Saturday, 22 July 2017

A Love Poem

This poem was written specially for my son's wedding:



A Walkman of a word.

A slip it in your pocket and forget it

Sort of a word.

Easily missed among the clutter of emotions,

Small change that changes nothing,

Least said soonest ended,

To coin a phrase.


A slack-jawed imprecision of a word.

A tossed away tissue; slightly (sadly) soiled

Sort of a word.

A silver filling in the gap-toothed smile,

The near forgotten, pretty-polly reflex.

A cross stitch in time,

So to say.


A dark-eyed dissembler of a word.

A shape-changing juggler of truth, hypocrisy and half-truth

Sort of a word.

The shuffling, shifting smoke of mirrors.

Leave the skulking skeletons in the cupboard

And the bones of your sleeping dogs lie,

If you get my meaning.

But only hone this half-a-heartbeat,

Set the target fair.

Lard it with significance

And lay the entrails bare.

Infuse the weakling word with heart and soul.

Alloy in it your dreamings; make them whole.

Lived in mighty fullness,

In the full glare of truth and beauty,

It will become your crucible of ages,

The purest form of alchemy.

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