As June arrives my pen decides to capture all the moment speak
in drifting quill i write until the line decides what sense is wreaked,
and as the words begin to form ideas surface from the mornings
pages where i capture time to set them free in metered rhyme.
I notice first my thoughts in tumble, inner, outer, in a jumble
fail to focus, wait a while, begin to notice turning dials,
A conversation with myself begins to question all i feel
I flit around the space i hold and wait to see what time reveals.
The maybe of whatever next will find itself in inkened text
and somewhere in its sense align, a distillation of my mine,
A mind which rollercoasters from Pink campion to Atom Bombs
to drizzle falling on the lawn, to orange farce and Epstein porn.
Via buttercups and friends i love and the sense of light in the skies above
via Kier Starmers likely plight and the hatred building offstage Right,
on a Monday mundane thoughts appear to collide with surfaced worldwide fears
as i sit with a pen and an empty page, I accommodate joy in this complex age.
As June arrives my pen decided to capture all that the moment spoke,
erratic clashes, syntax splashes, fears and burdens of the Woke,
where amidst the beauty and the charms the painful thoughts of global harms
dichotomise my restless mind
released into this flow…
( and on it goes )
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