Years go by and some things change.
Counted on by worldly machines
Progress is measured by the strange
Melody of the technicians creations.
Our hunger for the novelty of things
Marks our movement onwards.
Ceaselessly drawn into it’s grasp
They hold us.  Fixed upon counting,
Aided by our mechanical toys, we move.

Beyond the artifice of these things,
Their trifles and fripperies gone,
Lies a different more homely place;
Easy to describe, merciless to find,
It’s quietness hurts so we hide
Amongst the technicians toys,
Where the marking of time sedates.
Finding true time in our moments
Together goes beyond playfulness.

Reflections place, joy filled anxiety,
Captures a different playful pace;
Betwixt and between-ness hides it.
Stepping beyond technical growth,
Even for a moment, refreshes we:
Who live incessantly in machines,
Amongst the driven desireousness
Essential to our societies being.
Our craving, a different oneness.

From splendid isolation’s thought
Lies a gift of wholeness undreamt,
A place where joyfulness resides
Unbridled by time, ever present,
Yet seldom found: Breathed,
Sensed, an emotional humanity
Ripping at it’s seams waiting
To escape anxieties binding
And force a simplicity upon us.

Words created mark our difference.
Listening to their rhapsody opens up
The possibilities of moving beyond.
Hopeful joining of an accepting world
Moves us from our island living.
Our unique words define us,
Refine us, mark our technicals,
Give voice to our fearful cries,
And express our wonder at our place.

Each voice speaks into it.
The power grows with each word.
Plugged, preventing full release,
Few have found it’s potentiality.
Let those who it touches most
Find a technicians socket and plug,
Wordly join our two distinct worlds.
Forever bound, timelessness
Will carry us on to a new world.

Once joined, an uneasy restlessness
Pervades, recognised as waitful searching.
Accepting and rejecting they play together.
In our ‘we’ world technically joined,
In our ‘I’ world emotionally reconciled
Our failings and our joyfully given gifts
Co-exist in a knowing vision where
Easy pleasure comes, even in our pain.
This is the simple world I crave.



David Scanlon – England – (1963 - )

Scanlon. D (2016) The Poet, The Prisoner & The Fool. The Foolish Poet Press, Wilmslow, England. I CRAVE A SIMPLE WORLD. Page Number 5.


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