Inspired by the new form of ‘norm’ experienced deep in the countryside - as it is too in the towns, Worldwide.


In the morning,
When the light becomes,
There’s more to waking
Than opening eyes
Or hearing foxes call.
I’d truly swap them all
For those silent orbs
Enticing my brain
To comprehend, absorb,
That there is no end
Just mystery unending.
The sound of rain,
The wind gasping
And shutters rattling
Were not the cause.
But trees bending
Their cloth’ed branches
Creaking loud and clear
Brought me back to here.
A reality unblessed
Unwanted and confined.
Restrained, contained,
In fearful isolation.
Maybe Ad Infinitum?

© griffonner 2022

Poetry by Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 109 times
Written on 2022-01-12 at 15:42

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
@1LFD: Point taken. In the end everything is in the mind of the beholder.

Hopefully not, imagination is the truest escape. I'm thinking of Mandela in his cell,

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
@Lawrence Beck : I take it as complimentary too, Lawrence. Thank you for such a lovely comment.

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
@D G Moody: Thank you for such a detailed comment. I do realise that this poem can be interpreted in several ways, but at the moment of its conception - when my pen first hit the paper as such - it had one meaning. What happened after that I cannot say. I frequently think that words come from somewhere else than in my brain, but that's another story as the saying goes. :)

D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
This poem works for me on several levels. I immediately liked the subtle rhyming - that alone makes it memorable. Then there is what it is saying to me as the reader; and is it what the author intends, or does he leave it to me to take my own meaning? Is it repetition as a mind state - 'that there is no end' just again and again, the same way forever? Um...? I'll need to let it sink in further.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nicely written, Allen. The looseness of your rhyming reminds me of Hopkins. I consider that to be a compliment.