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Tony Mott Poem
You cannot save me
From old age, a traitorous prostate,
Wine and the distance of wasted time,
Careful sensual memory loss,
The compulsion to be awake at nights deepest,
The fragility of remembrance, dangerous dance,
Ice nor autumns drying leaves.
You cannot save me
From funerals,
Uncommon monologues,
The time to dwell on the yellow photos
Of a stranger’s life, nor the
The consequence
Of regret and the lack of poems.
You cannot save me,
From misplaced longing,
Empty victories, privileged defeats,
Unwanted kisses,
Lost fears,
And ever-shortening days.
You cannot save me,
I have no need,
In the realm of the undisputed
I have you.
Copyright © Tony Mott | Year Posted 2021
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Details |
Tony Mott Poem
Climbing
Deliberately he climbs
twisted thread in hand,
underneath his narrow frame
the warm water breathes warnings
of free fall arrests,
amongst tentative overhangs
and twisted limbs
he stills himself.
Lost in instruction
he climbs until the air thins
and self-confessed
lines of communication with his anchor fray,
antediluvian tension
burns his cold palms.
Below the audible
anchored to hope,
petrified rope in hand
his twin waits
memory raw from extended grip,
the chance to protect a safe decline,
as distant now as then
Copyright © Tony Mott | Year Posted 2021
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