poetry ~ prose ~ reflections ~ dreaming
there’s a guitar
standing in the corner
it never makes a sound
days of silence
like a sudden body blow
fill up old world rooms
with memories of blues
haunting dark corners
while a mild case
of decay
covers
the dead
and the living
and
Danny and me
we listen for those notes
that never get played
he drums his fingers
on my thighs
while I
just keep on dreamin’
8 June 2018
Somewhere in the United Kingdom
Cycle 3 of 6 Chemo treatments happened yesterday morning, although, at a reduced dose.
I don’t know but I’m guessing I won’t feel like making words for awhile.
I don’t feel like making words now.
I don’t know if it’s silly and futile to try to maintain a blog while going through cancer treatment but for the moment I’m trying to persist.
On Tuesday I was in the hospital for pre-chemo blood work.
I’ve recently discovered the poet, Alice Oswald.
While I was waiting I read her poem:
DUNT: A POEM FOR A DRIED-UP RIVER
I like this first verse:
Very small and damaged and quite dry,
a Roman water nymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone
I like the idea of summoning rivers.
Blessings,
8 May 2018
and when I reach out
to touch something
that is not me
I feel a kind of
numbness
hear a kind of
dull static
that’s how I know
I’m still waiting
for you
5 May 2018
Sussex Coast, England
There is a baby
blackbird
chirping
just
outside my
bedroom window
It is early
Sunday morning
thin grey light
illuminates
my white curtains
Only The Spaniel
and I are awake
and the baby bird
singing
for breakfast
A hush
settles
over everything
like dust
There is a
quiet
emptiness
about
every
Sunday morning
Sunday Morning Coming Down
which is a song
about hangovers
about living fast
and hard
These days
I’m hungover
on Life
on Death
on the Unknowable
while the quiet
seeps into my heart
filling my chest
and with it
a kind of peace
I wasn’t expecting that
He was taller
than me
I don’t remember
how tall
six foot something
I was always
walking behind him
watching his
slim hips
sway
in faded jeans
When I first met him
he looked like Jesus
Later
he looked like
Freddie Mercury
I like
the interchangeability
of Jesus
and Freddie Mercury
I was not the Madonna
but still seemed
to always have
a baby
at my breast
and a scarf
wound
around
my neck
with dreams
of Isadora Duncan
and the freedom
of dance
in my head
I baked
sweet things
for him
and filled him
with pots
of herbal teas
He wrote songs
sang for me
in ways
he could not possibly know
I always walked
behind him
let him tower
over me
There are
moments
of beauty
so ineffable
that all you can do
is stand back
and let their light
touch you
knowing they will
never last
He was taller
than me
27 April 2018
Sussex Coast, England
Today is William Shakespeare’s birthday. Actually that’s not entirely true. We don’t know the date of his birth but this is the day we celebrate the birth of the Bard and also the day of his death.
One year I spent an entire day wandering the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon. It was Shakespeare’s birthday. In the afternoon I sat in the garden of his place of birth and reflected on the magic of life and the adventures it affords us. And I took the photograph below.
Here’s a short song from Henry VIII that I like:
He breathes
and she smells
smoke
Dead man
walking
It happens
too much
now
These
vignettes
from
another time
A word
a passing comment
It’s going to be a scorcher today
And she’s off
lost to her
imagination
in all its surreal
darkness
and sometimes
light
Yesterday
the sun
was shining
She wasted
that day
in sickness
Today was
gray
lost
in time
Too much
time
searching
for blue skies
Blue sky thinking?
And she’s off
Like stepping
off a cliff
and landing
in the deep
blue sea
She knows
the sea
moves in waves
takes in water
until she is full
again
And walking
and listening
for his breathing
again
15 April 2018
Sussex Coast, England
