In Endless Corridors

Three hundred and sixty five poems
piled on the living room floor and the
poet writes more. It is his way of giving
thanks and celebrating, his way
of sharing what was in the beginning
an anxious ask. Now caring souls are
heeding his words, easing the task.

There is a way to go; simple arithmetic
will suggest 635 poems at least are free
of a tether, still to be gathered from the
air they have weathered in, there in the
windrows of experience, the washrooms
and weigh-stations, the beer-halls and
backdoors, in endless corridors.

The journey thus far is a dream, a vision
visited in an instant and forever familiar,
a pillar propping up this poet’s visionary
world of winsome words drifting in reach,
to be plucked and savoured like the ripe
peaches of a favoured childhood, tasted
forever and crafted in charismatic verse.

Bear with me. Come fly on my journey…
© I.D. Carswell 2006