where the writers are

I am born.

I am alive.

I am loved.

I am dead.

Between these four burnished milestones

Of our presence

Like a wicked candle with blackness at either end, 

So much and,

So many hopeful footsteps in between.

Where does it all stem from?

Flickering existence

Starts immersed in a womb of plenty a-growin'


Sliding down that birth canal into

The cold embrace of always 

Moving forwards.


'Hey, isn't that a lovely boy/girl'

This cheerful rejoinder heard  in childhood

A constant echo echo echo echo

That shining orb of

Adolescence slipstreams by glorious 

Laughing innocent

And for a while it's the supreme tease 

Budding adulthood.

Then, you're an effing adult.

There ain't no more stages upwards

Only dropping off the edge

And of course those relationships.

How they flavour your life with

Glee and sorrow, sorrow and glee.

So, where am I now?

I was born.

I am alive.

I have been loved.

Thy will be dead.


4 Comment count
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Nicholas, I wish I could

Nicholas, I wish I could cheer you up.  I am serious.

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Nolite Desperandum

Do not despair, Katia I am absolutely fine. I am just having an existential clearing of the throat.

All is well.

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You capture this inevitable

You capture this inevitable feeling quite powerfully, Nicholas. I was pulled right in and there is that feeling of quick movement...how quickly it all seems to move along.

"An existential clearing of the throat." I like how you put that.

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Metaphysical pathway explored

I remember being taught at school about the Metaphysical Poets of the 17th century and reading the work of Donne, Vaughan, Marvell and others. It left a mark and I've always wanted to emulate them. This blog was an attempt to revisit that style of poetic self-expression; I feel I still have a long way to go.

Thank you, Rebecca for reading and commenting.