When you are here,I feel his absence more
The empty cocoon, no one live within
Since he has gone,I wonder what life’s for

When you are gone,I  close the heavy door.
The silence supreme, glacial will begin.
When you are here,I feel his absence more

Without  his arms I feel I am estranged
Not his honey, not his little hin
Since he has gone,I wonder what I’m for.

I feel a hatred rising,dark, deranged.
Yet ,is there not that  Other deep within?
When you were here,I felt that absence more

We must grieve  and let our tears down pour
We fend off  bleak despair,  so cold, malign
Since  he is gone,I wonder what life’s for.

Is this love gone off a cancer or a sin?
May I hope the better side will win?
When you were here,I felt his absence more
Since he has gone,I wonder what I ‘m for.

 

 

 

https://www.happenstancepress.com/index.php/blog/entry/can-you-write-a-good-poem-fast

Extract:

‘Un poème n’est jamais fini, seulement abandonné. A poem is never finished, only abandoned.’ The words are Paul Valéry’s, though I first came across them elsewhere – quoted by Philip Larkin, I think.

 

 

Quote:

“There are circumstances in which poems arrive fast and finished. Re-reading some of Gerard Manley Hopkin’s darkest sonnets, and in particular ‘ I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day’, I see James Reeves’ note at the back of my edition: ‘This and the three following sonnets are probably among those referred to in a letter to Bridges in which Hopkins says, Four of these came like inspirations unbidden and against my will.’ That sounds fast to me, although the final sonnets may be some way from their original manifestations.

 

Perhaps poems should be written in these conditions – only when they are inevitable. Much ink might be saved, and every poem would have the necessary ingredient of desperation in it. It would be something found, not something sought. True poems come into being at the top of an experience chain, as people and birds of prey are at the top of the food chain. But some links of the experience chain may be the writing of manufactured poems, or a poem hunt, and the dark night of the doggerel. Rubbish-writing and despair. It is necessary to work, providing one’s own waves of energy, until, suddenly, the poem is given. It may be a line or a word only, but it slots into place like a keystone, locking words together.”

…………..

“So there is a case for poems written fast, hurriedly, uncooked. They may be the necessary experiences in a chain.

James Reeves would not have agreed. He thought the hardest (but most important) thing for a poet was to know when not to write. In ‘What is it to be a poet?’ (in Commitment to Poetry, 1969), he says: ‘It is up to every poet to know his creative power, and not force it. I know mine to be small and I say this without complacency. I never cease to wish it were greater.’ And he goes on ‘One must accept the gift one has; one must accept the necessity for silence, for doing nothing; it is the hardest thing to be a poet and be unable to write poems.’”