Quick set of imaginary holiday photos. Sorry for the slightly half-arsed entry today(another ‘you…you…you…’ poem when I’m not entirely sure who ‘you’ are), I have been reading a mixture of Rumi and Larkin, which seems to fit this quite well. You could see this as a sort of follow up to yesterday’s post – the view that if you go out with goals, you’ll miss the importance of the journey, the faces on the train and the things you can learn from those who feel compelled to interrupt your crusade. People write expletives on toilet walls for the same reasons people sit on top of poles.
You scaled a dozen wailing walls
And screamed along with chariots.
You placed the leaves upon your tongue
And scraped the incense from your nails.
You spent a yearning winter
In a sanctuary filled with twisting
Hands and sores and grinding hope;
Something for the C.V.
You kneeled in mock pretending prayer
Watching dust climb up rough silks.
You fed the dome-headed child again, his
Nails scraping your white palms.
You washed your laddered tights
In rivers churned with backbones that
Rose up from the wetter faith
And dried there, on the baking sand.
You rinsed your travel razor
At lotus feet, transfigured stone.
Dragging over aching calves
Lest the tea man comes this way again.
(I wracked my soles in frankincense, even
Crushed petals on my chin,
Piled golden earth upon my face to
Claim I did not know you.)
You returned with photographs
And a well-padded resumé.
I returned with prospects that I
May one day go alone.