‘The right words in the right order’ –  Ezra Pound


It’s strange

how only living life

makes me understand poetry,

how each experience alters

every reading:


‘I have walked through many lives

some of them my own

and I am not who I was’ –  Stanley Kunitz


I am walking through many lives

realising there is no order.

Just words.

And sticks and stones

and lots of broken bones.


There is no order,

but there are words.

Not every life’s a poem,

but there are lines.

There is nothing to find


except your self

on a cold grey day

while wind whips sea horses

across the rapturous shore

of a life not made to order.

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