Poetry Blogs (napowrimo Day 12)
I have no roots –
Present becomes past before my eyes
Life is lived, recorded there, somehow,
More or less imperfectly inscribed
Within my head, thus stored behind my brow.
These things exist for me, just in my mind,
For if I try to seek them out again
There’s only ever something new to find:
Nothing in the stillness can remain.
I have no root...
Friday 12th April 2019 9:25 pm
It’s on the coast.
Nothing west of it
until you hit America.
The small village,
just a few miles away
is typically Irish;
four bars and four churches,
one of which an ancient ruin.
The beach is idyllic;
long enough for all comers,
glorious golden sand
with ocean waves
warmed by the Gulf Stream.
In summer, it’s perfect.
Friday 12th April 2019 12:15 pm