PRIVATE

I'm private, me

I like my space

And I'm not one

To show my face

At every show

Or posh event

And in this role

I'm quite content

You won't see me

At open nights

The very thought

Gives me stage fright

I'm happy, me

To be alone

And tap this out

Upon my phone

And just in case

If I become

What I dislike

A famous one

Then I'll retreat

To my own home

And sit and write

All on my own

In fact I could

Quite well be safe

As a recluse

Without a face

Without a sight

Of me out there

I will still write

Just from nowhere 

In fact I think

I should be going

I've not been here

Forget this poem.

APPLE SOURCE

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden

Adam and Eve all the food they could feed on 

Adam and Eve could have eaten roast dinners

But chose to go scrumping for apples, the sinners.

WINDING BACK

I think I've put my clocks back a bit too far.

I've woken up wearing Spiderman pyjamas and my maths homework's due in tomorrow.

AUTUMN'S FASHION

By design, early morning sports a brighter look. My dog's unimpressed by the vicissitudes of autumnal fashion. He'll chase any catwalk. This seasons colours are brown, brownish and browner, with hints of mulch. Some trees dare to wear Leaves St Laurent but its going out of style.

WHEN FRIDAY NEVER COMES

I dreamed a dreamed where I was rich

As rich as rich could be,

I saw in it all gold and jewells

All washed up from the sea.

I dreamed a dreamed where I was rich

I suggest that you do so,

Just steer clear of the name I chose

Poor Robinson Crusoe.

TOTAL WARFARE

Dawn. Yesterday's deluge has cleansed this morning's palette. One tiny point of light remains, reflected in a droplet clinging to a blade of grass on my lawn. Is this all that's left of the sun after its battle with the rain? Blindly engaging in total warfare, my dog pees on it.

MUSHY PEAS

Someone's pouring dried peas onto corrugated iron, such is the percussive pitter-patter of the rain. My dog sits at the back door, thinking hard about mixing with this dark mess of a morning. As my best mate he advises to wait until it stops, or at least until the peas are mushy.

THE LOST KEYSTONE COPS

A streetlamp rapidly flickers. Its surrounding light casts everyone as if they are in a jerky, silent movie. The wail of a distant siren hangs in the air, lost until it finds the right ears. Maybe the Keystone Kops are on the lookout for this very streetlamp and a way home...

THE SPACE BETWEEN US

I'm the only customer in the corner shop. The man behind the counter (English is his 2nd language) cheerily says,"You are between others, yes?" 

Strictly accurate but also profound. We are separated by each other. We measure our lives by the length of the space between us.

FIRST MUG OF TEA - 6.15AM

the tinkle of the spoon

the twinkle of the moon

the only sound and sight so far today

the cupping of the drink

while supping at the sink

as morning gets set up before display.

DREAM CHIMNEYS

The sky blushes at promises from a suggestive early morning. The air is playing Statues but fallen leaves and litter keep giving it away. Dreams fade as smoke rises from the dream chimney. A cat slides under a car. Two cats slide out. That must be the catalytic converter at work.

WANDERING WITH GHOSTS

Oh, to wander 'cross the land of my forefathers

And to walk upon the ground on which they trod.

Oh, to wander next to ghosts of Highland farmers

And to find a land that's truly touched by God.

LEAPING LAUGHTER

I meet a mate at the corner shop I haven't seen in ages. He works nights. He's tired but extends a Covid-era elbow in greeting. Forgetting the protocol I shake his elbow. We both laugh and we're right back in the groove as if we only met yesterday. 

Laughter leaps across time.

SOME SAY

 

What happens after the ride?

Some say we go to the Big Ride

Some say we go to the Ghost Train

Some say we queue for the next ride

Some say we go to the same ride

Some say we all get a FastPass

Some say the fair isn't here

Some say it never was.

