We are family

We are family. pic.jpg

 

All of this will go. Be gone.

I am in the dissolving instant

already dust  of the future

That text from Gilly brought it home,

how she remembered us on a patch of grass in Southbourne

and me imagining it was a pitch, a full-blown wicket

and I could score

make centuries and maiden over’s with my cousin

unaware of her sex or its implications

and now,  perhaps half a century later

I am returned by words and the memories of another person’s cache

of history to a place and a time I thought I had lost

Sometime soon I will blink and someone else will be reminding me

of where I have been

By God, is that what I get from walking the Dog

the intoxicating sense of memory unearthing scattered parts

of me

5.1.16

5.1

A feeble mist hangs subservient

Beneath the blanched winter sky

And under foot grass gamely springs

Through soil that is soaked

Partial it seems to any impression

The indent of feet. Tyre tracks

All casual traffic etched in frosted dew.

Beyond the line of trees

I hear the pullulating rumble

Of a motorway carrying earnest people

On their high missions

All of us oblivious to these vivid truths

The simple things we forget

Because they are casual

The loose change of the everyday

That slips through the lining and seams

Beyond physical constraints

But I am minded to interpret this

As time passing ( as it does)

That half perceived commodity

Before the lights go down.

Free gifts

 

Free GiftsSociety confers status upon those

Who leave footprints

But it forgets the ones that whisper

Omitting to grant gifts to the quiet

In case the strident march

Is ignored or simply allowed to pass

So when you receive your inscribed pen

An embossed note-pad or signature robe

Sit up and clap and know

That you are in the club

We, the mute drones

Will sponsor you and lay tinder bones

As sleepers for your railway

For loud, exclusive progress

And wilt as the whistle of celebrations

Rounds the curve and vanishes

We losers will wait once again

For the late running train

We are patient because we know that virtue

Consigns value to a different order