Tom Clark writes at least one poem every day.    Today, he wrote one for me.


Looking at this picture I have just lately taken of this waterfall

can’t be compared with looking at my earlier picture

of this waterfall

or with being at the waterfall itself,

the philosopher king mused.

At the bottom, you get covered in spray and the rocks are slippery.

It’s wonderful.

Very loud.

Looking at the picture of the waterfall,

you miss all this,

you miss the rushing sound of the water,

you miss the thunderous reverberation of the torrent through the gorge,

you miss the rainbow colours and halos and the diaphanous light,

you miss the delirious sensation of being enveloped in the cascade,

you miss the vertiginous feeling of being tumbled headfirst into the chasm,

you miss the delicious feeling of the foamy backwash upon your body,

you miss the euphoric impression of a water spirit world whooshing and swooshing about you,

though of course if you’ve actually been there

and experienced all these things

even just the once

you can later summon them up in memory

and while that is not as good as the real thing,

said the philosopher king to himself,

it is something.

ⓒTom Clark

Nobody’s ever dedicated a poem to me before.  I’m very happy about it.