Please, somebody give me a mountain and I'll give you me. Somebody give me a tide, lapping a small, rough shore that no-one else wants, like a pebble-fed cat. Somebody give me a mountain... a place I can slant, live at an angle, watch the soft underbelly of the stars shattering over lichen-lush rocks. Just somewhere to wander, be the thing that comes out at night, recharge in secret lightning... live a while between sentences. Then I'll show you just how deep it goes, this thing the world can't accommodate. Somebody told me a long, long time ago that I was gonna end up wanting one. I thought they were being funny, until the same joke kept showing up and staring me square in the roundness of my eyes... square in the orbits and the wheels, turning as I write this - but not joking. I'm not trying to be greedy. I'll take one that's broken, with rusted clockwork and crazy ridges that make no sense of the space. I'll give you things so intimate they'll never bounce off... if you just give me a mountain.
About the Poet:
John Hulme is a writer and occasional performance poet from Merseyside in the North of England. Much of his poetry focuses on very intimate personal experiences (depression, anxiety, the aftermath of being a home carer), though he likes to write with a spiritual voice and an awareness of the wider implications of social justice. It was his desire to share this in community venues that led to Woodsy, his stage persona. Thanks to a shift in his circumstances, John is now looking to do some travelling, hopefully taking Woodsy on the road with him, saying stuff that feels scary to say -because this is often the most precious, beautiful stuff we have to say, and Woodsy the busking poet feels it’s about time we stopped feeling scared to say it.
This poem moves mountains from the din of ordinary life. Thank you John Hulme. Before I retire for the day’s end, my consciousness has reached its summit.
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