For a long time now I have struggled to write poetry. A while ago I expressed this, with some irony, in a poem! I publish it tonight only because I have written again tonight in memory of a church member who died this week.
I’m looking for words
but they have slipped inside the sofa,
hiding beside the remote
my hand touches one before the others.
the words remain abandoned
in the accumulated debris until they are
dragged neglected into the woven dust and fir
I have a dyson.
Confused, they are choked then binned.
I sinned, I discarded them
and did not let them sit beside each other on the page
where they would have had a meaning
not before prescribed for them.
Providence would have lured these words,
these letters so arranged
to a new home.
Instead they are crumbs that will not be gathered
except by the bin man.