MS (8.4.1929 / Marton, Lancashire)

A Poem, A Thankyou, A Surrender, A Gathering Tear

You know how it is, too?
you write a poem, it means
more than anything to you
while you’re writing it, and when you’ve
just finished it; then
you tremble for it, for yourself;
and it’s a bit like – I imagine –
the shadow of having to give up your child
for adoption… you look away,
close your eyes, walk fast out of the door,
looking back without your eyes…

then just one person, that’s
all it needs, says they like it…
and you read your poem with
a new warmth, as if
someone adopted it,
had it christened;
and it smiled.

User Rating: 3,9 / 5 ( 4 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

There is a certain sad truth to this...I prefer the angered violent reactions to mine the best of tells me I got them to think about nothing...and express their opinions about nothing...
Tara and I will fight over your poem, Michael! (Maybe, like Solomon, you'll decide to split it in two, and we can see who really loves it more!) I like the adoption image-or what's a meta for?
Yes. I know, sweetheart. And this is lovely too. Also, That Person had better be me first off, or I'll be horribly embarrassed. Love to ya! t xxx