the incidental ill will

of clouded reasoning

a most difficult thing

to wholly make out

forgiving explicit scorn

writing off grave words

yet tenderness demands

a flawless benevolence


how so such an event?

rosy revenge? for what?

perhaps the sweetness?

perhaps the glory quest?

the prize of grand slam?

extra points to be scored

after the game is over?

he knew not the answer

not a living soul does


the curse born of living

a pinch of make-believe

heartstrings gentle tug

none of these impressions

provoke sound reason

when spring is in the air

and the darkest recesses

of the blind one’s skull

remains dormant, lost

in yesteryears blossoming

yet found in rainy days

and red mist memories

long since studiously revoked


(picture by Karya Seni Patung Tuan Nguyen)




  1. This is beautiful, Mike. To seek still ‘flawless benevolence’, to be tender when it is difficult to be, to rise above ‘the incidental ill will of clouded reasoning’. For me, that is the battle cry, to be better than I am, against all opposition. Your choice of words caress the philosophy of such a lovely and laudable title.

    • The words of Peter Gabriel come to mind, ‘Dressing up in costumes, playing silly games, Hiding out in tree-tops shouting out rude names’…it’s got me a tad miffed, yet I refuse to drop to their level.

      • Try wearing an EU badge on your lapel. I’ve been spat at; barged, yet thus far not not thumped…thankfully. On the day after the referendum a young bird on the till in Lidl’s of Eastern European descent was ask by some old English woman if she’d ‘packed her bags yet’. The poor kid shed tears. I’ll never forget the cruelty of that remark. I made my point known, obviously…thankfully, the old bird’s husband bottled when I took my shades off and smiled…I’m not a fighter, thankfully, it didn’t dawn on him.

    • In truth I think you are cleverer than me. There is a tad of angry denial within this piece. I would be a liar if I said otherwise. Whatever, my sincere thanks…appreciated.

  2. I love the timelessness of your writing, MS. I could as easily imagine reading this piece carved in a giant rock, as I could, a book of modern poetry. Beautiful & elegant. (If I may be so bold), geo.

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