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last out of Pandora's box (and last to die)

The sun is always there

you used to say

there behind the clouds

waiting to break through.

 

I hung on those words.

 

And now I wish you were here

so that I could show you

how outside the rain’s been falling

for longer than I remember

day after day after day

and the skies are grey and heavy

the streets run with water

the fine clothes we were so proud of

are now stained and patched with mould.

 

I wish you were here

because without you this town is empty

and I drink alone

hunting the echo of your laughter

finding only the bottom of the glass

again, over and over

till closing.

I want to whisper drunken secrets

in your ear, as always,

to tell you that I miss you

and that I know now you were wrong.

 

The sun won’t be coming out anytime soon

and your words don’t change that

the world is full of people lashing out

with cruel knives and sharpened words

eager to draw up battle lines

to fall back into the certainty of trenches

the comfort of old wars

wrapping themselves in tattered flags

and the blood of strangers.                        

 

I want to tell you

that today, as the rain falls

and the light fades thin,

marionettes are dancing

to sweet discordant music

blinded by silver, bought off by gold                            

that we have learned nothing

that I put a foot through the TV long ago

and it made no difference.

 

I’m burying hope

just as I buried you

in bitterness and baffled consternation

shuffling forward to nothing very clear

more from habit than in expectation

and somewhere in the corner of my eye

I see the ghost of your conviction

and your smile 

telling me 

the sun is always there

behind the clouds

 

damn you

 

the sun is always there.

hopedespairresilience

◄ let us pretend

The ostentatious breast-feeder ►

Comments

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steve pottinger

Tue 12th Sep 2017 10:13

Thank you, Harry. It's interesting to look back at a piece a few years on, and re-appraise it (or hear the appraisal of others). This isn't a piece I've done 'live' – other pieces took precedence – but maybe I should change that.

all the best

Steve

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Harry O'Neill

Fri 8th Sep 2017 12:55

Steve,
Also only Just `caught` this now..

I like the way the end confirms the beginning. The paradox (and the `human condition`) Is that they - and the middle of the poem - are both paradoxically true.

(I like the emotive force of it as a `performer`...I would love to hear you actually read it...particularly that final line)

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steve pottinger

Thu 7th Sep 2017 14:25

Thanks, Ray. Scarred optimism... that's definitely my kind of town. ?

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raypool

Wed 6th Sep 2017 17:16

Just seen this for the first time Steve. It gets life by the balls and squeezes and brings a tear forth. I especially respect the idea of kicking in the TV and the lines leading up to that, because I suppose TV is a sort of sop to keep our minds spongy and diverted. Bitter sweet and a very recognizable sense of scarred optimism just coming through in spite of the mood of the piece.

Ray

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steve pottinger

Wed 6th Sep 2017 10:27

Thank you, Lynn!

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lynn hahn

Tue 5th Sep 2017 02:19

That was amazing! I love your story telling style.

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steve pottinger

Sun 7th Dec 2014 15:12

Thanks, Cynthia.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 6th Dec 2014 13:08

This is excellent, waxing rather long but never losing the grip of the first stanza, a very engaging piece, and very well crafted.

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steve pottinger

Wed 3rd Dec 2014 17:48

Thanks, both of you. It feels a lot more tricky to write a poem about despair without tumbling into clumsiness, but I wanted to give it a go. I really appreciate the feedback. All the best.

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Dave Bradley

Wed 3rd Dec 2014 17:25

I agree with Isobel. A stand-out poem, very moving

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Isobel

Mon 1st Dec 2014 21:33

This is a hard one to comment on. Just wanted you to know that it moved me, very much.

You express yourself beautifully.

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steve pottinger

Mon 1st Dec 2014 20:47

I'm generally optimistic by nature, but every now and then there are days when I think 'stuff this for a game of soldiers'. This is a poem about one of those days.

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