Words

 

that linger like a perfume,

Old songs on repeat,

What's that on the flip-side -

Are the lyrics bittersweet ?

Is Not

 

Writing's not a comfy chair

Alan Bennett said 

And I thought 

A person's not a house

Character's not clothes

Love is not a bunch of roses

A cloud really is a cloud

When is it not

And rain is just the rain until

The future forms

A flooded land

Whereupon we'll wade

Or swim while waiting

for a miracle 

to come 

Salvation on arrival is

Strong arms pulling me

from the wreckage pile,

A hero's heart who put to sea

in raging storms to rescue 

those in peril running scared,

Gentle hands who guided 

and is not 

immune to fear 

but more attuned to care

The writer's brain has blocked

Old pain, unspoken things,

The writer’s chair is hard 

and without wings,

 

No soft upholstered air borne 

shipping crate with covered up 

supportive springs.

I'm scared to go there

and sit, cat-like, looking 

askance at the crate. 

I can't fear what I don't know

Schrödinger's ghost rocks the plane

and I am shivering again.