The Road Taken

There were no great forks in the path in the woods:

just hundreds of small threads, tentative, half-explored,

where we did or did not venture.

So, tread by tread, we found ourselves

so far from where we wished to go, so lost alone and afeard,

that finding the way back seemed hopeless

yet forging ahead impossible.

 

Next life, when we embark on forest challenges,

we’d like well-worn routes, please, and clear signs at forks in the road,

stating loudly the consequences of chasing one path over the other

So that loss does not creep up on us,

unaware

yet deathly efficient.

 

 

 

I’ve Lost My Poetry Book

I’ve lost my poetry notebook.

That slender scribbler with blue and white boats on the cover

fitting instantly in pockets

unobtrusive on nighttables

familiar with coffee shops and handbags, desks and grassy mound,

alert and keen

it waited for flighty inspiration.

I’ve lost the mad jottings,

the crossing out, the changes,

synonyms in endless lists,

invented words mocked by their conservative neighbours.

 

I’ve lost my mind

my moment of respite

my calm in eye of storm

the grips that hold me onto life.

 

And in the world I know

nothing is ever fully replaceable.

Things I Have Lost

The lovely and inspiring poet Holly Anne inspired me with her clever list poem .  I have never been able to make this work in the past, but felt she had laid down a challenge.  So here goes…

Things I Have Lost

 

Socks in the laundry too numerous to mention,

keys and their copies, wallets, post-it notes

and once –mortification! – a book from the library

which I paid thrice over

then found behind the wardrobe.

 

Shopping lists and pictures, love letters and a cow

(she found her way to church

to moo till kindly neighbours brought her home to Gran).

My heart to a hopeless cause,

sense of humour for weeks at a time.

Prescriptions and receipts – and shouting cannot replace them –

money, houses, contracts, insurance documents.

All good working pens, broken pencil stubs,

my capacity to wonder,

time, when I could have been writing.

my temper, oh, at least once a day!

Three lovers, two friends, a husband.

Jobs – yes, in plural, you heard it right –

business cards and phone numbers of key networking gurus,

the respect of the corporate world.

But the feeling is mutual.

 

The will to live.

 

My respect for politicians

blind belief in science or doctors or the bank

sense of worthiness, still searching, still in need of daily airing

when and if and ever found.