I stood at a stall in the market and looked at the books for sale. A book of poetry caught my eye and I bought it. It was cheap, so cheap that no profit was probably involved. It was a book to be handed over, passed along. It was by a poet that I have never heard of before, but that is irrelevant. The lovely Sharon had wondered off and the little man was mesmerised by the hustle and bustle around him. So I parked up the buggy and stood and read the first two poems. They moved me. I forgot the world around me and instead swam in the emotions of the poem. The second was a sad one. True, and in its truth horrifically sad. I guess that’s poetry. I guess that’s what it does.
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- November 3, 2012 at 11:22 pm
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- life, poetry
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