Mould On A Pristine Universe

 

Appearing in a scene from a film
smoking at a bus stop
takes all the concentration a youngster has.
Us oldies have it different.
We must concentrate 
being full of aches and pains
to appear light-hearted.

Worlds will emerge like music from noise.
The kingdom of ends (see Kant)
grows from a huddle against bitter cold.
In the long meantime, 
practically infinite for the short-sighted,
smoke; joke;
read, circulate and promote my poems.

Thankyou.
 

◄ Recognition

From The Horse's Mouth ►

Comments

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LEON STOLGARD

Sun 9th Jan 2022 12:09

Hi Adam, ( and I state this with the greatest of respect ) although there are some very likable lines in this poem its meaningful aim has gone beyond my uneducable reach. If only I had longer, and more knowledgeable arms!

Nevertheless, thank you!

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