Finally,
Patience running out,
We win a table,
Get the reality juice,
Collect the bacon.
In this suddenly-slow,
Quiet desperation noise
We notice
The fish look a lot
Less glamorous
This morning.
Finally,
Patience running out,
We win a table,
Get the reality juice,
Collect the bacon.
In this suddenly-slow,
Quiet desperation noise
We notice
The fish look a lot
Less glamorous
This morning.
Month of the dark-sun day
Is come and gone;
Excitement and pilgrimage are over,
Faith may still exist,
If just a little paler than before.
All hope is left behind.
But I am still surrounded by the masses,
The now-uncomfortable neon buzz
Of people’s expectations hemming me in:
Pressures, white-noise and demands.
My hair-trigger patience, screwed down too tight,
Stretched so fine for too-damned long
In denial deference to their suffocating presence,
Their petty wants, the ignoble trinkets they
Think to need, those truths they believe they do not,
The hunchback minotaur shadows that,
Drip by drip, stain their pale-limbo souls,
the noises they make – insect clamour – without speaking,
While they invade my precious spaces, steal my breaths.
This be new-hook moon territory, and
I wish to be done
With the all the demands they impose.
For the moment –
Though you and I
Are both the poorer for it –
You are the power
(And don’t we all know it!);
You who shout from the screens,
You who worship the silver.
But we the patient peoples,
Of the Tribes of Trees, know
That this moon will change,
That these tides will turn.
So we pull in another breath,
Turn up our collars
And wait.
Been away. Not travelling; just absent. Been away. Again. But this time my feet stayed in the same place. My muse went away. Again. Was it my fault? Of course … but I guess she needs space too, to visit her own sources of inspiration. Away.
While I dallied, uselessly, and useless, between weak guitar runs and wet days that leaked bad energies. Nothing came. Nothing came out right. Again.
Did it ever?
Been surrounded by books, often my favourite company. New stories, plots, characters, facts, you’re a reader you know what I’m saying … but everything was going in,
in,
in,
in:
no sparks, no fires being set off, no leaps of disjointed thingummywhatsit coming together.
No bl”%*y writing!
Couldn’t see the thoughts for the iron?
The phases of the moon … which was honey when it should have been bone?
Bad karma, not enough sleep, not enough you know what else, too much this, too many that … and introspection never pays the going rate.
I smile to think it, but patience is over-rated, just sometimes has to be enough.
Image:imperomedia.com
Sun, bright redeeming sun
Shocks and surprises me this dawn
As I patiently creep between
The long made bed and
The one I am slowly building. Continue reading
Steel skeletons,
Scales of carbon grace
These day-bright dragons
Have geology’s patience
As they rest in squat-mode
They preen and purr at
One another, at shadow-clones.
Then, launched by a flash,
They growl orange and white,
Green and monster-black
By the first split-second corner.
In this fierce black-top fandango,
Sitting on the shoulders of every bend
Nike’s endorphin angels
Are urging you on.
Defiant speed and dare-jester balance
Are appropriate respect for tradition’s heroes
And the tomorrow-champions.
Paused at the borders
Of a place
Named Evening:
Where day-long fog
Leaks from the spaces ‘tween
Bare-bone beeches,
Where the past and anthems
Are neither denied
Nor forgotten.
With a little luck,
Some patience and sweet time
We’ll reach Nightfall …
But let’s savour the wine,
Music and candles first eh?
13/12/2012
“Sun, sea air and patience Watson: all else will come”
Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes, The Lion’s Mane)
Perhaps
Patience destroys love,
Destroys love
And lovers.
Perhaps
Waiting for
The right moment,
Throwing beauty
After the beautiful
Is always wasted.
But it’s
Still patience,
Still beauty,
Still beautiful.
27/7/2012
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Original Nature Photojournalism
Garden Blog of the Year 2016
Welcome to my world: digging, harvesting and other stuff
for your family
The evolution of an old farmhouse, an American woman, an Englishman and their dogs.
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If you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be headed right now?
surfing my tsunami
blowing through the cobwebs of my mind
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Writing the Wrong, Right, and Ridiculous
Life after the Care Farm
The most Dangerous plant to sleep under is the water lilly
Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
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