ON FALLING DOWN THE FULL STOP AT THE END OF A SENTENCE.

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I can’t  recall precisely how I wrote it this poem.It came from a strange elsewhere  in my mind.I think it carries an message,namely that,if you can’t acknowledge your hatred, if you deny it exists, even to yourself then it may cause havoc in your lifew.This does not mean l  letting it rip either.It is very painful to hate someone you love This is the dilemma of the infant  and of all of us in life.

I  think I began to  write it by choosing  a long word at random and  seeing how many  words I could make  from that.Then through  staring blankly and in a friendly  manner at these words a a poem began to come into existence.It seemed to write itself especially towards the end… It certainly surprised me with its advent.I can hardly believe I have written it,though wide and  narrow focus  in seeing are of special interest to me.They came to my attention in  the book “A Life of One’s Own” by Joanna Field [Marion Blackett-Milner] and in her l later book “On not being able to Paint

Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.

Love shrank into the tame cat
By the  fire unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.

I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence

I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.

An energy coming from my own head,
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of darkness.

Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappeared into the dark.

I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear ,eerie,
It shone,grey silver.

If I had opened my eyes wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness.
t blinded me to the light Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.

An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged,unmitigated,unredeemed,
Kept apart from love or goodness.

Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else,
By freezing Love itself.

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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