And is that all poetry ever is ?
The flotsam and jetsam of human thought
Floating upon the main of consciousness
Once carried in the frail vessel of mind ?
Our words discarded though sometimes with buoys
Making them lagan, to be later found
And claimed when of them we again have need
Our words jettisoned to make way for more
Of word and thought and action and emotion
And also for catharsis, and relief
Our words forced out of us as we are wrecked
Upon the rocks of fortune or misfortune
Involuntary as tears, helpless as sighs
Or is it also song , a seabird’s cry
Or the welcome singing of nightingales
As ships sail home into a harbour- haven ?
( ASA )