TRAJECTORIES

I’m not out trying to be King of the Boy Racers tonight, so I’m just at home, reflecting on my least favourite day of the week. Number of face-to-face human-to-human interactions? zero. Number of humorous or noteworthy events? None. Situation? Saturday.

So, with nothing particular happening other than rubber gloves splashing in the toilet, and the doors draped in drying duvet covers, I went back to writing some poetry today.

This one’s about knowing things before they happen, and not liking it - which also seems to be a thing that happens when nothing else happens. I’ll get to the bottom of it one day.

Trajectories

I sometimes wish

I couldn’t see

The shape of a trajectory

Or calculate

Geometries

Of words in silent flight

I often stare

As missiles fly

Through dotted lines

And blueprint sky

And helpless, see

Them rocket by

The watches of the night

A keyboard rattles,

Rages burn

And fiery sages

Fail to learn,

But all in caps, they

launch, in turn

To justify them right

An unrequited

Love’s desire? It

Turns to ice

Within the fire,

Now fury pushes

Tempers higher

Rockets burning bright

And there I think

I’d yet mistake 

Those vector paths

Projectiles take

I wish I couldn’t see

Their shape,

Or trail-blazing light

I’d much prefer

To never know

Trajectories

And where they go

I wish I wouldn’t

Fear it so

I wish I wasn’t right!

But me, of course

(The world agrees)

I have my own

Trajectories

And I am sure

They all can see

The pathways of my flight

Parabolas and

Bending curves

That angle up

And dip and swerve

I wish that I

Could well observe

Trajectories tonight