poetic injustice

I write what I would

Like to read and sometimes

I Even try to rhyme and not put too many words in one line
But then again 

Poetry can

Be surprising.

Beautiful.

Lyrical, lurid, unbelievably empty and always

Unpredictable.

When I read it, I say – my God I’d love to write

Like that!

But I follow my patterns

I write what I would 

Like to read and maybe even sometimes,

Someone,

Somewhere,

Thinks it’s pretty good.

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Life Before Spotify

Strolling Down the Highway by Bert Jansch just

Came on my music player software.

And I am transported to a room somewhere

In a memory vault coated in dust

Three friends sit and share our last tobacco dregs

And analyse the techniques of fingerstyle folk

The music is enchanting, our voices softly spoke

And we lay on the carpet, no strength in our legs

The night fires were burning, dawn a glimmering dream

Our love for the music was all we required

We lived on plain pasta, and fruit that had expired

And often a pot of dark tea, on the fire, released steam

That magical summer before the digital age, 

As a group of young students we told fantastic jokes 

Amid the laughter, The tea, the chat and the smoke

We found connection to each other that’s so hard to gauge