Peter Pink-Howitt Poetry

0x4…b5e

ERC1155

"Something to do with violence a long way back and wrong rewards and arrogant eternity" (Phillip Larkin) A blood-letting of sorts heralded your first day here. Prehistoric beast that you seemed in your fear. Fear that needed, needs still, a little more than a kick in the teeth and three words to heal. Confusion inevitably ensued, and the twisted fears turn us all inside-out, or rather, they skew our futures with incessant demands, for a placation we may never fully discover. OK think! (you were warned early on) Come on, on your feet......I lie. More like: You bas-havethis-fuckyou-hateyou- loveme-alllovewefuckinghateall ....loveyouson. Though the last three words, came so much later than you ever deserved. Hardly surprising the confusion never dissipated, but mutated, in your sense of what it was you might allow yourself to become. I suppose that's enough of that, a little of what I can imagine. *** But what I am trying to say is that, perhaps I can hold fast enough to make an attempt, (full-hearted and half-arsed as it may be - as most things are condemned to be) an attempt to retract from blame and recrimination, to slow the continual clockwork of hurt and ask something simple. Can we try and make sense of it as Father and Son? Though you can never have your Dad back, to ask some questions or talk, and I don't expect miracles -us holding hands as we walk into a bright new dawn- Can we just try to use both our heads, to recover some reasons for the blood-letting of sorts, that permeates both our lives and which leaves us with words to try and heal reality as we've known it, as we approach it...