Fox Cubs

There was a time when I hadn’t written a poem for many months. This happens to me quite often. Sometimes I just don’t seem to be in the right place for a poem to arrive. It is almost as if I need a kick-start into writing poetry again. I decided I would take a well know poem and use it as a spring board to frame my own words around the poem’s structure.

I decided to use Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. I had memorised this poem some months previously and it was in my bones. Here is the result. There may well be some who find this quite offensive, but it did start me writing poetry again.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to keep saying
how amazingly OK you are really.
You only have to wait and be open
unconditionally.
Tell me about grief, yours and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile time moves on.
Meanwhile the cherry blossom resplendent
falls on the grass the the pavement
and the car roofs.
Meanwhile the fox cubs play outside
the kitchen window, rough and tumble.
Whoever you are, whatever the hurt
Love bids you rest, and calls you
like the fox cubs young and joy-filled
to an abandonment and a playfulness
of becoming.

Tim Clapton

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