Dharmavadana's Page

5 pm: the loch's waves are doing a steeplechase
and I'm outside the toilet staring at the door,
deciding if it's best left on the latch or open.

5.10: sunlight turns the grass to diamonds clasped
in silver - and I'm hovering over a notebook:
Should I write these thoughts down now, or later?

5.20: the black clouds gathering like angry vampires
over the mountains and the rain stabbing the windows
find me scratching the back of my head,
which itches, wondering what's for dinner.

I'll never be
a Poet poet,
never mount a claim
on the Oxford Book of Modern Verse.

But it's this simple:
the loch's waves are in a horse race
and the trees are their cheering crowd

- and I had to say I'd seen it,
I had to say I'd been there.

A housemartin
divebombs the cat
three times

So much ambition
in that dram of life

Mum sleeps in the ward
while Dad sits in a corner
hands clasped

She speaks for minutes
without making sense
but I hear love

Down the phone
my sister's screaming children
drown out her voice


- Dharmavadana