Launch Pad Poems Poem by GRANT FRASER

Here I am

the man who has two work
twice to make it

happen,

there you are,

I don't know if
you even get up at night?

it's not for me to guess...

but the clock hasn't stopped,
really say, for anybody,

even if we were at odds,
as teenagers...
and now we're middle
aged,

but it's important for
me to get up early enough
before I go out again...

so I can try and investigate
something about each day,

during the night I get an urge
to scribble something down,

on scraps of old yellow or
blue card, kicking around
on the depot floor,

For instance:

'The Launch Pad Poems',

how does that sound?

'Why think there's nothing
real in it...? '

'what kind of sound
might be heard in eternity,
when this is all gone...? ',

so much depth, but maybe not enough,
for I wonder if something more
harnessing might solve, say -
my inner poverty...

I say poor in defining
what maybe life is,
just for me...

yeah! I need to get
to that launch pad, somehow,

yeah, or build rockets unlike any others,
I have ever built,
so that I can get away...
from something, I can't explain,

down here....