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I love this poem. Just thought I might share it with you...
"It aint what you do, it's what it does to you" by Simon Armitage
I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
I have not padded through the Taj Mahal
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall pricking up and putting down
it's print against the marble floor. But I
skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each sey of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.
I have not toyed with a parachutecord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre and stroked his fat hands.
And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside of us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.
---
Sheer class, even enjoyed it when doing it at school.
"It aint what you do, it's what it does to you" by Simon Armitage
I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
I have not padded through the Taj Mahal
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall pricking up and putting down
it's print against the marble floor. But I
skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each sey of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.
I have not toyed with a parachutecord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre and stroked his fat hands.
And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside of us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.
---
Sheer class, even enjoyed it when doing it at school.
There have been no replies to this thread yet.
I love this poem. Just thought I might share it with you...
"It aint what you do, it's what it does to you" by Simon Armitage
I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
I have not padded through the Taj Mahal
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall pricking up and putting down
it's print against the marble floor. But I
skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each sey of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.
I have not toyed with a parachutecord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre and stroked his fat hands.
And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside of us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.
---
Sheer class, even enjoyed it when doing it at school.
"It aint what you do, it's what it does to you" by Simon Armitage
I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.
I have not padded through the Taj Mahal
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall pricking up and putting down
it's print against the marble floor. But I
skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each sey of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.
I have not toyed with a parachutecord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre and stroked his fat hands.
And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside of us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.
---
Sheer class, even enjoyed it when doing it at school.