I wrote this poem for a competition. I won’t say which one, but I was way off the mark. I was thinking about home, but perhaps I needed to write something more in the style of someone else, or talk about a sunrise on the dales. Not to worry.
At some point, I will look at the notes from my poetry editing class and look at where I am going wrong (again). When I get a minute. Or I may just turn everything into songs. Or learn the guitar.
This is my refuge
All is calm and white and open. Nothing
Is perched, ready to fall. Surfaces
Are clear and useful. Bookshelves
Drip onto the page but never stick.
There are too many changes to track
too many tracks to change
and you never listen.
Dreams run on emptiness.
You held me down so long
I came out of the other side.
Now watch me fly.
(c) Rebecca Deans 2015