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I am

I am: useless, fool, most stupid of them all,
I am Curse, and hide, and sometimes never try,
And often (too often) just feeble, small,
And seldom push and shove and question, ‘Why?’

There now, that’s me – the seasons seldom see
Much change in this boatful of meandering:
Stop and watch how now I crash in the lee
Of some fierce lifewind that’s chanced to fling
Itself around the rocks of all that’s certain,
How on a good day with steady breeze
I rush along in one blind run,
Marvel at this craft’s frailty, how pleased
It is to survive all storms, how estranged
From subtler truths, how – apparently – deranged …


This sonnet (well, nearly sonnet – it was one of the first I wrote) imagines life as being a journey in a little boat, pushed around by the wind …

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