This is just some poetry I wrote last week. I’ve been thinking a lot about how we communicate - and sometimes how we don’t. I think the worst thing in the world is people refusing to talk to one another, and how the ability to share our thoughts and feelings through language is one of the things that really makes us human. It’s kind of an extended piece broken into three sections - I was inspired a bit by Lorca’s poetry, but I don’t quite think I’ve achieved his level of economy. See what you think - I’d love to hear any comments!

Part One

I see you on the back of the bus
But not looking quite like the back of the bus
Sharing your phone with your mates
And I feel - quite frankly - old.

I am watching you and the four of them
Passing the phone, laughing at your custom rings
And I’m thinking, rather sadly:
“I never did that, not when I was their age”.

I’m not sure when I started thinking in terms of age
Maybe after my first kiss
Or the last one that meant anything
Or the mortgage, or the marriage, or the messy divorce.
But I would like the simplicity of what you’re doing now.
Swapping ringtones on the back of the bus.

Part Two

Call me.
Just call me.
It doesn’t have to be complicated.
It doesn’t have to be right.
I don’t have to want you
And you don’t have to want me.
I just need to hear your voice tonight.

Speak to me.
Just speak to me.
It hardly matters what words you use
It’s the melody of your voice that matters
Each note proclaiming “I miss you”.

Although I’m many miles from home
And time has passed much further than I’d choose
I still want to hear your voice
Open, active, generous and kind.

Just call me.

Part Three

I could have bought you designer jewellery.
I could have sung you love songs
I could have phoned.
I did neither of the three.
But the thing that hurt you most
Was not doing the third.

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