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Poetry Pleases: Breakdown

She dreams of tall trees, nightingales, damask light...and then she enters a place of mud. Joyce Worsfold's poem is about a life that has fallen apart.

Fat fingers first began to model delusion
warm in summer darkness benearth sheets smelling of Persil
and the west wind
Her mind rolled and stretched
sandwiched between waking and sleeping
she savoured it’s softness
she would be Doris Day with a secret love
Judy Garland, a seductive Monroe
each illusion she coiled and curved to the shape
of her own design and entered a place of tall trees and damp earth
nightingales and damask light.

Later, she pinched and shaped to precise specifications
A man suave, dark
Impressive house,classic car
odourless babies
clothes from Marks and Spencers
holidays in Spain.
All ocurred in strict rotation

The wheel spun faster
spurting clay slipping through fingers
out of control
and all around
shapeless lumps, broken pots.

she entered a place of mud
where roots slaked entrails
and crows cawed

she sits on mottled grass
rolling blu-tak between thumb and finger
waiting for the trees and birds to mend.

Bible meditation.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”



In youth it all seems so easy. We think that we know what we want and we seek for it, sometimes we follow the crowd assuming that everything will fall into place.
Sometimes we drift and times slips by and we miss opportunities


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