Friday, 15 April 2022


Recently I spent a morning walking round Plymouth. It was unexpected. A meeting I had to attend had been cancelled at the last moment due to Covid and I decided to have a look at the city centre. I had been a student in Plymouth, back in the early 1980's and I knew the place well. Like everywhere it had changed over time. As I meandered I could not help comparing the reality with the memory, perhaps this is nostalgia, but to me it seemed the nearest I'd ever come to time travel.

Practical Time Travel

this used to be a bookshop

that covered two floors

wall to wall books

now it trades for a charity he has never heard of

all that they can scrape together

makes constellations on the floor

next door had been an Oddbins

he would buy the house red

to take to student parties

everything had seemed so permanent then

today is an unplanned visit to Plymouth

which has him comparing now

to the city that lives in his head

and reality comes in a shabby second

The poem may not be complete, I think I need the Secrets perspectives on it. I am standing too close. I did, however, dash this off.

there is no way back

no magic door

no wormhole wardrobe

to effect the switch from here

to some romanticised past

this is where we live

so fight to change tomorrow

as yesterday’s stale bread is hard to swallow

This is not going anywhere, too much tell and not enough show. Here's the Human League from the 1980's.

Until next time.

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