Wednesday, 7 January 2015

Ever Onwards



Circulars and statements swiftly filed among the kindling
then an envelope from America.

I recognise the post mark and the hand writing:
a chapbook from my old friend Poet Red Shuttleworth.

Everything else can wait but this. I tear open the seal
and out comes a sunset cover with blue December floating
in the depths of orange.

I smile at the inscription and start reading,
the curtains still drawn and the crystalline lights
on the Christmas tree pulsing like a ghost’s heartbeat.

I start on a journey still in my dressing gown, my face blurry
and I’m done by the time a cup of coffee
is plonked on the table beside me.

But the unpacking of the words lasts all day –
as if the day was a page that needed filling
with dreams and visions before it was time
to close the curtains again
and pick up from where we left off:
half a moon in the garden
making mirrors of the outhouse windows,
the frost on the grass powdering my boots
as we do indeed go ever onwards.

8 comments:

  1. Many, many thank yous!
    Yes... we have the ever onward to go toward...
    starry dust.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A pleasure to read your poetry, Red. Let's keep going!

      Delete
  2. Oh Jonathan.........your writing is Breath.................

    *thank you*

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. And in each breath we finally find ourselves. Thank you Liz.

      Delete
  3. "But the unpacking of the words lasts all day"

    I know that feeling :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. 'Tis pleasurable work. Thanks for reading, Kim.

      Delete
  4. I love that.....breathing deep.........

    ReplyDelete

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