# VIOLETS — A POEM

Poetry is a gift from the gods. It can be funny, heart-breaking, therapeutic, but above all it should be beautiful. Beauty and rhythm are fundamental to life in my book. I may be old school but I’m happy with that. This world is not worth letting go without a fight. I’m sure algorithms can come up with some perfect facsimiles of poetry, but can we exist only as slaves of the machine? Do we want to?

I have been writing poetry all my life. I’m going to share some with you. Not in any chronological order but as my gut tells me. I’m a great believer in trusting my gut. Your heart can always lead you astray, reason can always argue you into doing the wrong thing, but gut — that’s where our instinct lies. Trust your instinct. Descartes was wrong! (To be continued…)

VIOLETS — A TRUE STORY

I couldn’t find her any violets the week before she died,

Violets that used to say , ’I’m sorry, mamma, that I made you cry’.

It took me over thirty years to see

She was responsible for her tears, not me.

Rage came and after rage indifference, and yet

I couldn’t find her any violets the week before she died.

I did try, honest.