I will write you, Precious dream, Shiny and new, Little sunbeam.
In my mind, Full of invention, I’ll craft these lines, For your attention.
A bottle, a cipher, Floated across the seas, A murmur, a whisper, Carried on summer breeze.
I cast my prayers, Off the mountain, Into the air, Coins in a fountain.
Offered to sky above, Unblighted, In the knowledge the purest love, Is unrequited.
I think poetry is first and foremost writing to yourself but nevertheless hoping for a reaction from others you want to connect with. Most of what I do is trying to explain myself to the small people in my life, but kids rarely respond with feedback and I guess this is about that phenomenon. Wanting to make a better connection, entertain and understand but rarely doing any of it! In some ways it can be a bit sad when you don’t get the reaction you’d hope for, but then books can be re-read any time. Perhaps I’m always expecting too much too soon.
