Hinterland Blues
In stop-motion, through a liminal space
a corridor of time without definition
Shuffling, herded by invisible hands
the creeping crawl across a blank ocean
from the mainland of experience
to the vagary of unknown islands
There’s no measure of the distance gone
or the length of journey still to travel
This formless, featureless landscape
drags and expands in all directions
The weak will wither, while others keep tallies
marking off the days that may have come and gone
We’ve got the hinterland blues
we’ve got the stain of January
all over our shoes
I’m setting future fires
I’m rueing past explosions
We’re ready for something to happen
Please, anything, come to me
and happen…
Tom
Mon 3rd Feb 2025 16:28
Thanks Stephen... We certainly are. Coincidentally, while I was idly scribbling this poem, one of my friends sent me a message about not wishing the days away and I immediately tried to snap out of this funk. 😀
Thanks also to Red Brick, Graham, Tom, Hugh, Aisha, Holden, Rudyard and Naomi for reading and for the 'likes'.