ISH DAYS

If this morning was in an ID parade I couldn't pick it out. So nondescript is the greyish sky and the coldish air. An Ish day. Ish days are prefect for Sundays. Not one thing nor the other. These are the days between the exciting ones. Wind down days.

I'm happy(ish) about that.

3D PRINTERS - A WARNING

A 3D printer prints a human brain,

The sentient blob feels lonely and in pain.

A 3D printer prints another brain,

And then it prints a 3D printer...

We do not drown in oceans

Nor in nuclear cloud; Our demise is simpler,

3D printers print out loud.

THE TEMERITY OF THE NIGHT

A new day gossips with smudged stars in ancient skies. Footsteps pass by my window. A disembodied life briefly touches mine. The anonymous steps fade, the stars pass behind cloud. The new day then begins a fresh rumour regarding the temerity of the night and its frosty past.

SCHOOL RUN - 22/10/21 - AM

The sun's rays strike through mountain ranges of cloud. Certain kids are captured in bright light. The heavens are bearing down, opening up. Maybe God, Himself, is speaking?

Nah, God knows the best way to speak to kids is through TikTok.

LOSING MY RELIGION

A tiny woman; swallowed by her vape cloud, resembles an angel, until the charming cherub proceeds to spit on the floor. Then I lose my religion. 2 men laugh as I pass. I join in. Better to be on the inside of a joke laughing out. Somehow my laughter stops theirs. I don't get it.

SCHOOL RUN - 21/10/21

My car's milometer reads 20,000. I don't know why but I want it to stop at this very even number and never change.

Kids skip up the hill.

I can't remember the last time I skipped; that day passed me by.

My car's milometer reads 20,001.

HOME AND AWAY

Running late, I find a familiar world with unfamiliar people. It's Morning+1 and I'm looking for Catch-Up. I don't quite belong here, in someone else's routine, watching someone else's soap opera. The scenery fits but I'm simultaneously home and away with my own neighbours.

SCHOOL RUN - 20/10/21 - AM

Thunder and lightning reverses a bright morning. It's so dark when I get to school I imagine all my old teachers brooding overhead, shouting at me for copying an essay about The Tempest. I'm 40 years late in recognising dramatic irony. 

THE DROPPED PENNY

A penny for your thoughts?

A dropped penny for your dropped thoughts

Dropped on the road not taken

Never picked up

Sinking through the earth

Loose change of our loose changes

A dropped penny for your dropped thoughts

A penny for your thoughts?

SCHOOL RUN - 19/10/21 - AM

A bin lorry holds us in a queue of traffic. Impatient parents swing their cars out , playing dare with fate. I'm expecting a practical physics lesson - What Occurs When Immovable Forces Collide?  -

But they swing by, lesson over - for now.

TUESDAY IMPROV

Tuesday sucked at Improv.

Tuesday: Someone give me a day of the week

Audience: Monday!

Tuesday : Anyone else?

Audience: Friday!

Tuesday: Er. 1 more?

Audience: Wednesday!

Tuesday: Um. Another?

Audience: Sunday!

Tuesday: OK, someone give me a day after Monday & before Wednesday.

WASTED OPPORTUNITIES

Dawn signals to Night to pull into a vow it made to Yesterday. Night rests on the buffers. We are not bound by such a covenant. Free, as we are, to explore limitless light. 

Outside the corner shop a man steps in dog poo, somewhat wasting the start to his glorious opportunity.

SCHOOL RUN - 18/10/21 - AM

 Hundreds of black blazers appear from all directions. Grammatically grouped, these tiny ink blots spread over a playground page. Full-stops stand chatting, dashes race around, and a whole chapter of them are a blank verse on their phones.

CASH RICH

I spy a £2 coin on the corner shop floor. I tap it closer with my walking stick like I'm playing ice hockey. I tap it nearer. It shoots off, landing at a young man's feet. He smiles and politely returns it. He holds the door open as I leave. My mental wealth balance = cash rich.

