Words
press to be recognised,
to be lined up, tied up, tidily scribed;
ravenous rhyme kidnaps time
compelling me to skip to a distant dungeon
whose begrudging light
fumbles through a fault in a crumbling wall.
I close my eyes,
shrouding the dim glint
that fights the colours of the verse,
clipping the wings of the rhyme.
Words flutter in my imbibing mind,
shuffling and shifting until the picture fits;
until phrases are fixed into divine designs
and I write, I write.

Sometimes
I squeeze through the gap
and fly back
to my life.

 

©Jane Paterson Basil

I apologise for my continuing absence; when I write, I lose all sense of time, all memory of appointments to keep – and lately there’s been a lot going on in my life. I’m finding it necessary to stay away from the blogs, since reading them causes oe same problem and also weakens my resolve to avoid writing. The words still crowd my brain; clustering themselves into metaphors and floating into rhyme, but I try to ignore them. For the moment, I need to stay focused on my various plans and activities.

As the late, great Tony Benn said when he lost his seat in parliament at the time of Thatcher’s destructive rule: I’ll be back…

©Jane Paterson Basil