Crafted not Predicted

By Sue Hunter

If pity drips like soft candlewax onto a fragile heart, and deep sighs airbrush
in tones of grey all wild imaginings
Too bright for today . . .
Then cast a net over your whispered worries
That float on naïve ears.
Issuing images of a lost generation pin
to the kitchen corkboard and cover one-by-one.
We are the grown-ups after all
Pathos . . .
Into melancholy
will morph and your clouded thoughts made spectral
if heaped too high where minds and open arms embrace.
Be the lighthouse in a stormy sea. Scaffold
– on which to climb
A peg
– where they can hang their stuff
A map
An anchor
A mast on which to nail
The colours, not to strike.
You are the mirror in which they gaze, searching for self-belief
Reflect their features in a different hue
A deeper hue, crafted not predicted
A Picasso
-– from the Rose Period
Or a Blue Ocean
waiting to be explored

Subscribe
Notify of
guest
2 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Chris Palmer
Guest
Chris Palmer
4 months ago

Like this Sue. Six words in and wanted to read all the way to the end.

Peter Long
Guest
Peter Long
4 months ago

Love it! An inspiration to go play with my kiddos!

Let us know what you think of the Poetry and Covid project by completing this short survey… thank you!

2
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x