Archive for January, 2012

dead fox in road

Saturday, January 28th, 2012

There was a dead fox in the road. It was perfectly formed, although obviously being dead was a slight imperfection. I only saw it for a moment as I drove past. I looked at it. The fox did not look back. I was quickly by and the dead fox disappeared into memory.

there is no run

Saturday, January 28th, 2012

There is something quite reassuring about those words. “…there is no run…”

Normally associated with lazy summer days, the French windows open into the garden, Test Match Special on the wireless and me, sprawled on the sofa half dozing, half listening. Cricket can rank as one of the most frustrating games going. Teams swing from stellar performances to disastrous collapses. One moment you are glued to the set and the other you have to switch off to avoid the unbearable tension.

However cricket is at its reassuring best when nothing is happening. Hot, slow scoring afternoons with ball after ball left outside the off stump, the occasional safe prod back to the bowler,  drinks breaks, chocolate cake, seagulls and double decker busses trundling down the Old Kent Road.

When there is no run all is well.

Doesn’t happen very often!

Trip to the dentist

Saturday, January 28th, 2012

you can go straight in
no waiting, no time to think
perfunctory chat, the chair back sinks
hand over control
smells, glare, open mouth, noises
occasional aah – not much of a conversation
plastic sucks metal prods
several injections stab pain
numbing silence
whirring drill might be pneumatic
hold on tight
large spectacles see spit fountain
filling, squeak and scrape
clamp those teeth, up and down, a few times
looks good
rinse and spit out the bits
quick clean and quick payment
the trip to the dentist,
never a great experience.

The train of infinity

Sunday, January 22nd, 2012

endless hypnotic wait for the passing
in cold trance of a train
of infinite length, flatbed truck follows
flatbed truck after flatbed truck
lengthening a crossing queue
of, eventually, growing irritation as
the train never seems to end.

Dark Saturday afternoon on Tritton Road

Sunday, January 22nd, 2012

It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.

The end of a cold winter’s afternoon, take two – Chambers Farm Woods, Sunday 15th January

Monday, January 16th, 2012

A walk in the woods
Lit by winters candle
Subtle colours
Show the frozen way

A breath of purpose
Clouds the trail before us
Hasten home
As night descends on day

The end of a cold winter’s afternoon

Saturday, January 14th, 2012

The half frosted field
And bright twilight
Of the cold winter afternoon
Shadows lengthen
Invisibility cloaks

two little young old ladies

Friday, January 13th, 2012

One wore a short green topcoat with large green buttons, a pair of blue jeans and sensible shoes. The other was similarly attired with a black and white hounds tooth top and a black beret. Not “with it” but not “without it”.

They were slim. Greying hair.

Their faces betrayed them, more appropriate to the old east end, a talk with a fag over the back fence whilst they hung out the washing. There was nothing out of place about them. They were of this time. It’s just that their craggy faces were not.

“It’s a good job I’m skinny” said one to the other as she sat down next to someone else sat opposite me. He didn’t look that big. It’s all about attitude.

Neither wore a wedding ring. I wondered if they were partners. Certainly friends. Get on!

Mellow jazz and 19th century diseases

Wednesday, January 11th, 2012

JazzFM is on in the background. I’m on my third glass of wine. Quite a nice 2007 Rioja. I am relaxed.

A boy strides up and down discussing attitudes to disease in the 19th century.

I recognise some of the tunes. It adds to the warm and comfortable feeling.

Looking around I notice the colours in the kitchen. Black contrasts with oak. Green tablecloths with the rich red of the wine. The lights are reflected in the deep black windows.

A double base plucks its resonance and the hi hat intermingles with strokes on the piano.

Household noises don’t interrupt. A football match is about to begin in another room. A debate on medical discoveries continues; single sided.

A Spanish guitar has replaced the piano. I picture myself playing it. Removing my spectacles, eyes closed, my mind wanders off to a cellar bar in Andalucia. Communication is unnecessary.

An evening meal enters the room, shakes a saucepan and greets us. The trance is broken.

Small boy taps feet

Sunday, January 8th, 2012

nothing to hear

A small boy taps his feet. No words are said, the only sound the quiet pad of foot on floor. He is engrossed, mind focussed on the ethereal conversation on the screen in front of him.

The tapping stops, feet now up on the settee. A silent keyboard makes no noise though it must be kept busy.

The peace is short lived. His mother comes in and chases him upstairs to bed.

Reflections from the couch

Sunday, January 8th, 2012

Isolated as I am, from the nightly hypnotic lure of the television, I lie back and from the cosy stretched out comfort of the fireside my own narcotic takes hold.

Self administered stupor. The fire flares occasionally as new wood is overcome. It mesmerises but serves not to distract, adding to the air of relaxation, sweeping clean the floors of the imagination and setting fertile the stage of the unencumbered mind.

Words are few; thoughts random and surprised. Twist and shape and set free, sometime seen off into open fields where winds lift and scatter. Distant echoes.

My Uncle Tref

Sunday, January 8th, 2012

My uncle likes rugby,
He likes to cheer them on,
Especially when they’re wearing red
And from the land of song.
He’s lately played around the world
In parliamentary strip,
The matches, dinners, beers and laughs
Were the highlights of his trip.

He also likes to surf,
He can stand up all the way,
So if he’s feeling lucky,
He can surf along the bay.
And while he’s taking on the waves
Tref’s trusty jeep stands by
To carry all the clobber back
To base camp where it’s dry.

Bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomatos
All laid out on a plate,
You just can’t beat it, uncle Tref loves it
Washed down with milk by the crate.
After breakfast and a stretch of hte legs
It’s time to sit and digest,
The hammock beckons temptingly
The snores….. they tell the rest.

Music is a hobby,
He can play all sorts of tunes,
From Mozart to rock and roll,
He’s even tried the spoons
It started on a windswept hill,
Guitar and amp in hand,
His dream back then was to be
In a world wide famous band.

But as we’ve rumbled through the years
His audience has changed,
Friends and family lend their ears and
In the Morning Star he’s famed.
Hungarian concert pianists play
‘longsides the Davies crowd,
Tref’s winning style and welcoming way
Cheers people quiet and loud.

Observations at the start of 2012

Sunday, January 1st, 2012

It’s 1.20pm on New Year’s Day 2012. I am sitting here waiting for the tea to brew and in anticipation of a visit from the next door neighbours for (another) cuppa at 3pm.

Observation #1

I got 2012 right first time. I often get the year wrong the first few times when it is a new year. I guess I wasn’t just writing a date there though. I was specifically referencing 2012.

Not much of an observation perhaps as the first of the new year. Nothing hugely meaningful as people are wont to spout at this artificial date in our timeline of progress (gravewards). I expect you thought I’d express joyous and optimistic thoughts geared to lift the spirit, parting perhaps the mental mists that remain in front of eyes, bloody from the closing celebrations of 2011.  Nope.

Observation #2

I was in my pyjamas until 11.30 this morning. Unheard of!  Having hit 50 in December is this now the beginning of the end? The ride down that slope, time-worn brakes offering no protection against hitting wall, ditch or hedge. It could be though it probably isn’t.

Observation #3

My cup runneth over no longer. The tea has been drunk, consumed, absorbed and its effects noted. It is an empty cup. Plenty of potential there and no cause for concern. Fill, cup fill. I stare expectantly. It will only happen if I get up and do it myself.  So be it.