Monday, 1 July 2024

he disclimbed

he disclimbed 


writing poems is like hammering pitons into a cliff face

you trust life’s ropes to them

but you know one of them will give out one day

and your words seem to be taking you higher and higher


there is no safety net

the poets has unpicked it loop by loop

readers are concentrating below

with a safety blanket to catch you

but they seem to be running about all over the place


ping  ping  ping  ping 

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