IT WAS RAINING OUTSIDE

Some ideas are like shooting stars they flash through my head and are never seen again. This one arrived and departed leaving me to fashion it into something coherent which took much longer.

PROOF

Opinions were aired

for no other reasons

than it was raining outside

and people have mouths

and a need to use them

One of those days

you know the sort

when the talk settled on Jesus

was he real

She thought he could have been

though wasn’t sure

whatever he was

he was only a man

the rest of it was made up

Then her husband chipped in

what do you know

none of it was real

and you’re the fool

for thinking that it was

Those of us listening

would rather have been elsewhere

[preferably with a drink in our hands]

and then I reflected on

how many times this conversation has happened

since that day they nailed him to a tree

Who has not questioned another's existence? The further from the event the more doubt. This may appear in a post again. I am not sure it's there yet.

Naissam Jalal has a new album out, it's well worth a listen. Here's Tear's in Delhi's Fog.

Until next time.

AS YOU DID IN THOSE DAYS

This poem began as a stray thought. I was looking at the cacti in the utility when and image of a flowering cactus popped into my head from my schooldays. Eventually I fashioned it into this poem.

THOSE DAYS, THESE DAYS

Mr Farr on the bus from Penketh

briefcased as usual

all scuffed tan leather,

he’s on the top deck smoking

[as you did in those days]

with a cactus in a paper bag

he was a succulent man

prickly but fair he told all the school

That week he showed each class

the just about sprouting cactus flowers

and proudly informed us

this is the first time in seven years

and were we impressed

I cannot remember being very

but the event managed to lodge

somewhere inside my head

Over half a century later

for reasons I cannot explain

I have two cacti on a window ledge

that flower every six months

as regular as clockwork

I think they realise that the jig is up

and they’d better get on

with it while there’s still time

Most of it is taken from life. Mr Farr [who has appeared in another poem] did live in Penketh, and he was one of those people who enjoyed smoking cigarettes. Six foot plus tall, he used to say it was a good job smoking stunted your growth. We children would laugh at that. I think that this draft is not quite there. Watch this space.

Here's Calexico and Iron and Wine. I can't believe it's so long since they first recorded together.

Until next time.

YOU NEED NO MAP

Happy New Year. This is the fifteenth year of the blog. It has run for longer than I would have believed possible when I began it in 2011. Here is another meta poem about writing.

NOTES TO THE READER

I will not tell you how to read this poem

punctuation is not my strong point

besides I would not be so directive 

There are no instructions buried within

the pattern of the words on the page

is of my choosing

You must make them

speak inside your own head

or give voice to them wherever you are

I know you have the skill

you have read poems before

you need no map

The poem has been kicking about for some time and is nearly there I think. I truly have no  suggestions for how you read my work. Trust your ear and don't expect the first read through to be the best.

Here's the late, great Kevin Ayers.

Until next time.