“On Journeys”

I’ve spent days travelling to

beautiful places, holy mountains,

looking for sacred thoughts

to cleanse my poetry

like the crystal spring

gurgling rapidly over river rocks

left strewn by the ages.

I have found nothing.


Nothing to convince you

to read my words,

to convince critics that

this is actually poetry,

to convince myself that

I might one day make it

in a web which has already

caught too much truth.


But it only takes a moment

of quiet reflection to realise

that everyone from Plutarch

to Seneca to Milton to Thoreau

to the cheap modern gurus of

actualisation and mindfulness

knows that it is really the

journey inwards which counts.


For it is there where we

find the magic to change

our world with words.

I am happy with a little

node of this chaotic net,

finding it to be a road leading

me nowhere in particular,

everywhere at once.

4 thoughts on ““On Journeys”

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