18th September, 2010

 

Later, much later, I will think of life

If things have been done wrong or right

I will assess if they have been just

Or if off-track, then by exactly how much.

But not now.  Now has been given

To just shut my eyes and breathe in

Deep my child, the smell of your wild hair

Tangled in my lungs everywhere.

 

I will sometime sort out my dishevelled house.

Set priorities, turn up the music loud.

Ask after neighbours, marvel at the delicate

Links of nature and the silken threads

That tie all of life and the living in one,

In a giant web endlessly woven and undone.

But not now.  I don’t have time to spare,

To unfasten from the smell of your wild summertime hair.

 

I know that things diverge, relentlessly scatter.

As the web is woven I’m pushed further and further

From its centre, moved away to the furthest fringe.

And that moving away is what joyous living’s

All about, but I can’t think of that now.                                   

The sum of all that I have known and know

Distils into just one truth of which I remain aware,

Deep the smell of my living, my child, in your wild playful hair.

 

The web’s been spun with many perfumes: the fragrance of jasmine

And burnt fuel wisps on hot melt asphalt vying

With wholesomeness of crushed pine-needle smells.

And crystal waters imprisoned in clear plastic cells.

Salty winds and smoky breezes; output from furnaces.

The azure scents of the oceans, and of wildernesses.

Somehow made time to inhale them all, but nothing could compare.

Deep the smell of my world, my child, in your wild sunrise hair.

 

Finally through with thoughts on life, and right.

About equal and justice; I have tried

To read meanings into trite, everyday things.

Tried thinking hard, and then tried not to think.

No matter how weighty, in the end matters passed

Whether in unbroken silences, or in  maelstroms of questions asked.

The only thing that stayed with me right through the years

Deep the smell, my child, of your wild sleep-soaked hair.

Are you surprised at a free form poem here? I do use it, but it's  not exactly frequent. This is a long ago poem which I've dusted off and put up here to mark another special occasion.  In my life, May connects to motherhood in multiple ways and I mark/celebrate them all. 

I used capitalisation for each line at that point, I don't anymore. A poet friend said that to me, I can't remember exactly when - and it had made eminent sense. "You needn't announce the start of each line," she had written, "without capitals the poem flows more smoothly."  Yup, it did and she had a new convert. 

But I've left this one the way I'd written it all those years ago, the capitals intact. Some of the capitalisation feels rather 'shouty' to me now, the poem would read better if they were removed, but write it as it comes means no over editing even though ye olde fingers might be itching to... So...what do you think, should each line  of a poem be capitalised?

Have a great week ahead.