adrift

in a storm
i lost you
gaze neglected
as i spun around
for shore to swim
or harbor rest
to save myself
looking back
all around
no grasping hand
no bubble to signal
breath beneath
daylight dawns
the beach
within reach
a myth, eyes
playing tricks
come back dear muse
come back

hurricane

20120905-231442.jpg

Poetry is like a hurricane of emotion. The ‘event’ comes on with a storm, black clouds and lightning. Water whipped against you so hard it feels like stones. In the eye the poem comes out. Tranquility. Clarity. Then it rips back through you again for good measure. You pick yourself up, hopefully, and stand up to survey the wake. From that moment life starts again.