POEM - Signposts

arrows point to places

where we cannot ignore

their niggardly pointing

for even a blithe while

firmly gesturing towards

some where, a pinnacle or cleft

confidently affirmative yet never

as sloppily indirect as our feelings

with their under stated destination

more or less empowered with

passions and prejudices unrolling

along a rough puff trajectory

from whence, from whom

to whom, to whence and not 

to mention all the burdensome

patient travelling in between

distances and speed measured

with calipers and inked onto paper

scratched out in a shower of regret

or the dribbling away of purpose

there is the urge, and the urgency

of the urging, the self sabotage, the prod

of old dreams and demons that kick back, 

a blindfolded face pressed against signposts

anxious fingers wrinkling the flesh

of daily time and exigency, never

reach the point of causing wounds

whilst issuing coordinates from virtual maps

that conjecture our desires to be

this way, no, not that, but this way,

I said, this way, not away, 

or the way away, but to be towards

the cunning edge of life's travel package

where the unforeseen piercing 

of an arrow arrives at the intended target

a brittle truth, layed out and pinned down.

written June/July 2020

Stephen Lumb