the map

Poem #239 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

the map said:


the map said:


the map said:

buried in the
left-hand corner
near to the wall

the map said:

you need a spade
for here
be buried tr …


there isn’t much to choose
between them
just an extra letter in a word
when they’re written down
on the page

one extra character
might mean

hip hurrah

trouble lies
in the darkest places

trouble sneaks around


from his bed
in the room above
the kitchen

he contemplates new ideas
of risk
and of reward

until weariness
finally intrudes
to take him over
to lull the boy
to sleep

and into dreams
of the heavy door
a black keyhole
to a massive lock

and of the night
that rules the reaches
beyond the first step
leading down

if that door
should open

© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #240: orientating

3 thoughts on “the map

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