Sextant Poem by GRANT FRASER

Today I watched
huge waves whip
the shore front,

they were getting
kind of tidal like,

sometimes the water
floods in past the tight
seal of all my thought,

different kinds of
drowning and worries,

predictions entered
me simultaneously,
when I was just a kid
in the seventies,

always conflicts,
something about the world
coming to an end....

how did we get here,
who put in the dread?

or was it just the Media,
and the global thing...

I mean I do my job now
pay all my bills,
worry about the big
big words I'll never
get to grips with,

like what kind of cement
are you,
something to fill in all
the holes...

the elasticity of self
knowledge always stretching,

and I can't let go yet,
because it would seem
there is no real proof,

about anything?