Thursday, 25 August 2011


As carelessly I stretched and reached
to grasp a metaphor,
the ladder I’d invested with my faith
betrayed it’s nature-
not a simple noun,
as I’d assumed, but
masquerading adjective,
lad, ladder, laddest
so in laddishness deposited
my poor sore self
and as I fell the metaphor,
dislodged, came flapping,
falling with me,
in descent
and disarray.

I lay
a supine, spavined, broken poet,
the metaphor, elusive still,
flitting just beyond 
my reach, like a
falling, flapping,


  1. You clearly reached above yourself.
    A butterfly flirting with you, but never quite within your stretch must either be hit with an implement or left to float off into the air.

  2. I wouldn't dream of hitting either a butterfly or a metaphor with any sort of implement. Better leave them to float away then......