August is always a month of reckoning for me; a time when I reflect on the year thus far, feel the weight of time passing, and lament how quickly summer slips away. Walking down the hustle and bustle of Marylebone High Street on a warm Saturday afternoon in mid-August, with the sun blazing at 26 degrees, I found myself already haunted by autumn’s approach – particularly as the cool breeze nipped my bare arms when the sun set in the early evening.
This paradox of mine, resisting silence and stillness, yet always craving calm amid city life, is something I’ve only recently come to recognise, and it frequently weaves its way into my writing. Themes of time, stillness, and nostalgia seem to surface again and again. From this tension emerged my latest poem, Fragments of Stillness.
Fragments of Stillness
I hold fragments of stillness
In the palm of my hand.
And in their reflection
I face myself.
I can’t bear silence,
Yet I seek calm.
I don’t want to stand still,
Yet I resist change.
I have everything I could want.
But I won’t realise it
Until it’s gone.
Even in August,
I sense the chill of autumn.
Nights draw in.
The breeze nips at my neck,
As does my age.
Although I long
To outrun change,
Fragments of stillness
Graze my palm
And slip through my fist.
Logan Darkwoods 