24 min
047: Man In The Arena. The Josh Lynott Project
-
- Self-Improvement
Recorded: April 1, 2024
Madeira, Portugal.
Major tech difficulties.
Poem: Clunky.Somewhere between the horizon and my kitchen,The sun appeared, coffee in hand. What are you doing there? I tipped granola into my bowl of honey.And went on with my day. Three flights, three beds, three daysScrambled eggs look at me with envyYou’re not one of us.Get out of the pan, go back to sleep.I feel flat, but stand five foot tenIs the rabbit on the moon really making riceAll I want is one grain.One grain of Familiarity,Calm,Routine.Clunk is as clunky does,Like the gear stick in my right hand.The accelerator should be on my left, it’s not.But I don’t really care,It all becomes one.So what’s there to learn under an orange roof,Some days it takes five days to walk the dogClothes talk to more people inside outRain laughs at you when it’s sunny insideJournals fill up with two cups of coffee.Poetry sense, makes doesn’t, I got it wrong, say it again.Poetry makes doesn’t sense,Say it again, I got it wrong.Poetry doesn’t make sense.The joy of clunkyIs like the sweet fruit with bruisesOften overlooked, but when devouredYou’re glad it fellAnd no-one else picked it up.I want to walk to the sun, Meet it before the horizon but not at my kitchen.Whilst it’s still bathing, We can talk about clunky,Just like my coffee machine.Just like my brain this week.
---
Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/josh-lynott-project/message
Recorded: April 1, 2024
Madeira, Portugal.
Major tech difficulties.
Poem: Clunky.Somewhere between the horizon and my kitchen,The sun appeared, coffee in hand. What are you doing there? I tipped granola into my bowl of honey.And went on with my day. Three flights, three beds, three daysScrambled eggs look at me with envyYou’re not one of us.Get out of the pan, go back to sleep.I feel flat, but stand five foot tenIs the rabbit on the moon really making riceAll I want is one grain.One grain of Familiarity,Calm,Routine.Clunk is as clunky does,Like the gear stick in my right hand.The accelerator should be on my left, it’s not.But I don’t really care,It all becomes one.So what’s there to learn under an orange roof,Some days it takes five days to walk the dogClothes talk to more people inside outRain laughs at you when it’s sunny insideJournals fill up with two cups of coffee.Poetry sense, makes doesn’t, I got it wrong, say it again.Poetry makes doesn’t sense,Say it again, I got it wrong.Poetry doesn’t make sense.The joy of clunkyIs like the sweet fruit with bruisesOften overlooked, but when devouredYou’re glad it fellAnd no-one else picked it up.I want to walk to the sun, Meet it before the horizon but not at my kitchen.Whilst it’s still bathing, We can talk about clunky,Just like my coffee machine.Just like my brain this week.
---
Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/josh-lynott-project/message
24 min