Thankfully feeling somewhat perkier today.
One of those days which -- like a few lately -- make for dull reading but were actually pretty enjoyable. In fact I went for a walk of what my trusty pedometer tells me was 11.33km, or 13,656 steps. Walking is very good for me. As I was walking around through Chiswick and down to the Thames and across it to Kew and back along the river path. I realised that I’d been getting over anxious lately -- especially work, and flats falling through and so on. By the end of my walk I had definitely felt clearer. I think I’ll do it again tomorrow, God knows I have plenty to get clearer about.
Bought some DVDs today because I fancied a quiet night in. Got Buffalo 66 which I really enjoyed. Surprising use of Yes music in the film score. Coincidentally I also watched the DVD of Yes unplugged today. I enjoyed this too -- if only because they had to rethink some of the standards and breathe a bit of life into them.
Arrived at a rough first draft for my Ontario poem. It’s derivative and sentimental and I doubt I’ll try to get this published. On the up side I quite like some of this, and I’m thinking of it as a “loosener” -- i.e. a wayward first attempt -- hopefully I will be writing again soon more fluently.
I’ll park this poem here for a few weeks now. Time is the best editor.
a colour sketch
Somewhere off Deviation Road, Ontario
On the farm, sometime after thunder
Your brother’s kite poised in the air
Like a quaver escaped from its staves.
Miraculously the sky has been restored
To its original renaissance blue
And you crouch low by the canola
To juxtapose the sky and singing yellow
For the field is told of in the dance of bees
And is full of their murmuring industry.
By the red gates in the weathered fence
Primary colours exude on your paper,
Balanced on a barrel near the barn, and are
Investigated by dogs and a critical donkey.
Everywhere are fields, groundhog-dotted, while
Down the track is a sea of wind-blown wheat.
And you, you foreigner, even you know
Something of the forested escarpment
Some spirit in the deer-haunted dark nags at you
Like the mosquitoes do when you move in its gloom.
And your trouble, like a big bird stationed in the sun,
Wheels away as you walk among trees
After all, it’s always there and it’s always nothing;
Some quick shadow of a city and work and lost love.
You learnt euchre half a turn of the world away
And you play it now with new-found family
And respectfully you deal-in the gathered ghosts;
Your Grandparents from half a life away.
You turn up joker so you look at your brother,
His wife and her family. It’s your call; a blind call:
Hearts you say. Hearts.
One of those days which -- like a few lately -- make for dull reading but were actually pretty enjoyable. In fact I went for a walk of what my trusty pedometer tells me was 11.33km, or 13,656 steps. Walking is very good for me. As I was walking around through Chiswick and down to the Thames and across it to Kew and back along the river path. I realised that I’d been getting over anxious lately -- especially work, and flats falling through and so on. By the end of my walk I had definitely felt clearer. I think I’ll do it again tomorrow, God knows I have plenty to get clearer about.
Bought some DVDs today because I fancied a quiet night in. Got Buffalo 66 which I really enjoyed. Surprising use of Yes music in the film score. Coincidentally I also watched the DVD of Yes unplugged today. I enjoyed this too -- if only because they had to rethink some of the standards and breathe a bit of life into them.
Arrived at a rough first draft for my Ontario poem. It’s derivative and sentimental and I doubt I’ll try to get this published. On the up side I quite like some of this, and I’m thinking of it as a “loosener” -- i.e. a wayward first attempt -- hopefully I will be writing again soon more fluently.
I’ll park this poem here for a few weeks now. Time is the best editor.
a colour sketch
Somewhere off Deviation Road, Ontario
On the farm, sometime after thunder
Your brother’s kite poised in the air
Like a quaver escaped from its staves.
Miraculously the sky has been restored
To its original renaissance blue
And you crouch low by the canola
To juxtapose the sky and singing yellow
For the field is told of in the dance of bees
And is full of their murmuring industry.
By the red gates in the weathered fence
Primary colours exude on your paper,
Balanced on a barrel near the barn, and are
Investigated by dogs and a critical donkey.
Everywhere are fields, groundhog-dotted, while
Down the track is a sea of wind-blown wheat.
And you, you foreigner, even you know
Something of the forested escarpment
Some spirit in the deer-haunted dark nags at you
Like the mosquitoes do when you move in its gloom.
And your trouble, like a big bird stationed in the sun,
Wheels away as you walk among trees
After all, it’s always there and it’s always nothing;
Some quick shadow of a city and work and lost love.
You learnt euchre half a turn of the world away
And you play it now with new-found family
And respectfully you deal-in the gathered ghosts;
Your Grandparents from half a life away.
You turn up joker so you look at your brother,
His wife and her family. It’s your call; a blind call:
Hearts you say. Hearts.
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