Luckily, two of them missed the cut.
So, now, without a better title, here's a second poem called Never to add to the first and the only other painting I ever did apart from Lips & Bananas.
But it is a long, long time until I have any further booklet of poems planned and so I expect one or the other of the poems called Never will have fallen out of favour by then, if not both.
Never
And that’s a long,
long time.
‘The Twelfth of
Never’
The ocean doesn’t care for you tonight.
It rolls back into itself shamelessly.
The Shipping Forecast says somewhere in Wight
a low is losing its
identity.
History changes its mind all the time
and one day might deny that you were here.
It could easily try to redefine
the meaning of a word like ‘disappear’.
You can argue until the cows come home
but every premise that you begin from
is as fragile as cold, December rain.
And nothing is as foolish as wisdom
or what we ever thought we might become.
What’s been round one time might come round again.