THE CORNER SHOP WARS

In the corner shop a light flashes fluorescently over the dairy section. Is the chiller lactose intolerant? A man loudly exclaims he's "carrying loads of shrapnel" as he counts out change. Must be a veteran of the Corner Shop Wars (Toilet Roll Division).

We will remember them.

SEQUELS AND MUSICALS

Being late to the corner shop I find  strange characters in a familiar setting. No Little Old Man. No Workman flirting with Shy Woman. Its like I'm in a sequel - Corner Shop 2. Call me old fashioned but I prefer the original. Outside I hear whistling. Corner Shop 3 - The Musical?

SCHOOL RUN - 14/10/21 - AM

A man jogs behind kids on a pavement. His sheepdog runs in front, attached to his waist with a lead. Maybe the headmaster's rounding up his flock? Maybe the dog's taking the man for a walk? Very clever, are sheepdogs.  Oh, and headmasters.

BETWEEN TWO SMILES

At the corner shop an old man who always calls me Pete calls me Pete. I nod a smile. It's got to a point that I don't correct him. A small deception. Worth it. Familiarity and anonymity are rare in a world so demanding. I bathe in misconception, smile again and leave Pete behind.

QUANTUM OF SOLACE

At the corner shop a man enters as a man exits. They see each other,  laugh, apologise and both offer to hold the door open. Both insist the other walks through. They're caught in a very British quantum entanglement. I walk through, happy to deny science as I'm all out of marge.

DOWN DUVET DAY

 I said to my duvet 

"Why the long frown?"

And it said to me

"Well, I'm just made of down."

STIR

Nothing stirs but my tea;

Spoon tinkling mug, sprinkling song,

Bag tossed silently aside,

Steam rises, steam falls.

Legend has it those first teamakers

Used nan's coronation pot and best china,

Calling forth loose-leaf incantation;

I marvel at the old ways,

Lost to us, now.

SCHOOL RUN - 11/10/21 - AM

I spy tiny mountaineers

ascending the hill to school

all backpacked to the max

all emblazoned with kit

some will scale these dizzy heights

some will get lost on the mountain

buy they're all going to learn

about summit or other.

MEMORIES OF THE PUNJAB

The corner shop smells of burning incense as it pumps out a bhangra beat from a tiny, tinny radio. A lady serving looks resplendent in a deep red sari. A piece of a memory of the Punjab right here at the bottom of my road. I don't know if its recalled in celebration or lament.

The fury of the wilder dawn

Nearly dawn. Let's get ready to stumble! A hardy bird punches above its weight, its song boxing next door into silence as they stop cheering the TV. The sun awaits its walk-on routine. I watch the rest of the world wake up from my ringside seat. I've got the bird ahead on points.

THE PLAY BOX

Memory,

that box in the attic

where we get to dress up and can play at long last;

memory,

that box in the attic

where we get to mess up in a play we're miscast;

memory,

that box in the attic

where we seek the caress of the sway of the past.

MIST

Gossamer mist hangs in the air like a gasp

I hardly dare breathe in its presence

Ghost fog peeled away from

the past

Its beauty floats between night and

day

Haunting the space in-between

It flits so briefly in front of my eyes

I cannot be sure it isn't a memory.

THOUGHTS

Gripped, as I am, between the pain relief of a thousand tablets and the mechanics of a dysfunctional back, I stop and think for a while. 

Dismissing the mild euphoria of a  temporary consolation from pain, I consider how lucky I am. I am not being sarcastic, ironic, or whatever literary device explains most of my tweets. I am feeling genuine luck at being able to consider each day as a gift. Yes, it's free of work, and often mobility, but I am unharnessed from the rat race and left to discover a world from the discomfort of my own bed. 

