stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 17904
    [post_author] => 18
    [post_date] => 2017-03-29 19:19:30
    [post_date_gmt] => 2017-03-29 19:19:30
    [post_content] => But here we are, here where the page ends, hidebound,
hand-held and welled with sleep. Morning. Little left

to say, so sing or let cling words like late leaves, like
children. Always, eventually, the last time; all fathers

someday set their daughters on their feet to never
again pick them up. They flock your skin, nevers, as

feathers, slip the water from wing; pale after touch gives
up to colour. So what is there to do, then, but keep

touching? It’s not too much to ask. To leave just one
choice unmade, still warm, a last page unread, a wild

wish wild and unwaited for, one small promise kept
back. Last night’s rain pearls spruce and milkweed. But

don’t wake. Not just yet. I’m glazing our will-not-bes
in long, last syllables until they’re all smooth and semiprecious.

I’ll set stones along your body. And when
you wake, leave lightly. When you leave, come back.
    [post_title] => Never Say Never Say Never
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => never-say-never-say-never
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2017-06-12 11:38:29
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-06-12 11:38:29
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=17904
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
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    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2016
            [wpcf-summary-description] => 'Never Say Never Say Never' was commended in the 2016 National Poetry Competition. 

From the judges: "‘Never Say Never Say Never’ is a strange poem about the absolutes of endings set against the desire to ‘keep touching’, to ‘leave just one choice unmade’; it wants the provisional and the continually repeated, the coming back, as well as the leaving, as a new permanence. It seems to be spoken by a lover to his or her sleeping partner, and sets its speaker’s desire for continuity against the recognition of the implacable fact that there is ‘always, eventually, the last time’. " - Gerry Cambridge [wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, National Poetry Competition 2016 [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 17887 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Patrick James Errington [slug] => patrick-james-errington [content] => Patrick James Errington is a poet and translator from the prairies of Alberta, Canada. Winner of The London Magazine Poetry Prize 2016, his poems have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Best New Poets 2016, The Iowa Review, American Literary Review, West Branch, Cider Press Review, Copper Nickel, Diagram, The Adroit Journal, and Horsethief. A graduate of Columbia University’s MFA programme, Patrick currently lives in Edinburgh, where he is a PhD researcher at the University of St Andrews. ) )
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 17887
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Patrick James Errington
    [slug] => patrick-james-errington
    [content] => Patrick James Errington is a poet and translator from the prairies of Alberta, Canada. Winner of The London Magazine Poetry Prize 2016, his poems have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Best New Poets 2016, The Iowa Review, American Literary Review, West Branch, Cider Press Review, Copper Nickel, Diagram, The Adroit Journal, and Horsethief. A graduate of Columbia University’s MFA programme, Patrick currently lives in Edinburgh, where he is a PhD researcher at the University of St Andrews.
)

Never Say Never Say Never

Patrick James Errington

But here we are, here where the page ends, hidebound,
hand-held and welled with sleep. Morning. Little left

to say, so sing or let cling words like late leaves, like
children. Always, eventually, the last time; all fathers

someday set their daughters on their feet to never
again pick them up. They flock your skin, nevers, as

feathers, slip the water from wing; pale after touch gives
up to colour. So what is there to do, then, but keep

touching? It’s not too much to ask. To leave just one
choice unmade, still warm, a last page unread, a wild

wish wild and unwaited for, one small promise kept
back. Last night’s rain pearls spruce and milkweed. But

don’t wake. Not just yet. I’m glazing our will-not-bes
in long, last syllables until they’re all smooth and semiprecious.

I’ll set stones along your body. And when
you wake, leave lightly. When you leave, come back.