Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

(19 July 1902 - 13 May 1962 / Birkenhead, England)

One Almost Might - Poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond

Wouldn't you say,
Wouldn't you say: one day,
With a little more time or a little more patience, one might
Disentangle for separate, deliberate, slow delight
One of the moment's hundred strands, unfray
Beginnings from endings, this from that, survey
Say a square inch of the ground one stands on, touch
Part of oneself or a leaf or a sound (not clutch
Or cuff or bruise but touch with finger-tip, ear-
Tip, eyetip, creeping near yet not too near);
Might take up life and lay it on one's palm
And, encircling it in closeness, warmth and calm,
Let it lie still, then stir smooth-softly, and
Tendril by tendril unfold, there on one's hand ...

One might examine eternity's cross-section
For a second, with slightly more patience, more time for reflection?


Submitted by Stephen Fryer


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Read poems about / on: time, life



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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