Hippocampus Hippocampus

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I stand on the banks of river Thames,
before crossing the bridge, I pause,
looking over at the water, the wind howling
A plaque diagrams the creatures of this water.
A seahorse is the shape of memory.

This heart moderates,
it has been mild for some time.
Strong currents can do that some time.

I remember now why I have carried it
on my back for a lifetime
studied its origins for months
walked for years backwards
and finally arrived.

Here at this corner
where the ink that was once foreign
has begun to blend in my skin.


To writing again

The beginning of another story approaches
and again I sit with only a blank page to start from
But for the first time with no extra page
or a friendly eraser. The true test of a writer.

There is method to it all, to capturing and controlling a blank page
Just starting won’t suffice. Write in your mind, know the words,
the flow and edit. Edit out all the unwanted, boring, used parts.
Edit out all the parts of the story that no one will notice missing

Only then is there a point to writing afresh.
Write from the heart. Forget anyone’s watching.

Trust the ink.