Travelling,
travelling
one hundred miles
every,
every day
but
there's no time to stop.
Envy.
Envy
for the man
who
gets his hands dirty:
makes
something with his hands.
Tangible.
Time
only
for
the mind
to
wander
travel
even
further
the
blacksmith
sips
his coffee
in a
smoke-filled
room
swears
blue
murder.
Fine poem, Jonathan.
ReplyDeletePut me in mind of this one.
(Not bad company.)
Hope you are well this season -- and, many thanks for all the excellent posts this year!
Jonathan,
ReplyDeleteI really was drawn into this poem - probably struck a nerve of memory vis-a-vis my father. The repetition and "rhymes" almost create 2 independent verse strands of their own (one up top, the other in last part of the poem):
1: Travelling-travelling, every-every, Envy-envy, hands-hands
2: dirty-(wander)-further-murder
Highest regards,
B.R.
I'm always in the finest of company when I receive visits like these. Merry Christmas to you both and thank you for all of your wonderful comments throughout the year.
ReplyDeleteGritty....in more ways than one.
ReplyDeleteHave a productive 2013!
Thank you Vassilis. And you, too. Let the magic carpet ride continue...
Deleteevery, every day
ReplyDeletebut there's no time to stop.
I love the strange insistence in that repetition. Odd and unnecessary and somehow beautiful. Excess of time.
Thanks WB. Odd and unnecessary - this might be my new year's resolution. Considering how well all the rational and necessary things are going...
Delete