Wednesday 17 June 2009

Can't sleep

in a big house,

alone.

 

At dawn the central heating moans

a high whine;

wood and plaster kick, knock

and heat turns up a winter wick.

 

            Is it loneliness?

Not really.

           

            Disconnected head and heart?

Possibly.

           

            Disconnected?

 

At a café in Kendal

where I drink coffee

Andrew chooses another table,

sits down,

smiles at strangers;

waits to see what happens next.

He loves them, you see.

Mostly, people love him back;

particularly old ones, Sages.

He makes them feel special,

and an encounter

warms the place.

 

At night, he sleeps

like an angel.


6 comments:

  1. I loved this line: "heat turns up a winter wick"

    But I also enjoyed the turn to coffee and Andrew and the implication about why you can't sleep.

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  2. Thanks Marcus - it helps that you followed the flow of the poem and stayed with its turns!

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  3. This is beautiful and very meaningful as for me when I can't sleep it is very much the 'disconnected head and heart'. Thank you for writing it.

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  4. This is so wonderful, I love the details of the settings and the structure of the poem. Very nice!

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  5. Beautiful as ever. It made me smile and feel reflective all at once.

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  6. This was very effective, specifically, getting the reader to bypass sight in order to sense something divine.

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