Pebbles

I wrote this today. I feel a bit guilty sometimes about posting old poems, to me it feels like cheating. In a weird way though it's good because there's more distance between artist and art. Maybe you can say that the greatest art happens when there is no distance between the art and the artist. Because honestly, the best way to describe this poem is how I feel right now! Or a few hours ago.

Poetry is as I have discussed previously a form of expression for me. I feel a lot, I'm pretty sure that makes me vulnerable at the best of times. It is scary to post this out there in a sense, but the truth as they say will set you free. For me this speaks to my loneliness at the moment. Read it and leave a comment if you like I'd be very curious to see what it speaks to you in you. As I've said before poetry evokes a whole lot of different responses. I also appreciate this is a pretty raw and unworked poem. The only work I have done to it, is to restructure it into a few paragraphs. Somethings I think just feel more like paragraphs than verse.

After you read this close your eyes and imagine the images, I think with this poem the images are the most important, anyway here is Pebbles:

Pebbles.

How alone we are
How connected do we remain with other bodies
Are we tethered by basic strands of loose sinew
Or is it something thicker or
Perhaps something even less helpful  and invisible
What bonds are there that unite us
Or is it all relegated to belief
Are we all doomed by the fantasy of companionship
Doomed to fly forever alone until

At last we might finally join with the earth or

Perhaps scattered over the blue waves of the sea

 roll in the waves and gradually we’ll be part of the land again

Just like stones knocked around on the bottom of a river bed
There’s no real connection but there is some overall scheme
It isn’t written
It is as mindless and random as the floods that choke and destroy
It is as reckless as hurricanes and gentle as summer showers
That we are part of some greater pond
 Or maybe after all we are just skipping stones ironically plucked
And discarded despite our best intentions far back into
The clear summer waters

Sinking down miserably down to the darkest most lightless spot and eventually
To be joined by another.