>>I left the world early,
>>It has never come back to me.
>>I exist between the squeaks of my poems
i love this
On 6/26/05, Douglas Clark <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> I have just been listening to Ruby Wax on Desert Island Discs explaining how
> at home she felt when she was in the mental hospital and this old poem
> jumped into my head...
>
> Fourteen
>
>
> At fourteen I wrote down
> How terrible it was
> For my English teacher:
> The business of no love
> And nobody there.
> He never mentioned my essay.
> The woods and the gardens
> Were clothed in the brightness of green.
> I stood and watched a woodpecker drill away.
> Beating pathways through the nettles
> I created a living pattern,
> Every moment of the summer I was outdoors
> Living wild phantasies of my imagination,
> Winter and night-times I retreated into books;
> The material for the summer's onslaught.
> Reality was not for me,
> I had had enough of that.
> I left the world early,
> It has never come back to me.
> I exist between the squeaks of my poems
> Like some empty tomb.
> I have never lived.
>
>
> Douglas Clark, Bath, Somerset, England ....
> http://www.dgdclynx.plus.com
>
--
~ SB =^..^=
http://www.sbpoet.com
http://sb.chatango.com/
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