Kevin. J. Nolan, Dublin born, holds an honours degree in Philosophy from The Milltown Institute. He also studied fine art in the National College of Art and Design. His writing has appeared in, Skylight 47, Colony and Studies, among other journals. Also a singer/composer he has recently released his debut album entitled “Fredrick & The Golden Dawn”, notably he has recorded a duet, “Aubade” with Julie Feeney.
The Value Of The Worthless Poem
Forgive me for
Lying so deeply and sweetly through
Out my life. It appears that I needed to
Count out what I wasn’t, before I
Could accumulate what I was.
I now shiver in a room, it’s a pure feeling.
Nobody locates this particular temperature in themselves
And this pureness unless they have felt a certain
Unpleasant, unrelenting, fatigue of the spirit.
Clinging to my book and cigarette daily
I think like a river, the thoughts cleanse my illness;
Neither good nor bad, they just are, for now, and
I just am, too, for now. You see, this is why I
Have no longer the need for reaction and why
I can tell you of how I lied so deeply, so sweetly,
Lovingly and naively throughout.
I now spend much time wondering,
Perchance could I hold on to this peace that
I feel now, or is it a fleeting answer to the absolute and unfleeting
Language of pain which narrates everything
I know or have ever known and will never know. But I feel I can be
Forgiven for my appetite for emptiness and aloneness.
I am fully myself when I am alone and I
Could spend long periods with myself happily,
Although the icing on the cake of aloneness is
To dilute its solution with the company of one you love.
I’ll always love you, who ever you are now and now and now.
Only now with you, can I sustain the gravity of living.
Now I’ll away and cease this worthless poem.
In this poem there is an acrostic (meaning a word spelled out with
the first letter of each line). The word spelled out is ‘Floccinaucinihilipilification’.
This word means, ‘the action or habit of estimating something as worthless.’
It’s in moments like these that you get a sense of it.
You’re not sure quite what it is. It’s so subtle,
you hardly even
but that’s just it,
you do notice it.
It’s more real here and now, in this moment
than all the seemingly reliable elements of your life.
Like a sleeping love
who extends her arm
to the empty pillow beside her.
It’s an unconscious yearning
It’s her true voice, which speaks in her absence
and like the poem itself,
it’s an in-between moment,
a pause between two pieces of silence
where you saw, briefly.