MY CHILDREN

        MY CHILDREN         BY TIM WILLIAMS 17TH JULY 2014

I COLLECT MY SCATTERED NOTES
ON SCRAPS OF PAPER AND EXCERCISE BOOKS
STREWN IN ALL DIRECTIONS, AND READ THE SCRIBBLED,
SOMETIMES WRITTEN IN THE DARK, ONCE WITH MY EYES CLOSED
FRAGMENTS OF HALF IDEAS, SOME
IN THE COLD LIGHT OF DAY UTTER NONSENSE AND
OTHERS, LITTLE DIAMONDS , OR SO THEY SEEM TO ME.

I SCOURE THEM FOR CONNECTIONS, FOR THEIR BIRTHS
MAYBE MANY AND SEPERATE, BUT JUST POSSIBLY
RELATED TO ONE ANOTHER IN THOUGHT PROCESS
IN SOME WAY, JUST SOMETIMES THESE TENUOUS
UNBILICAL CHORDS ARE ONE, AN ELASTICATED
CONNECTION FORCED INTO THE WORLD BY A
TWIN THOUGHT OR DREAM, AN EMOTION

OTHER TIMES UNCONNECTED, UNRELATED NOT
BORN OF THE SAME MOTHER OR FATHER, BUT...
FAMILIAR IN SOME WAY, MAYBE READ SOMEWHERE
AND MISTAKENLY RE-BORN AS MY OWN, TO BE
REMEMBERED AND DISCARDED AS HOUSEHOLD WASTE
IF RECOGNISED IN TIME, BY THE STRUGGLING
AUTHORS MEMORY, OR BOOKISH BRAIN

AND ALTHOUGH I STRIVE TO WRITE, A FINER
LYRIC FOR MY SONG, WORD JUGGLING.
A STRONGER POEM FOR MY PAGE, YOU SHALL
MY CHILDREN, ALWAYS BE MY FINEST COMPOSITIONS.