When Alan was a boy, his father left the Complete Works of Longfellow in his bedroom thinking that the young lad might find it interesting. Struck by The Song of Hiawatha (in fact, the only poem he half understood) he was moved to pen an ode to his first love, Prudence, who took exception to being compared to a native American and so that was that.
Undaunted he has been penning ideas and revery ever since, as partners came and went. He achieved some publication success during the 1990s but has since offered little to the outside world; ie. life took over. He was, however, a flash fiction winner in 2020 in the annual Fish competition. Obviously, life had come to a standstill. He is currently working on his first novel and regales our group with something called Prose Poems – the jury is out.
To read his poem, Patience, search at www.cirenscene.com/local-news/
Patience
(after Victoria Chang)
Patience died today. Patience died on Tuesday, Wednesday. Thursday. Patience was in her voice. Now her voice zings with irritation. They’d held hands, kissed in front of us, in front of everyone. Now, he has eaten – she doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t eat. Their newfound weight loss is better for their BMI if only they had the inclination for sport. They move with the caution of chess, each to be the others history, mindful of the trigger of inflection. The tension between battles is green. He clings to a hope of forgiveness. She clings to a hope of a future. Only the wall remains.
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