I fear it puts my teeth on edge,
like scraping chalk, across the board,
the platitudes for everything,
script white on black –
book print reversed –
appeal to eyes like copy, ad,
rather than text of substance wrote.
To this curmudgeon, here we are
‘again’, as if with weary sigh,
but yet the past wiped clear from scene,
condemned to errors of the past,
forgot, replayed, mistake repeat,
the makings of tomorrow cede.
The day, its pass, is ruled by sun,
but not the month by length or name,
so here and now in tune with zones,
I live four days in January.
If live for daze, December’s craze,
I’ll wonder then, as wander now,
if heart, soul, mind has kept control,
and if old lessons had been learnt.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, most recently The Sweetycat Press, The Parliament Literary Magazine, Mad Swirl, Grand Little Things, Stone Poetry Journal, Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/
He is, like many, a nominee for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net this year.