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Friday, 3 November 2017

67

My hands have a white sheen
As though the mornings frost
Wants
For a prolonged reception

Or, that the China clay
From all those years ago
Wants
To have one more chance
To polish me off


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Thursday, 2 November 2017

66

I knew the sky was beautiful, big and blue
I just didn't know how to take the photograph
I knew I fancied to live my whole life with you
I just didn't know you thought I was having a laugh

I might eat potatoes
I won't eat hay
I might drive forever
Till the end of the day

I saw the sadness in her eyes
Her soles hardly left the pavement
She shuffled along in her bland clothing
Could I help her
Would my words help her
Might it help to talk
Does it always help to talk
I listened to Helen Dunmore
Reading her poem Wild Strawberries
In that one instant I thought
Of the almost violent beauty
And the ever vigilant pain
At the very extremities of love


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Wednesday, 1 November 2017

65

The coffee goes cold, at home I would put it in the microwave for forty seconds, take a sip then let it go cold again; I would repeat this process several times or more, I am a stickler for repetition.

My thoughts turn to those writing colleagues who I met at college; of how they brought something into my life that I had lost whilst getting caught up on the treadmill of work and family life. They may appear to some as fleeting relationships, for what is a year or two, in a life of four score year or more.

I suspect that a sense of community was some thing to do with it, and the relief of no longer being the leader; I wasn't the boss, I wasn't the father, I wasn't the provider, I wasn't even one expected to offer love and understanding; but I think I joined in, I hope I joined in; I think I made friends, I hope I made friends.

To be a part of something brings a richness, carries a vitality into my life. Right now I am taken to that talented young footballer, who asked me how we could beat our opponents from several leagues above us. Richard I said, we will bring passion, and fire, and spirit, they will be overwhelmed by our enthusiasm, our ferociousness; and you Richard, you will show them the sort of flair that most of them can only dream of. We won that cup game, but not the next; this episode in my youth helped form my now long held belief; that each new challenge needs a new leader.

I change my glasses, I am considering going out into the sunlight; I would be happy to sit here all day writing, yet I know full well that there is a slight restlessness within me. I guess everyone suffers a bit from the inability to sit still, unable to be calm, and quiet, to be settled with a settled mind; I am lucky, I suffer from it much less than most.


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Tuesday, 31 October 2017

64

I will order another coffee, in a few minutes, but for now I am indulging myself with the peaceful quiet. Even within myself I am almost peaceful, almost quiet; yet still alive to beauty, to the beauty of people and their places, I have just watched a video of my grandson Thomas, singing happy birthday to me, from his holiday cottage in Wales.

Earlier I had the luxury of five snoozes, each with its own set of dreams, each with its own trail back to my youth, each with its own knowledge, good knowledge, that another snooze could so easily follow.

I am at Carsington Water in the Peak District, it is very cold, and very beautiful. I walked around, took photographs; through the stones on stone island, took photographs; of the birds, in the water, and in the sky.

A second cup of coffee, but no second cake, those days are over. Sunlight falls onto my table, and reflects brightly from the aluminium chairs and tables outside on the patio. The sun forges a thick, bright and solid stripe, straight down the water towards me; I am reminded of the song Do You Realise by The Flaming Lips.

I thought that today I might write something deep and meaningful, for I am reading Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude at the moment. It is a memoir; the first part being about his father and their relationship. He claims to have had little rapport with his dad, and I think that mine, and my father's relationship, apart from a few sparkling moments, was much the same. I couldn't tell you much about my father's psyche, or what he thought his raison d'ĂȘtre was.

Suddenly, a slight darkness comes to mind, and I declare that today I will not try to remember anything that I don't want to remember. I will try to stay on the path of the ethereal light.


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Monday, 30 October 2017

63

Long shadows
Ice cold, zero degrees
The waves lap
I shoot a short video
Later I might listen
To British Sea Power
Remember
Being sat by your side
On our sofa-settee
Watching their video


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