Letting Things Come: A poem by Richard Austin

Publisher’s Note: If you’ve not experienced my dear friend, Richard, perform (and I mean perform) poetry, then you’ve not had words made so utterly complete. Poetry is meant not only to be felt in silence; it must be spoken, given in song in the voice of the author. Shared, shouted, into the wind. Or whispered into a child’s drowsy ear.


 

Winnie-the-Pooh, contemplating Tigger,

with the full force of his self-confessed ‘little brain’

and heavyweight poetic imagination,

concludes that:

“whatever his weight in pounds, shillings, and ounces

he always seems bigger because of his bounces.”

 

Tiny, timid, but no-pushover Piglet –

all nervous seriousness,

lassos, long ears of logic flapping,

those errant coins,

and pulls Bear’s leap back to earth

when approval is requested –

“All except the shillings, I don’t think they ought to be there”

 

“They wanted to come in after the pounds, so I let them. It’s the best way to write poetry, letting things come.”

“Oh.” says little Piglet, “I didn’t know.”

 

See how simple it can be to defend

creative thought –

gently but confidently –

when inspiration

is outlawed and strung up by a lariat of reason?

 

letting things come

 

This is the soul of John Lennon’s response

to the mean spirit black crows in Nixon’s employ –

all tar and feathers, paranoia,

and cawing panic in their briefcases;

wires tapped, long lenses trained, tailing without hiding to instil fear.

 

This is the mantra of peaceful resistance

repeated over and over without shouting:

“All we are saying is Give Peace A Chance”

 

letting things come

 

no hatred, no belief

that Peace is anywhere other

than where it should be all the time –

inside us –

ready to emerge when fear is stilled:

 

“War is over – if you want it”

 

by Richard Austin, May 3rd 2008

 

 

1 Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Previous Story

Won't You Be My Neighbour?

Next Story

And the winner is: "It Still Rains in Winter"

Latest from Poetry

Default thumbnail

Gritty Poems

Pregnant   Low self Lower opinions What does it matter? Who are

Default thumbnail

Snapshot: April

April, as everyone knows, is Poetry Month. Officially. And the Sechelt Library

%d bloggers like this: