Two poems this post.
The first is a reflection on an incident I saw while stood in a queue.
This arrogant young man in the queue in front of me,
is a good suit with dirty shoes.
Too good a metaphor to miss.
My mother used to say:
Clean shoes are the mark of a true gentleman.
But that was then.
I want to say: Think!
Before you speak those negative thoughts out loud,
grant them life to wound or to hurt.
But he's in full flow.
Perhaps in the next life their roles will be reversed,
maybe they are now.
One thing I know is that every petulant word we utter
adds to our karma.
Next time around he's going to need those broad shoulders.
This next poem is rather more personal.
59 years ago tomorrow
my mother gave me life.
She would always describe this event
as how I nearly killed her.
Bequeathing in me a particular guilt.
I could not explore until I was
much older than she had been at my birth.
When I did unpack it, examined every word,
I saw that I had been holding a piece of the fabric of life.
The sort of thing that just happens.
Yet it stuck to my fingers.
On certain days, like this one,
I hear her speaking those words.Warwick Folk Festival was fun, despite two days of rain. It's well worth going to if you get the chance.
I leave you with Lal & Mike Waterson singing Bright Phoebus.