Found Poetry: The Value of Old Notebooks

Her blood – tar treacle.

A pump runs on mute,

enchurned in inner workings,

warped in yearnings

glossy-small or rough-large.


Where do the butterflies of summer alight?

Why do we always mention their gossamer twinkle

and do nothing about it?

When will it be my turn?


The moment  passed.

So long ago.


5 thoughts on “Found Poetry: The Value of Old Notebooks”

  1. Really evocative, Marina Sofia! In my opinion, you capture that yearning, and the bittersweet rediscovery, very well.

    1. Thank you, Margot. I’m finding it a bit difficult to write new words now, so it’s a blessing to turn to my old notebooks for inspiration.

  2. Such lovely and fragile moments, captured in old notebooks. Sadly I don’t have my old notebooks anymore. Good to see you and hope to see you during our 5th anniversary celebration, from July 18-22, 2016.

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