Monday 25 January 2010

Wonder

Very dark outside.

I’m on a standing train

by a window, wondering

how to write again,

when I pick up a book


by MacNeice

- a tatty paperback

and there’s an unknown poem about

‘a Window’ from half a century back.

This poem’s a moment


hanging in time and space -

and, if I could, I would talk

to him on alienation, I would mention

a window and how, outside, it’s dark

but light inside – how it is -


and how a train can go slow

until lights in the far, far distance

blur and pass, blur and pass;

wondering how we’d connect.

Death, ambition, even love


are not around – but moments

flashing. Each one unexpectant

like on a train, beyond a window.

So I pick up a pen

and I wonder.

3 comments:

  1. enjoyed this. it seems to beg for something more - more tension, less resolution... perhaps that is what you intended. i like it and it makes me want to write.

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