FLEETING CONTENTMENT
The moon captures
The nakedness of trees
on the lake`s face.
The story of stars
already mirrored
is an endless prompt
across dark ripples.
Silence is played
on the night`s stereo
and I breathe in
like a drug addict.
I dream words
tailoring the world
to fit my fairy tale
about the direction
our lives are taking,
suppressing the voice
that tells me I’m a fool
to believe the unattainable
I close my eyes
on something moist
that condenses
into a metaphor
for peace,
even though the world
is slowly killing itself.
VOTERS
Yes we were
more than voters
less than winners,
They were
more than a question
less than the answer,
We were
more than a suggestion
less than an awareness,
They were
more than the past
less than the future,
They were
more than a lie
less than the truth,
They were
more than certain
less than right.
Yes we were
more and less
than the rage
of a decision
We saw the face
that walked trust away.
DIRECTIONS
I give directions
to an unkempt stranger
who wields coarse sentences
and a strong body odour.
I take great pains
to get the directions correct,
short and to the point.
I don’t challenge eyes,
I frame a gap between us,
I censor my remarks,
I remember to smile.
I walk away with some relief,
admitting my cowardice,
not caring to wait
to interpret his silence.
These days are such
it’s easy to direct oneself
to wrong place, wrong time.
EXCUSES NOT REQUIRED
It’s not that you’re indispensable
but with artistic flair
you steer me into a corner
until I’m safely gathered in,
and fix the speed
of whatever ensues.
It’s not that you need me
but a fugitive heart
shelters in your answers.
I am a safe house,
no questions asked,
no promises sought.
It’s not that we fit
but our mistakes match,
stand and confront us
as a signpost revolution
directing us across
what divides us.
It’s not the fear of loss
but the promise of bursting
into something bigger
that holds us together.
We are more than guests
in each other’s lives now
and that in itself
is a beautiful truth.
The moon captures
The nakedness of trees
on the lake`s face.
The story of stars
already mirrored
is an endless prompt
across dark ripples.
Silence is played
on the night`s stereo
and I breathe in
like a drug addict.
I dream words
tailoring the world
to fit my fairy tale
about the direction
our lives are taking,
suppressing the voice
that tells me I’m a fool
to believe the unattainable
I close my eyes
on something moist
that condenses
into a metaphor
for peace,
even though the world
is slowly killing itself.
VOTERS
Yes we were
more than voters
less than winners,
They were
more than a question
less than the answer,
We were
more than a suggestion
less than an awareness,
They were
more than the past
less than the future,
They were
more than a lie
less than the truth,
They were
more than certain
less than right.
Yes we were
more and less
than the rage
of a decision
We saw the face
that walked trust away.
DIRECTIONS
I give directions
to an unkempt stranger
who wields coarse sentences
and a strong body odour.
I take great pains
to get the directions correct,
short and to the point.
I don’t challenge eyes,
I frame a gap between us,
I censor my remarks,
I remember to smile.
I walk away with some relief,
admitting my cowardice,
not caring to wait
to interpret his silence.
These days are such
it’s easy to direct oneself
to wrong place, wrong time.
EXCUSES NOT REQUIRED
It’s not that you’re indispensable
but with artistic flair
you steer me into a corner
until I’m safely gathered in,
and fix the speed
of whatever ensues.
It’s not that you need me
but a fugitive heart
shelters in your answers.
I am a safe house,
no questions asked,
no promises sought.
It’s not that we fit
but our mistakes match,
stand and confront us
as a signpost revolution
directing us across
what divides us.
It’s not the fear of loss
but the promise of bursting
into something bigger
that holds us together.
We are more than guests
in each other’s lives now
and that in itself
is a beautiful truth.
Gordon Scapens - is widely published over many years in numerous magazines, journals, anthologies and competitions, most recently First Prize in the Brian Nisbet poetry award. He lives in Preston in the United Kingdom.
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