stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21934
    [post_author] => 6
    [post_date] => 2021-09-21 12:45:29
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-09-21 12:45:29
    [post_content] => 

xvii.

Reflection wrongly
Applied justifies the
Meaning of an end

Time is running out
As the icon indicates
Even the sky can be

A futile understanding
That backs its own
Slo-mo disregard as

Rendered by panto-
Mime blue and bits
Of paper showing

Through the thin
Line of a surface
That society obscured

xviii.

To declare not belonging

Is a feeling of what isn’t

Uncompromising myness

What remains is an intention

Even in writing these words

xix.

On the grounds that
It needs no further explanation
I can’t explain
Anyway
The sense of too much

Of man’s first disobedience
And all that
Inherited bullshit
That pertains
Still the pretty words

Terrify and persuade
As though true
The oil won’t come off
My hands
Yes I thought of that too

How to become innocent
Enough
Which is of course again
To object to hunger
Simply

Because it is wrong
To assume that purity
Protects us
Is no good
Good until we free ourselves

xx.

Can loss be this
Organised

The nothing between
Us now

You but not you
Here but not as you were

First this and then this
Then this again

This no longer
Love we observe

These stanzas were written to be read in any order within each section. The present order was arranged by the editor.

[post_title] => *from* I never thought it would come to this [post_excerpt] => [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => from-i-never-thought-it-would-come-to-this [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2021-10-30 10:35:56 [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-10-30 10:35:56 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=21934 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => poems [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw [meta_data] => stdClass Object ( [wpcf-published-in] => The Poetry Review [wpcf-date-published] => The Poetry Review, autumn issue, 2021. [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem was published in The Poetry Review, autumn issue, 2021. [wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 21938 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Edward Doegar [slug] => edward-doegar-2 [content] =>

Edward Doegar is a poet and editor living in London

) )
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21938
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Edward Doegar
    [slug] => edward-doegar-2
    [content] => 

Edward Doegar is a poet and editor living in London

)

from I never thought it would come to this

Edward Doegar

xvii.

Reflection wrongly
Applied justifies the
Meaning of an end

Time is running out
As the icon indicates
Even the sky can be

A futile understanding
That backs its own
Slo-mo disregard as

Rendered by panto-
Mime blue and bits
Of paper showing

Through the thin
Line of a surface
That society obscured

xviii.

To declare not belonging

Is a feeling of what isn’t

Uncompromising myness

What remains is an intention

Even in writing these words

xix.

On the grounds that
It needs no further explanation
I can’t explain
Anyway
The sense of too much

Of man’s first disobedience
And all that
Inherited bullshit
That pertains
Still the pretty words

Terrify and persuade
As though true
The oil won’t come off
My hands
Yes I thought of that too

How to become innocent
Enough
Which is of course again
To object to hunger
Simply

Because it is wrong
To assume that purity
Protects us
Is no good
Good until we free ourselves

xx.

Can loss be this
Organised

The nothing between
Us now

You but not you
Here but not as you were

First this and then this
Then this again

This no longer
Love we observe

These stanzas were written to be read in any order within each section. The present order was arranged by the editor.