I embraced the ambiguity like a bride
Who fears disclosing that her face is fake
And while we’re on the subject, I take pride
In stealing water colours from the lake
Ambiguous in intentions we don’t know
We send out signals full of first class news
If this rebounds an artist might then show
Our vision rests upon our point of view
Seventeen types of clarity are mine
Fifteen from my mind and two from pride
From this glass I make a view divine
Though Sunday someone said they thought I lied.
Ambiguously ,we hover by the scales
Trying to glimpse another through their veil.
Williams admits in these lines that poetry is often difficult. He also suggests that a poet depends on the effort of a reader; somehow, a reader must “complete” what the poet has begun.
Sometimes when bereft I’d love a snail
Though it might wet my bed with silvery trails
Would snails be lonely living in my house?
Shall I be but fit to love some louse?
I hugged a rowan tree and now it’s dead
The council said they’ll give me oak instead
It stood upon the pavement by the gate
But now it is what McCall Smith calls “late”
I wonder if self massage is the thing
Some perfumed lotion stolen on the wing.
I stroked my arms with Cream E45
Now they say I’m not allowed to drive!
I was sad but now I am at peace
All I needed was a plate of eggs and grease.
I empathise with ladies in great need
Though I prefer a cape where they like coats
But I have got a crutch and cannot speed
Nor can I with my smartphone walk and read
But shall I help the blind to lose their creeds?
In my hand I carry a large tote
Full of silken scarves and hearts that bleed
I can’t buy any clothes for I’ve no space
Yet in the autumn women like new coats
I wonder should I transform my pale face
And wear a golden necklace for its grace
Though it might prick a lover in embrace
At least it would sort out the men from goats
As I ran off and thousands were in chase