Chestnut balanced On The Highest Peak


Precision instruments of introspection
fall away. Flakes of paint. Failed butterflies. 
Grey-faced boat-sheds return to gestures,
their loose doors an invitation

All the people we were, their cries,
drowned within their sorry sea.
Who should be the ones to survive
no one would believe.

That fat caterpillar that curls within an ear
tastes the words so hungered for
but sadly fumbles with the bunch of keys,
without the gift of understanding itself.

No one can mark their deep-swum way with words,
high value environs reached anyhow.
Leaving out seeds for colourful birds
we are leaving then, but arriving now.

◄ The Piper's Song

Tricycle ►


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Martin Elder

Sun 10th Mar 2019 15:01

I just love the sheer poetry of this piece in its rhythm and use of words with so much colour and light.

Love it

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Graham Sherwood

Sun 10th Mar 2019 10:15

I agree there is so much to read in this piece, you find yourself on a loop of understanding. One of your best for me Adam.

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Adam Whitworth

Sun 10th Mar 2019 09:42

Thanks for taking the time to comment Heart Of Lead, I appreciate it very much. I was led to check out your own poems, which I liked very much, well done.

'Chestnut Balanced On The Highest Peak' concerns the human facility with words. While this ability has great power it is unfortunately limited, often much more than we realise, it is certainly not the answer to all ills.
Also it is 'about' the superiority (for want of a better word) of old gits over half-formed twats.

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Heart of Lead

Sun 10th Mar 2019 03:56

I had to read this a few times, and each time saw something different. People have written about the sea and people have written about butterflies, but here we have something new and brilliant, for the path crosses in the mind. Something wistful and whimsical about this with a heavy sadness of lost knowledge. Much appreciation.

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