Susan, On Wenlock Edge

Sue, On Wenlock Edge

A Perplexing Failure To Understand
Being a slightly revised extract from a letter to a friend,
with some footnotes added post scriptum


A Perplexing Failure To Understand

The City, The Sun

The Sun, The City

The Sun, the city, to wear such sadness down
For I am only one among the many
Where a night-of-dreams becomes unreal
With all that is human living, dwelling,
Faster slower slowing grateful hateful hoping loving
No Time to relay the inner rush of sorrow
That breaks, broken, by some scheming need to-be
Since the 1-train, conveying, is here to grace me
In perspective.

But there are moments, to still,
When – tasks, duty – done
That inner quietness betrays
So that I sit where

The Sun of English Summer
Would could bring me down
There where the meadow grass had grown
Green greener drier keener
And farm’s field by hedge with scent
Would keep me still but sweating –
No cider to induce
Then that needed paradisal-sleep.

And now: now I only this all this,
One being cavorting where one past melds
To keep me silent, still, so that the sidewalk
Is only that sidewalk, there
Where hope, clustering, fastly moves us
Good, bad, indifferent – it makes no difference:
I am no one to judge so many, any,
So that there is – becomes – only the walk faster slower slowing here
And we free in Sun to trust to sleep to-be to seep a dream
Bought at some cost, to many:

Fidelis ad Mortem

And yet there is the Sun, the city, to witness how we can should must break
Such sadness down.


David Myatt
2012 ce

My poetry was composed between the years 1972-2012 CE, and is of varying quality. Having recently undertaken the onerous task of re-reading those poems that I still have copies of, there are in my view only around a dozen that I now consider may possibly be good enough to be read by others. These poems have been collected together as a pdf file (c. 143 Kb), below.

Relict – Poems by David Myatt

David Myatt
2011 CE

I Am Only Memories Now


For such warm joy
As brings the clear blue skies
Of Spring
When we, the remembering, no longer
Have to hunker ourselves down
Through bleak grey

Yesterday – warm Sun
A sea-side bench
As weekend tourists
Such warmth for such a while
That all living became
Nexion of sky, sea, Sun and sand
To foster such knowing
As  suffering
Piled thousand year upon thousand year
So that escaping rain made tears
There where one man of greying beard and hair

But vigorously endures Temptation –
That already-decided daughter of unbearable Misfortune.
And all remedies are in vain.

For I am only memories now –
For one more supposed begin
Imagined beyond
This one more mortal


David Myatt