Poem with Lines Stolen from Peter Dent
They’re building new futures over what I saw as mine,
territorial claims involving self-pity and a quiet life,
events foreshadowed by imaginings and shouted warnings.
Self-medication was nothing, a world walking endlessly
towards more of the same, seasons going out of fashion
as dreams swing this way and that. It’s no wonder
things don’t change, they’re not worth second opinions.
I was surrealist before that school opened its doors;
put it down to time travel and synchronicity.
Unless I speak don’t join in. Existence is nothing,
do not dream me up. It’s not a question of belief,
more about millions of words spoken in dismay.
© Rupert M Loydell
Rupert Loydell is a writer, editor and abstract artist. His many books of poetry include Dear Mary (Shearsman, 2017) and The Return of the Man Who Has Everything (Shearsman 2015); and he has edited anthologies such as Yesterday’s Music Today (co-edited with Mike Ferguson, Knives Forks and Spoons Press 2014), and Troubles Swapped for Something Fresh: manifestos and unmanifestos (Salt, 2010).
Amethyst Review 