A poem for election day Is this howThe Roman charioteersFelt when straddling two horses?Straining towards separate pathsDancing on the edge ofDisaster At leastThe Romans heldThe reins in their own two handsWe steer while yoked to madnessOn that at least weCan agree We hoverOn the future’sPrecipice HoldingOurBreaths Photo by Anastasiia Krutota on Unsplash
Author Archives: A.C. Smith
Drought
Look at the dried earthHardened, so that water onlySits on its crusted surface It will take months ofAbove-average rainfallTo restore the depleted reservesThat lie far, far underground It is only gradually that fluidCan be absorbed, softeningThe ground into a placeWhere things once again can grow It takes so much gentle healingTo recover from a scorching …
I leak poetry
I just wrote a poem, called The Level. Last week I had the observation that this was an interesting metaphor for internal balance. And tonight I wrote the poem. I did it in approximately 6 minutes. Because it was 8.35pm when I remember looking at the clock, and it is 8.42pm now. I thought maybe …
The level
I tilt the levelTrying to perfectlyBalance the caught breathOf the bubble trapped within Perhaps if it is carefully alignedEverything made straightThen the world willMake sense And maybeIf I can tilt myselfTo the right angle, thenI’ll be at peace with what isAnd with what is trapped inside Note: The initial concept for this was inspired by …
The selvage
The thread is fine nowAs thin as gossamerShimmering in the light There is a strange beautyIn these timesOf holding, and letting go I never believed in the fatesSpinning, weavingWaiting, releasing But now I see your placeIn life’s tapestrySo clearly My eyes may be wetYet my heart is fullYou are part of the patternForever Note: This …
The rumble beneath the surface
Things have been a little quiet on this blog. But that’s not because the writing hasn’t been happening. Time feels strange these days – whether a hangover of the pandemic or the strangely elastic nature of living with chronic illness, I’m not sure. I think it was overyear ago that I took my first step …
Teatime
The tragedy thatA full fridgeIs cheaper to runThan an empty one. So the columnistAdvises placingBowls of waterOn bare shelves. Now in homesAcross the countryHungry childrenWill open the door – Only to be met withTheir own reflections. Note: This was inspired by an article in The Guardian. I understand the necessary practicality of the advice, but …
Flowers for Rose
You asked me to write you a poemAbout bringing you beautiful flowersI thought about spinning slow versesUnfurled in deliberate hours But amidst the hair pulling and shoutingAnd laughing and singing and climbingI find I’m increasingly doubtingThat you give a fig about rhyming So these quick-crafted lines must sufficeAnd although concentration is nice And finishing is …
Mother meditating
What is the name of the mudraWhere you sit, hand folded over handAround the waist of a small childWith bits of snack still stuck to their shirtWho pulls your grip even tighterInsisting your hands are their seat beltWhizzing off to imaginary galactic adventuresIn the rocketship of your lapWhile the ragdoll copilot dances merrilyOn the tiny …
It drives me crazy when people talk about ‘put on your own oxygen mask’
It’s been floating around for years, but at the moment it feels like it’s ‘EVERYWHERE’. ‘Put on your own oxygen mask first.’ It’s a great metaphor – it’s visual, and anyone who’s ridden on an airplane will have heard it. People say this particularly to encourage people who struggle making space for self-care to take …
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