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There are places colder and darker than this,

right now in Oslo, Reykjavik,

they’re waking too,

presing cold feet to the floor,

pulling on icy underwear,

peering into dim mirrors

to begin the search for their outside selves.


No doubt a few will be sat just as I am

peering light headedly into the gloom

to unpick the world’s

smallest knot from their shoes.


This is the curious nature of our circumstance

at any moment we can reimagine our despair

in comparison to lives we cannot see

but must believe in.


The same equation that gives us hope

that somewhere on this dark earth

there are those already on their way home from work,

in Seoul or Tokyo perhaps,

they’re weaving through dark illuminated streets

looking for a bar with air conditioning,


somewhere to undo their collar and raise a glass

and watch this Monday

drown into the waters of memory.

◄ Someone To Watch Over Me

This Morning ►


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Tom Harding

Fri 10th May 2019 12:17

Thank you all- and thanks for the spot on the typo, not sure how Google missed that one

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Wed 8th May 2019 22:14

I love the gentle presentation of ideas such as yours Tom. Like fine bone china the poem takes shape with detail such as the tiny knot. The idea of our outside selves is a great thought, and the last line like a dissolution. Compelling imagery.
Just a point, is that a typo in the third verse ? I thought reimagine.


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Stu Buck

Wed 8th May 2019 18:11

excellent as ever tom, really enjoyed this

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