This picture was taken at Fareham railway station on Monday. I quite like the colours.

I’ve written a number of poems today in an exploration of what poetry might be. I will end this entry with one of them. The poems are a struggle at the moment, though they do keep flowing. I’m trying to avoid that awkward question about quality and that other one about relevance, and that yet other one about accessibility, and just write. I think I can now safely say ‘I am a writer’ and believe it, so I will leave those questions for now. However I do want to start making money by writing, so some investigation will be necessary. But I’m not quite there yet. Nearly, though.

Fear

OK, can I write the feeling of fear I have

when I close in on an edge, a border,

when I approach an unvisited place?

 

It only happens when the new place

is a place I know I want to go to but

have never been. The fear bites like a snake

 

or it might if I ever let it get the chance.

Writing this poem is a way of avoiding

the feeling, but it might not be. It might

 

be a way of expressing the feeling of fear

and by expressing it take me through

a magic portal to the unknown place.

 

I do hope so. I do so want to go there

and I am coming to the fear place more

and more often these days. Is this what

 

I need to do to get through? It’s worth a try,

though my  belly does not think so. My belly

can feel the feeling and it feels afraid and

knows what it knows. It’s not enough for me.