Autumn has well and truly arrived. The lawn is green with a mottled brown counterpane of fallen leaves.
Rain falls gently as I gather the last of the greenhouse tomatoes and carry them to the house in the fold of my shirt. Tonight they will be put to good use.
Rose lingers beech hedge shimmers water droplets.
Noises off kitchen industry Anne pops her head through door welcome smile cup of tea.
Inner stillness.
I mountain constant noise,
Stream dances, rivulet in a hurry
Random butterfly fluttersby,
Doesn’t wait for me
Sheep scampers over
Breeze bent grasses
Lichen rock scattered stones
Breathtaking measures pace
Relax and stare
Clouds sleep
I lie awake in the darkness, listening.
The constant rhythmic flow of my breathing.
Still alive.
No traffic noise.
Anne stirs and gets up.
She doesn’t realise I am awake.
Feels odd without her there.
No touching of bodies, no sensing her presence.
Hours later she returns, shuffles, falls sleep.
The pre-dawn chorus lures me back to dreamland.
UK is covered in cloud.
2 worlds
Above the cloud
Below the cloud
We are descending
Gradually approaching the cloud
What lies below?
Frozen Arctic wasteland
Ordinary people leading ordinary lives
Is such a thing possible?
Bit of a disappointment I can’t see the Isle of Man. Maybe we aren’t there yet?
Strange to think that below the clouds might be the Irish sea
Boats
Waves
Fish
The cabin attendant goes about her business. She is prepared for landing
Now I can see the sea. It looks calm
The plane banks and Laxey comes into view
Followed by Doolish
Walk time
Screenshot brain
Needs break
Warm coat
And socks
Buy bread
In Bail
coffeeshop lifestyle
c’mon
Whisky glass, once full now almost empty, sits there in front of me on the kitchen table. There is no music. Only my thoughts. Thoughts of nothing in particular. No memories. Only a sense of being. Warmth. The level in the bottle has gone down. Someone else must be drinking it. No thoughts. A spinning mind full of imagery. Colours swoop in and zoom out. Hypnotic sounds. Wide awake eyes see everything. Amber clarity. Empty bottle…
Today I bought some crumpet, rhymes with trumpet
I like a bit of crumpet, me
Almost too hot to hold and dripping with butter
To be eaten quickly so you can move on to the next one.
Today I bought two packets of porridge, 39 pence each
I’m not a porridge lover, me
Stifflingly tasteless, whatever you add to give flavour
To be eaten by others whilst you have something else.
Today I bought some bog roll, luxury, pack of nine
Bog roll is something I find essential, me
Unless you have one of those posh Japanese loos
That clean you up afterwards, which we don’t.
Today I bought some smoked salmon, it wasn’t on the list
More than she bargained for, Anne
But that’s what you get when I go to the shops,
Spot a “bargain” and assume that someone will eat it.
We did:)
The rain dances overhead as daylight moves out of sight to the West. Noise thunders. Dead leaves litter the garden. Wind rocks the branches of trees. I am inside, warm and glad.
story of success,
paper scrunching, twig snapping match striking
flames consume
coal engulfed settles into long decline
room warms up and the fire dies
the poetry of the hotel room
wanted. poet to write about hotel rooms. only geniuses need apply. this one is mostly right angled.
the right angled hotel room
square with rectangular bits. bolt ons. that’s the nuts and bolts of it.
the bed is still unmade
I went out leaving what I thought was a “make up my room” sign hanging off the door. Later I realised that it actually said do not disturb. Not sure if that’s it for the day now…
Funny how at home I’ll happily just chuck the duvet in the general direction of the bed and call it “made” whereas in the hotel I need it to be done properly. What if I have guests?
Oh dark mother, once more I suckle at your caffeinated teat.
From the bean, via steam, your emanations are all at once bitter and sweet.
With milk or alone both comforts and uplifts.
Please accept my humble thanks for your abundant gifts.
soup stirs on stove top
dishwasher whirrs
sounds of tidying up in kitchen
running water
plastic pot moves slightly on drainer
out of window branches blow
hot tea warms hand
jug filled sits on table
Low winter sun marks approach to solstice. House is warm. Kitchen radio talks sport, fire crackles. Clock makes its silent way.
On the 5th of May I didn’t wake up,
My eyes stayed shut and my kidneys packed up;
My lungs didn’t breathe and my bowels didn’t grind,
My ears heard nothing, and nor did my mind!
The broken fence, the creaky gate,
General repairs would have to wait;
I wasn’t about to paint the shed,
I couldn’t buy paint – because I was dead!
I’d slipped away, and I never knew;
Nobody told me my time was due!
The things I had planned mattered no more,
And Daisy slept with the angels, cos I didn’t snore!
You, most roguish of sycamores
shall not escape the fate of your siblings
mown dead with the first spring growth
of the recovering lawn.
The sanctuary of the hedge
no longer available
when you looked above the parapet,
were spotted and now lie sawn.
You shall not be remembered.
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