Adrian Manning on the
Poem with no words for a title
I thought I had written poetry.
I have knocked this machine about with
hammer blows, left hooks and uppercuts,
beaten it bloody until my hands
are sore.
I have ripped paper, the guts out of it,
it’s bloody words still pumping
and bleeding across the page.
but after many bouts I have retired,
hurt, to the living room
where in the half-light
I find you,
a cat by your side,
and the ease with which
real poetry can be created
becomes so condemning and obvious.
© Copyright Adrian Manning 2007