As I have written before in this here blog, when I used to work in an office, a real office that is not the small 'office' bedroom at the back of the house, my route walking to work took me through Chesham Cemetery. At either end of the cemetery there is a busy road but … Continue reading STOP! Memories of a Lollipop Man.
Soldiers stare in poets' guise, shout bloody words at careless skies. Faces bowed are steeped in grief, and turn away from warrior and thief. Art ensnared in martial rule, followed by bloodlust thirsty fools. Teachers caught are sold and bought, preach manifestoes to the worth of naught. Mourning not another day, these people force my … Continue reading Out of the Ecliptic
Gritty, kitchen-sink drama, Richard Harris playing rugby and having the occasional punch-up. I remember one evening, early 1970's, my siblings had all gone to bed, and my parents and I were sitting in the living room watching TV. The news had ended, and the late film had begun, This Sporting Life. We weren't many minutes … Continue reading This Sporting Life.
Welcome aboard, we're going on a journey… When I was 9 or 10 or so years old, the school library contained a small set of softback books about notable ships. Amongst the titles as I recall were Titanic, Royal Sovereign, Cutty Sark and Gipsy Moth IV. Recalling now from this distance in time is a … Continue reading Not the Chelsea Flower Show.
With apologies to Joni Mitchell… Woke up, it was a Chesham morning, and the first thing that I heard, was that noisy prick on a moped, and I mouthed a few choice words, and he came tearing up the road, at well over 30 miles an hour. Won't you go away, you've ruined my day, … Continue reading Chesham Morning.
Paper Flag Can you believe them? Sing their songs then. Understand them? Come to terms then. How can you say, that they know how to please you, can't you see that you are cheated? Every turn you are defeated. They pave your way so narrowly, and strip you of identity. I see a child in … Continue reading Paper Flag.
Some time later, when the street vendors had packed away their plastic crosses and crown of thorn hats, a small group of young people gathered under His cross and began to sing. It was a sad song, but no one looked as if they were sad at all. This continued for some time, then they … Continue reading He is alive.
Sing to me no more. Talk not of love, save me the trouble, of trying again. Just leave me, to my books, my pictures, and my sad, lost lonely looks. No! Please no more. Not your anguish, spare me your trouble, your crying and pain. … Continue reading An escape.
Woke up, it was a grey Tuesday. Went downstairs, brewed the tea, watched a few minutes of the (frankly depressing) news on TV. Took the tea upstairs for the customary half hour lie-in, listening to the wireless. It was just coming up to the hour and Radio Caroline had gone into commercials mode, so I … Continue reading Tuesday, 31st August 2021.
I wrote Cosmic Generation as a song; I didn't have any music for it, but I felt that it had a certain rhythm, maybe a certain beat...
A Point of Views, A Polish Odyssey and Other Stories. 