I walk awhile
And I am aware
I walk this way
To stop and stare
I’d walk for miles
Or at least a half
But it is my trouble
A failing calf
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
I walk awhile
And I am aware
I walk this way
To stop and stare
I’d walk for miles
Or at least a half
But it is my trouble
A failing calf
I don’t have a window
That I can sit and look out of
But I can stand
As might have done those weavers
To catch the light in their Yorkshire cottages
I do have a standing desk
Which I could move
To be front and square of the view
But what about my sitting space
And my hi-fi stereo separates
My legs feel cool
I haven’t bothered
With the thermal long johns
I have bought a lot of food
That I shouldn’t have
So I will eat it quickly
My two grandsons
School photographs
Look good in my window
The blackbird was still
I was intrigued by its stillness
I looked away for a moment
But then it was gone
Although on looking deeper
I saw it again
Flitting from branch to branch
Suddenly quite restless