Awashed in day now gone
sitting quietly alone in my thoughts
while the day replays in the variants of happenings
where both mind and matter take hold to be examined
by soulful discernment in search of contentment.
Sifting both thought and action to my liking or dislike
unafraid of being too much or not enough
determined to lay grasp to the betterment of my own ideas for improving,
in some small way, the multifaceted completion left behind
in moments never to be lived again.
A day now behind me never to be lived again
no matter how like it other days may seem.
Letting go of my otherwise lacking
determining ever after to be more than just a passing moment
lost to the hands of time where others look and see nothing
while I lived to see myself fulfilling life's tasks given me.
For what is a day in the life of
if not for nothing else but becoming again
one's self in a world where replication is so prominent.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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