#inktober 9. PRECIOUS



I am struck, again, by the slowness of this process of dipping a quill into an ink pot and writing: one word, a series of letters, making the short marks that form the patterns we call language. Added to this the immediate fixity of the word, the permanence. I suppose there are ways of editing the hand-written but for the purposes of this InkTober challenge I am choosing to leave the marks as they come. If I had been writing this on a computer, I would already be editing, changing ‘lull’ to ‘fug’ or ‘fog’ and then back again possibly, or adding a syllable here or there for rhythmic consistency. As it is, the raw work, faces me on the page. It is.


A precious evil

he shows us why truth 

matters, when respect 

falls, where decency

staggers, how generosity

dies, what ‘freedom’

incarcerates and buries

in unmarked graves. 

He is the flaming beacon

on our deadliest shore

(o it’s always been there) 

in his bleaching glare 

it must be mapped 

we must lose no more 

ships in the precious lull 

we call civilised society.

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