Friday, May 26, 2006

To myself, aged ten

Would you hear me if I could go back
and be a ghost from the future?
Could I tousle your hair,
enfold you with arms of air?

Did I already, was it me
making the champion marble win,
and turning coals into volcanoes
to entertain your lonely days?

Yes, yes I was already there,
making raindrops bounce for you,
ensuring bumble bees were waiting
on every other patch of clover.

I never told you, you couldn't hear,
but I did everything by magic for you.

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betram said...

This is very lovely I think

a reader from Barnet said...

I think so too, lovely and loving. It reminds me also that poets exist in all times simultaneously. They write with one hand in the present and with the other hand they clasp the past and the future. Mr Gnash's fine poem bade me to revisit James Elroy Flecker's To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence which in turn took me back to Homer's Ithaca and then back to recent times to Cavafy's Ithaca. So a journey I have been on thanks to Mr Gnash, both for the poem and the journey.

Ossian said...

It's too sweet. It reminds me of a room described by Martin Amis where even the colours made the narrator's teeth hurt. Sorry Ogden.

Velvan Gnash said...

Ogden will not be able to come to work today. He has a severe stomach upset.

A. Wijntest said...

Martin Amis's teeth gave him a great deal of trouble. Sweet is not so bad in a world awash with sour and bitter.

I am not averse to salty and my tongue jury is still out on umami.