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.
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?
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
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
Sombre trees stand bare
Paths buried by scorned leaves
Lost travellers weep