Wednesday, 3 April 2013

Why I seldom talk to strange women at parties.

It
started
as a
dribble
erratic
tickling
this way and
that
like a spring
in a mountain
cave a slight
tinkle flowing
over lips of rock
beneath flipping bats
of eyelids and other
facial exclamation marks
I liked the sound the flow
in the speech the ribbons
and currents wending in the air
moving in rushing waves sounding
syllables like poetry in water music
until slowly the build the head of stream
started to overwhelm and I felt cowed
and unsteady beaten by the force a swimmer
against a tide I could not overcome and so I turned
thrashing in the noise and swam striking for the shore
swam swam violently for the safety of the silent gaping door





First published in "Rhyme & Reason: The poetry of leadership" by Sam Chittenden, pub: Different Development 9/2014

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