not, at all

there’s a bottle of red
slowly sinking down
and me
I’m contemplating

what is a thought
what is today
what is the way I need
to marry the two

there’s no answer
until I look back

there it is
in the first verse
the second stanza

the third line

there it is


this is the fourth time
just today
I’ve made a start

but none would roll right
out of my head
off my tongue
onto a new page
the way that they ought to

and I have a lined pad
full of scrawls
full of swirls
full of my idle moments
and half ideas
half wrote-downs
a third of almost

I look back
I can’t read it
can’t decipher
where was it
where was my head that time
what was I thinking

who was the man
that wrote that down

was he
really serious

oh well
I don’t know

is today

this is
the best that I’ve got
not much
not really much to offer you
at all

© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #11: stilling wrath on the horizon


6 thoughts on “not, at all

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