Poem by Mary Hobson

Despair

I hate this page.
No black on white,
no crossings out, not one scrawled word.
It is demanding that I write,
empty my head,
release my rage,
my love of the absurd,
my grief.
Well yes. It would be a relief.
Something I need to do.
A chore.
Like clearing dead leaves from the overflow.
But is it anything you’d like to know?
Why should I empty it on you?
It’s all been said
before.

1. The Counsellors
2. Snow in Zaraisk
3. Waterloo Station
4. Laundry Blues
5. Now I will always know that you died

Ada Cambridge (Cross) Despair ("Alone! Alone! No beacon, far or near!")

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