The Weariness of Not Being Heard

There is a great weariness
Which comes of not being heard
From calling up courage
To speak the truth you perceive
In the hope that it will help others
To hear it

Only to receive no inkling
That it’s found its way home
Or, instead every sign that it hasn’t

By way of dumb silence or glazed look
Or being told to read another’s book
Or praised for ‘seeing it my way’
Which is not what you meant at all
Or rejected for ‘not seeing it my way’
Which is why you felt the need to speak it
In the first place

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brown and beige wooden barn surrounded with brown grasses under thunderclouds

Passing Clouds

Lingering downpours Falling out from grey blossoms Flowering obscurely Beneath sunlit clarity That opens outwards Whilst drawing inwards To receptive shadow That soaks itself in

a close up shot of a wood lemming

Odd Lemming Out

I had a dream To leave the mainstream And pawsed to rest Upon this hill crest Where I gained a view That I thought no

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