41.There’s Nothing So Sweet. (July ’14).

This is one of two pieces that share the same title. They are only slightly different, and like people, have more in common than they don’t.

But I was reading them at lunchtime today and enjoying the subtle variation between the two. I never thought they both worked before. I had thought one of them was substandard. Now I can’t tell which of the two that was for certain, but I have an inkling it would’ve been the one without the pebbles. Always been quite fond of that line.

They were written from some depth but didn’t feel overwhelming as some pieces can.  I recall the emotional punch of the reminiscences at the time of writing and it’s not the first time she’s made herself known. At least this time it was at a decent time of day. And while things between the both of us were not unrequited, they were obviously not for the long term. Ah, poetic license, it has a lot to answer for. Though it’s not the only thing.

41.There’s Nothing So Sweet. (July ’14). 

There’s nothing so sweet as unrequited,

And nothing so unrequited as long lost and gone,

I’d blame time but it’s not really the bad guy

I didn’t do more than enough on my own,

There’s no treading the sand that’s fallen,

There’s no stitching up life once it’s torn,


Too long and too often have I remembered,

Remembered those things that I missed,

Those things missed for which I’m still pining,

What I’m pining for’s still warm but it’s past,

Now you’re in mind right on cue,

Old longings arise with old questions,

Old curiosities that prick the soul,

And so, so often,

Often I’ve wondered,


Where are you now

Have your demons been kind to you

Have they been bleeding you dry,

Have they left you alone,

To ponder and cry,

Do you ever get peace,

In your mind and your soul,

Do you ever feel,

That you’re one and the whole,


So, wearied and rain bound there’s the chorus,

The birds as usual they laugh right on time,

And in their crying for laughing I realise,

It’s gotten too early to be considered too late,

Except where you’re concerned.

(c) Jim Laing 2015.


About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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