
hasn’t met you;
this poem
is impervious to scorn;
it knows who it is,
and where things begin and end.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.