One word, ill-judged
Hair-trigger response claps shut
Snaps conversation
.
CLP 17/02/2020
On Screen
Don’t sit so close t’it
You’ll damage your eyes! said dad
He’d just been smoking
.
n.b. Aggressive, domineering father, picking up on his teenage daughter’s posture while reading her mobile as they sat in the queue at the health centre.
The man had been outside for five minutes smoking a cigarette, which he threw into the street.
Draw your own conclusions.
.
CLP 17/02/2020
On Truth
Water-trapped air
Agitated, freed, rises
Bursts open in sun
.
CLP 17/02/2020
In Dread
Of speaking the truth
Avoidance was preferred
Revealing the truth
.
CLP 17/02/2020
Difficult
Life’s greatest regrets
Include tasting grass elsewhere
Not taking the plunge
.
CLP 16/02/2020
On Memory
A tune filtered through
Happy chatter, chink and drink
“…holy ground once more”
.
n.b. The other night a song played by the Irish folk band in a bar in Southsea, from an album we listened to as children, before we had the wherewithal to buy our own, caught my brother’s attention. The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem album, bought by my father, featured a great love song, “Holy Ground“.
Hearing it being played through the talk of the bar, my brother said, “We know this one!” We did, from childhoods more than 50 years previous.
The magic of music. I could see the record player; the cabinet it sat in; the room it sat in; the view from the window; the house; the memory of singing along.
CLP 16/02/2020
Déjà vu
Weather dial unmoved
West Wind ripping up the land
Here we go again
.
‘Every day is like Sunday’ sang Morrissey, whereas now every Sunday is a retread of last Sunday. Do stop me if you think you’ve heard this one before.
.
CLP 16/02/2020
