Monday, 10 September 2018

Sarah N Dipity

Sarah N Dipity

I talk too much she said,
and I waited for her to talk some more. 
I have had mental health issues she said,
and I waited to savour her words some more. 
To pick the juiciest morsels 
from the bones of her tongue;
to leave the dry bones, and to discard
the bones others and slipped into her pocket. 
Her nuggets of wisdom were often hidden
in poor words;
whilst the pearl words spilled cold across cold marble.
There were sidings we puffed along,
waiting for the signal.
Then we sped on the non-stopping express. 
Then we were engulfed by a tunnel. 
How long they are, these tunnels,
and how the steam fogs in.
Then Buddha, my brother, we are on the
coast track sailing above the seashine 
of her smile, when our aye ayes 
hit upon a mutual understanding, 
and the poetry flowed between us;
and the balance, so much sought, 
is no longer in the balance.
Oh, Sarah N Dipity, 
although you know you are,
because you say you are
cloaked in a medicated blanket;
the golden threads in the tapestry of
your life shine through,
and it is a privilege to be invited
to gaze thereupon.
You are the thought raconteur,
the sought raconteur,
to balance the seesaw 
of our precarious lives
in turbulent times. 
What a pleasure it has been,
and a pleasure it will be,
to talk again with you,

Sarah N Dipity. 

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