memory

I bought a bike on Sunday to get some much needed exercise. My Father couldn't have been happier to the point you would have thought it was his bike since he went over it with a fine tooth comb, examining every mechanical part and cleaning it.

The following is inspired by him talking and the incident in the garden.

I have decided to return to writing my biography, which I left previously at 50,000 words (more about that later). The past is a funny thing as sometimes it makes it's way back into the present and this is where the inspiriation for the following comes from.

The Past

Librarians walk through the skeleton
pause
lift a bone,
run their teeth down the spine
try to find their own name
etched and remembered.
A dust ridden volume
they find me,
resurrected by their own hand,
to ring the doorbell
and wonder why no one is home.

My father often says, "People don't accept death today" . To accept death is to accept life

Thinking on this I have attempted to write something I have tried to do before without success.

It is a piece inspired by the quote, my father and the day yet to come.

Grandeur

No repetition raised on irritation
Nor mythering lost between the walls.

Here, photos have become Today
tomorrow, the restless butterfly in the eye

Greatness no longer has a delicate beauty
only steel on stone

Without notation.

Saturday I was on a Stag party, which turned into a pub crawl. I don't drink much anymore to the point I could almost say I don't drink since I can go months in between - unlike my youth.

Somehow the counter got forgotten, something which has not happened for a very very long time. Perhaps I got carried away or maybe the oldself put in an appearance with what I call a "burn out", when you drink until you revisit your stomach lining.

Needless to say I am still recovering from my excess on Saturday and it will probably be tomorrow before I have fully recovered.

I remember as a kid being taught the story of the Samaritan and it got me thinking. The following is a quick doodle to blow some dust away on an idea to return to.


Samaritan

Chalk bones laced in blood.
Robins are no longer stained but the sticky sweet smell remains.

Its late. I'm on a short break in Cornwall but I thought I would write.

I have had a conversation or rather listened to something which has no easy answer. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to draw a line under something since circumstances are such other matters need to be dealt with first.

I like to write about people I encounter for the human soul and spirit in general is perhaps something which is not embraced as much as it should be. We are emotional beings although often we play the stiff upper lip. However, when the hard times come, through the smoke and rain you will find the real person you never saw before, if you only look and listen.