For reasons I don't really understand, when I posted this poem on allpoetry, lots of people liked it. To me, it's kind of ok, but I'm a bit interested in whether it does have a characteristic I otherwise struggle to muster, or whether it was just a coincidence of the day ...
The land below
The oak tree was at the bottom of six sloped acres,
its sinewed branches eavesdropping
on the villages below – I’d no time not
to trust the ropes and splintered seat,
no choice not to follow those who’d swung before
out into the world. All at once
the orchards, the war memorials, the midnight
meetings and farmer’s markets, petty
crimes and fights in car parks could all be mine.
As large and attainable as any world could be.
Gripping the rope with palms used to scraping
tarmac, extending knees never unscabbed,
I could have done somersaults, I swear.
It’s easy enough to be brave, I think now
every other tough choice comes before being brave,
now I know the side of every path holds
a fresh threat, a trip, a test, a letter home,
every acre could shrink or slip, each sledge
could jackknife, each swing could snap, but
I could have jumped, executed a somersault
and landed
in a world I’d already conquered, I swear.
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