I travel far. Currently I am in Pip's world of Great Expectations and I'm also considering the legacy of Empire via Sathnam Sanghera's excellent Empireland. I arse about on Twitter and love to contribute to Ian McMillan's growing gang of Early Morning Strollers. You don't need to be mobile to explore the world. You don't need working legs to follow Mr Jagger's interest in young Pip or to walk in the size 10 footsteps of the British in India. All you need is a curiosity for the world and a desire to understand people. 

There are far more books and people in the world than I'll ever be able to read and understand. But what I've learned so far is that the more I read, the more people and places I get to see through literature, and even the more times I arse about on Twitter, the more I realise we are pretty much the same. We mostly have the same hopes and indeed the same dreams. We have the same desires and we have the same dislikes. We may wrap them up in our own individual way but our conclusions are the same. We want to understand each other. Twitter can often be the place of the most misunderstanding, yet I find it empowering and it allows me to walk alongside a great range of interesting characters. 

In conclusion, I do feel lucky. I have time to explore, maybe too much time (have you seen the length of this ?) but if you can't find the joy in life from learning something new then who knows, perhaps you already know it all? Perhaps you've learned everything you need to know? That, I would say, traps you more than me. More than my dodgy legs crumbling back and my unwelcome newcomer, diabetes.

Thanks for reading this. I hope you learned something, if only about me. And that's the key. The more we learn about each other, the farther we travel. I'm off to the foothills of India to see what happens next. I'm travelling light.

WARNING NOTICE

I noticed a small notice that I'd not noticed before

This notice that I noticed was pinned to a wooden door

The more that I did notice this small notice that I saw 

I noticed that this notice would be noticed more and more.

SURPRISE!

There's gossip of a new day. That's all it is for now. It's still dark, so it's no more than a rumour that's started. We can feel its presence, though. It's the surprise party we know has been thrown for us. When it jumps out from behind the horizon, act shocked. And smile.

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

A dusty van has 'Clean Me' written on its back doors and something dirty about a girl called Tegan. A graceful cat impersonates a Slinky, pouring itself over a step. An old circus poster peels from a wall. The Greatest Show on Earth. From what I read, that could involve Tegan.

SPEED LIMIT

Don't travel faster than the speed of light

I did once and had a terrible fright

I saw me, before I'd even started

I was in both places before I had departed

The moral I learned - don't break the speed of light

All that's there is here - with  go-faster stripes.

THE BREAD MAN

The bread man's trays are stacked. He works hard by loafing about outside the corner shop. Two men conspire to light each other's cigarettes. Smoke signals success. A hard-hatted man takes no chances in the queue. The bread man rolls out, continuing to earn a crust. 

ANGLES AND CORNERS

In the corner of the corner shop sits a fruit corner in a corner of the chiller. Angles within angles within angles. I catch a copy of the Angling Times in another corner. A cornucopia of papers are angled on display. To a certain degree, I angle my way home, round the corner.

LITTLE LOWRYS

People walk bent and angled against heavy rain. Little Lowrys going to work. A huge puddle conspires with passing cars to ruin someone's day. Kerbside, drains gargle and spit. A wet trail marks corner shop entrance to counter. It's where customers have tried to shake off Monday.

SNARE

Time won't let us 'cross the tracks

For it will always lead us back

Through the rhythm of what's come

Beating loudly from its drum.

We can't find our way from Here

We can't hear through Time's veneer 

What we think are passing sounds

Are just the echoes of Here and Now.

SMOKEY EYED PERFORMANCE

By the corner shop a man draws heavily on a cigarette. I pass through his smoke into the shop's bright lights like I'm on Stars In Your Eyes. "Today, Matthew, I'll be a man buying a paper."

Exiting, I see the burning red embers of a flicked fag, the only clue to his performance.

REVVING

By the unkempt bed-hair of roadside verges, green waves break on oceans of tarmac. Two metaphors collide. Colourful wild flowers, or maybe defiant weeds, catch my eye. Raised on sunlight and petrol, they thrive by a sterile carriageway. Revving, I feed the underdog until sunrise.