Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter



His bones knock against each other
In the way separate parts of one
Collapsing sculpture collide. He
Knew from the start that
Convalescence was just a
Euphemism for slowly dying,
A misnomer for someone
Recovering from a life time of
Excess, destined never to fully
Recover. The ring of his bones
Was particularly hollow today,
A profound bass from hells
Past and future.

25.05.2023 13:53

On a different note, today is our 32nd wedding anniversary, so I wrote the below at half past midnight, and then transcribed it into a card. And below that is our age-old wedding video – fuzzy, jerky, frazzled. It may not play in some countries.

Sometimes I’m afraid
I’ll end up having nothing to say
Despite feeling the same way as
When we first met, and even
The fear dries up the words before
They can flow. But not now.

I want to sit on a bench
With you and look out to sea
With calm inside us and flat
Water ahead of us, all the
Storms faded except for

It’s been a long way already,
This journey of unpredictabilities,
And to have come this far and still
Love is in itself beyond what most
Of the world achieve. I just want
It to be endless. Perhaps it is.

R 25/05/2023 00:30

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