It’s been a while, I know. When I’m in London I have no internet connection, and since I’ve started a new year at university, I’ve been so busy. But here’s a little something anyway. I wrote a poem. As a rule, I kind of hate poetry. I find it restrictive and elitist. I think that its difficult to write good poems, and too much poetry is just a collection of pretentions, suppositions and meaningless strings of pretty words which the writer has just carelessly laid out on a plate for their audience, and then said ‘there, have that. I don’t care if it makes sense to you or means anything to you’. Saying that, there are a lot of poets I can really relate to…I’d say my favourite is Simon Armitage.
When you read this, bear in mind that I AM NOT A POET, I am just a person who was looking out of their window on a cold day and wrote something about winter.
From whence you came go back! You won’t
For already you unfurl tendrils of time
Rising up through my feet like the heating
Which won’t turn on should be.
A viscous slew, thick and flat
Like some world-sized, shimmering disc
Being thrown across the city, leaving
Behind you a film of frost
And so the world’s flora and fauna
Thus suspended, like gelatine,
Responds to each advancing day
With a quiver, shrivelling inwards
And I, imbibing soups and teas
Begin to build a woollen shelter
In the grey, metallic forest set
Within the dizzying tides of Gaia.