Friday, 26 April 2019


I cannot remember where I took this photograph, or if it is the chair, the head or the fez that was £28. The scene just called out to be photographed.
A revised poem. You can read the earlier version here.

Human Geology

the band crank it out, urgent, loud,
such a brief time to impress

below them hands in the air
almost a single mass of flesh
caught up in their moment

others further away
drink, talk, laugh, vape
the festival the backdrop to their private dramas

unnoticed in viz-vests
people paid by the hour,
stoop to collect cans into plastic bags

I know that when I last revised it I was concerned with layout and this time I have let the poem breathe more. It can be illuminating to play with layout. I think you have to live with a poem for some time before it reveals its true shape.
This next poem wrote itself. It is what I would call a character poem, rather than a poem based on experience.
so he gets older
his ghosts draw closer
elbow each other aside
hurl memories into his face
his life is far from calm
there can be no plain sailing through the storm

throughout his waking hours
his consciousness is wearing riot gear
the city of his self burns through the night
dreams are one long firefight
in this present one

he pretends he does not know the rules
but you too would deny all knowledge
with the muzzle in your face
more cold than interstellar space
and dawn five hours distant

It came as a series of images that I wrote down and linked later. Then I left it undisturbed for a couple of months. It is not yet complete.
This week I have been listening to lots of jazz. I think that could be my default setting these days, but here is something different.
I've long been a fan of Traffic and I've just found this video of Steve Winwood from 2012.

Until next time.

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