The Process of Learning.

I’m not as quaint as Joanna
or as loud as when the bomb went off.
That’s the shovel in my hands;
that’s acknowledgement I’ve said enough
before I have spoken.

I’m not the voice from the gutter
or the minister, but when I see others
with their hands in their pockets,
kickin’ and whistlin’ some carefree tune…
I often wonder what songs they sing.

But these verses aren’t pictures of me -
I’ve no idea what the words to that song would be.
It’s admittance that I need to speak,
and speak loudly, not mumble as I have been.

So I plead, turn off your TV
and drag yourself outside to steal some peace.
You might choke on what you breathe.
You might realise you’re not complete
and move on.

There’s a dog digging for a bone
and elsewhere there’s treats of a grander size,
it’s everything his owner’s let him know
and in those piles of dirt is where he’ll find his prize.

* A work in progress. Not entirely happy with this.