I've been neglecting this lately, but I'm hoping to get back to it regularly now.
This is the second "Holes" poem inspired by the double page doodle of ants crawling in and out of holes. It's also partially based on a poem I wrote when I was about seventeen. It isn't very good but hey-ho, they can't all be winners.
This is the second "Holes" poem inspired by the double page doodle of ants crawling in and out of holes. It's also partially based on a poem I wrote when I was about seventeen. It isn't very good but hey-ho, they can't all be winners.
Holes (2)
The holes in my memory, where the past slips away,
Drain off life's colour, leave everything grey.
When I try to recall the shape of her face
It's like looking through holes in a twice folded lace.
I've forgotten it all, her voice and her look.
Pages are missing from my history book,
But sometimes - unexpected - it spits something back
Some fragment of then, some old bric-a-brac
And I stop as an image, a sound or a smell -
Isolated, imperfect, but with stories to tell -
Tantalises and teases my heart and my soul,
Then teeters and topples, back into the hole.
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