When words won't go away

Poetry isn’t really my style anymore. I kind of left that behind years ago, and was glad of it. Yet sometimes when I am immersed in thoughts and feelings, random images and words come to mind, sprung from whatever depth and fragment of it all, and insist that I do something more with them than just ignore them until they go away. Insist that I write them down in whatever jumbled order they choose to trickle from my mind… so I do.

Most often I don’t keep the tattered pieces of paper that end up the final resting place of these motions. I don’t share them and I don’t speak of them. I feel no need. No purpose. Yet I am coming to think that perhaps that is wrong. There doesn’t have to be purpose. Or need. Like any of us they need no justification to exist. So, perhaps… in the spirit of acceptance I will keep them… and give them more than crumbled napkins to live on. Give them a chance to make of life what they will. And give myself the challenge not to deny and forget them as soon as the purge is over.

So, from now on… the words that won’t go away… will go here. That is, if they have nowhere better to go. One can always hope.

He didn’t mean to shoot her
he didn’t mean to
suddenly the gun went off
and he wasn’t even sure
he’d been the one
to pull the trigger
he didn’t mean to

The recoil had sent him back against the wall
as the bullet dropped her to the floor
it was all wrong
it should have been the other way round
him down there
on his knees – with the ring
her staring at him in disbelief
not knowing what to say

He didn’t mean to shoot her
end it all like that
he didn’t mean to
she was just too quiet
too loud
it just happened
and now he couldn’t take it back
her eyes were dead
and her t-shirt red
but it wasn’t his fault
…. because he really didn’t mean to

When words won't go away

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