Cut Glass (an old poem but one I'm fond of!)

Oh speak to me of things that do not matter.
Our friendship is a fragile thing.
Speak too loudly and
It will shatter.

Each self is patterned with
The other self.
We are similar but not the same,
Surrounded with a tissue
Of touches now and then
Or compliments.
The light shines through us
Is distorted.
We both pretend
Not to know
That this fragile thing
If subject to one outright blow
Would shatter.

Take care.
Oh speak to me
Of things that do not matter.

(From White Boats, Garret Arts)

I wrote this many years ago, but it still seems to mean something, even to this older changed me. And I suspect it will mean something to a few other people as well. Somebody once set it to music - it was beautiful. Could have just possibly been John of the cheekbones, here. Or George in the same picture. I seem to remember that John did the singing. But we've lost touch over all these years, and I can't remember anything about him, except the melody he wrote, and sang! If he's reading this I hope he gets in touch. They were from Fife, these guys, and they were brilliant musicians. I read my poems, they played and sang - now people seem to be 'discovering' this sort of thing again, as if it is quite new. Nothing's new. Ever. And meanwhile, we carry on speaking about things that don't matter....

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