Crying

I was talking to someone else

About something else

When I found myself

Unable to speak

Found myself

In tears

Again

.

CLP 10/02/2020

Not Yet Gone

Return to summer

Home to strong shadows, warm skin

Tingles from nettles

.

CLP 06/01/2020

Misfortune

Football, a game for individuals with different talents who enjoy working together to achieve collective success.

.

On responding to her direct enquiry

Honestly, presuming her sincere interest

In what was a matter of the Soul

Not just the Heart

My very Existence

Her follow up shook me

“Unlucky” she said

As if this had been a card game

Or a football match

“Unlucky”

.

CLP 03/01/2020

Vibrato

Heart strings tight, constant

Audible rapid resonance

So loud, it’s painful

.

n.b. The body’s reaction betrays the mind that works so hard to rationalise the situations that life presents on our travels.

CLP 01/01/2020

At the Rutland Arms

They came from afar

Uncertain of what to say

Their loss, our future

.

n.b. We gathered to pay respects to one of our own, a fellow Pompey supporter to some, a close friend to a few. We did not know how to do this, but wanted to be together at this time, the first available home game.

We met at a pub close to Fratton Park and talked of Martin and touched philosophically on the inevitable.

After a few simple words in memory of this lovely man, we raised our glasses and expressed gratitude for having known him.

We then went to the game. It was 0-0.

.

CLP 12/10/2019

On Memory

Cluttered to rafters

Where to keep all the new stuff?

Something has to give

.

n.b. How does one keep track of a lifetime’s experience? What is retained, what forgot? What is important; what not?

Memories of long ago can resurface at the slightest prompt. These can be matters one had not held consciously for decades. Why do these reappear now?

One moment recalled can lead to a string of recollections, not always welcome, nor happy, yet sometimes funny, or joyous.

If we cannot forget how can we move on in life? The ability to forget is a gift too.

We all edit our life stories in the re-telling; to ourselves first, then to others. Who are we? Who we remember, or how others remember us?

Now, where did I put those keys?

CLP 21/09/2019

Single

A pink rose petal fell

Two edges curled, forming a point

It blew past, just heavy enough to catch on the patio’s rough slab, then tumble

Crumple, tear

.

Of course, it reminded me of you

Carried on life’s breeze

On your unsteady path

Head over heels, then flat on your face

And all possible positions in between

Crucified by lust

Pinned by regret

Speared by grief

.

CLP  30th June 2019

On November

Sombre trees stand bare

Paths buried by scorned leaves

Lost travellers weep

.

CLP 10/11/2018