On Discovering My Voice

Fresh little snippets of poems for breakfast … Deliciously selected from a collection compiled by the Poetry Translation Centre….discovered and shared by Anthony Wilson. A rare treat…

Anthony Wilson

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I am at a thing.

Canals are there. Sunlight on them, the last tourists, a shifting of the seasons. ‘Soon it will be autumn…’

Hellos are happening, old ones, catching up on five year’s of news; and goodbyes, too. Kissing ‘take care’ in a foreign land. A test for all of us, of trust, of hope, of what will happen to a child when we are no longer there.

It does not get easier.

Softening the blow is the view. I mean, maybe the view, all of humanity passing below us, others’ lives fluidly within reach, beautiful, passing, never the same twice.

Into this rich space we drag our tired bodies and minds. We have buried a friend. We have sat in silence. And now we are here.

At which precise point, there on the coffee table, from out of the corner, my eye catches this, a fat and…

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