Drowning upwards

Water lily flowers. Gracing us with their presence too briefly 
Then sinking like drowning men.  
Stare as we might, praying for their return  
All we see is our own reflection.  

Unruffled.  

All this within the compass rose of the old water butt.  

Do the lilies smile on us?  
Are we drowning upwards when we walk away?  

“I’m sorry I wrote you such a long poem. I didn’t have time to write a short one.”

With apologies to the French philosopher, Blaise Pascal (from Lettres provinciales, 1656–7, Number 16).

This short poem started life as a long poem. A very long poem. Here I am ploughing through it (that’s how it felt to me so pity the audience) at an open mic night at the Poetry Pharmacy in Bishops Castle.

You learn a lot about a poem by performing it. Not least whether it’s clear enough for people hearing it to understand. Because unlike reading a poem, where readers can re-read passages that make no sense, listeners hear each word only once. When it’s gone it’s gone.

I’ve concluded from that performance it’s three or possibly more poems all screwed up into one – in every sense! Message me if you want to read the long poem from which this emerged.

I should add that the source material tackled – clumsily – the indifference shown by so many people to the relative few who seek new lives in Europe – away from the climate chaos, war, famine, economic hardship and lack of opportunity in their own countries. In so far as poetry can ever foretell or predict events my thinking, and in particular the concept of drowning upwards, has sadly been thrown into sharp focus by the tragedy unfolding in the Spanish territory of Ceuta on the North Coast of Africa.