The Calm Before
Treat this dark, suspicious night
The same way you would treat the snow:
As a blank page, future ours to write.
The wind of change about to blow.
Just a short one tonight. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, but it’s certainly not the worst thing I’ve written today. Alas, time is already against me, as I’m jumping straight from the blowy boulevards of Milton Keynes North to the Old Fire Station in Oxford, to perform at the mercurial Steve Larkin’s Hammer & Tongue.
I’ve done a lot of staring out the window lately, on the way to or from various marginal constituencies, but somehow – and quite uncharacteristically, given my history – it hasn’t inspired me that much. Until tonight, when night descended as soon as the engines started and I haven’t been able to see a thing.
The future really is unwritten. It’s time to pick up a pen, my friends.
“It’s not a call to arms; it’s a call to helping hands.” Fifteen days to go.
Owen x
The Poetry Advent Calendar 