Weary but satisfied…

It feels as if I haven’t done much today. But I have poddled along, doing this and that.

The editing is finished. I have shared some tomatoes with neighbours. I am keeping an eye on my figs so not to let them over ripen. My blueberries are changing colour. It’s all good.

I watered garden and then finished planting my plants. It was very satisfying.

My hip has been ok. I leaned back and felt a bruise on my pelvis. I don’t know how I did it, but it is the same place that got badly bruised last November. I should keep an eye on it.

It’s been a glorious day. I love where I live.

The first fig from my garden…

It was perfect. Sweet, moist and refreshing. Straight from the tree. The most perfect fig I’ve ever eaten. I am thrilled.

To eat and enjoy the fruit, literally, of one’s labour is so satisfying. I saw the fig almost by accident and noticed it was no longer green. I touched it and there was a softness. I worried that it was over ripe, but no it was perfection.

Purveyors of Death


They arrive each year, by first class

OR in their private jetsSometimes, hundreds of the family

Come to shop in Kensington

Staying in their otherwise empty

Apartments.

Londoners are priced

Out of their own home city
Dictators and despotic sheikhs

Kings of absolute monarchies

Descend upon the annual arms fair

The weapons and armory that

Control nations and crush dissent

The tools of war, which fuel more conflict

Are here to be bought, adored objects of lust


The Grim Reaper attends too, many of him

Gate crashing their sumptuous banquets

As guests of Her Majesty’s Government

Civil disobedience at it’s best, they spread

Information about child deaths, orphans of war

The maimed, the displaced, the refugees

In cloak and hoods, with scythes of truth

During the day, these folk with conscience

Will have laid in the street to block limousines

Or to stop the arrival of an armored tank for sale

They chain themselves together, and then

To a railing or lamp post. The police must

Remove them and this takes some time

Meanwhile, the public look on and learn


Some of these civil protestors are seen in court

Though none yet have been thrown in jail

As some of the weapons on sale for death

Are illegal, banned, or used for torture

Despite this being a fact, no one of the British

Government has been held to account

Strange injustice so great, blood on their hands

Published at Dissident Voice a long time ago.

A fairly good day…

Today I planted some some plants that had arrived at the end of last week. I did get them outside in the rain on Sunday evening. They weren’t particularly thirsty but every drop helps.

This is for the raised bed I made. I am beautifying the other side of my garden. Pete has come up with plans that will save me having to pay to go to the dump.

I gave some neighbours a bowl of my tomatoes. I hope they enjoy them as much as I do. It’s such a good feeling to give home grown food away. I found out at the weekend that a community garden has been started nearby. I will pop along some time.

I have been editing. It is so tiring. I got some eye drops for tired eyes. I should wear my glasses more often.

I received my copy of Locked Write Down today. It’s always a rewarding feeling. I only know one of the other poets included in it. His poem is very fine.

My hip has played up a few times today. Last night when I went to bed I could feel the nerves right down to my ankle. It’s very odd. I wonder what the x-ray will show.

Boris Johnson has arranged for cycling to be prescribed on the NHS. This is good in principle, but one must cycle fast enough to raise one’s heartbeat in order to get fit or fitter. Just ambling to work to to the shops is not enough. One would need to take a change of clothes to work to make it work. I know people who do this. Walking is the same principle, as with any exercise.

And he goes on about a second spike of Covid-19 but we’re still in the first wave. Oh dear. Not listening to the science.

For My Dad

For My Dad
Transparent skin on your long fingered hands
I didn’t notice before the same hands as mine and I belong
Not in slipping sands, alone, but from you, made by you
And I realise your flesh is less and veins blue are seen
Under the beauty of your frame and so I realise with tears
We are the same


Each day that I don’t see you there is a fear I won’t again
And that is too much pain for me to bear because of death
Visiting me long ago and I pushed my face against your neck
No letting go, wanting life, wanting you to never let me fall
You carried me


Your eyes still smile at me and humour from all my life is near
I make you laugh despite my fear and swallow the rising wail
Of grief untold, not yet borne, but dreaded though I steal the time
That still is left to us to share. I hold my breath and do not dare
To go far from you. I hold your hand often cold and want be told
Death is not near


I’ve known you young and middle years you never changed
Or spoke untruths. You walked and walked for search of solitude
But now I will not let you alone I will not leave you to the world
That in your head baffles you and yesterday is forever gone
If I could bear it in your stead you know my love for you understood
And I am still your little girl sat on your knee

Bournemouth Poetry Wall 2013

For My Dad

For my Dad


Open your drawer, stars, sun and moon
Flew out, surrounding me in your world
Orion and Pleiedes flooded the room
I lay on the floor, sobbed
Books for birding, books for trees, marshes
I felt their branches, knew their leaves
Running water was music to us both
I miss you and yet you live
The birds whose song you taught to me
Your binoculars I have kept for myself
For still I seek out birds and song
A habit instilled by loving you
You live now tricked by your memories, cruel
Always the problem solver, now you depend
On medicines and love from me
Yet til now your humour stays

Published on Bournemouth Library Wall some years ago

A blah sort of day…

It has rained quite hard today and I’ve stayed in. It’s great for my garden, and much needed.

I have napped, in fact last night I fell asleep at around 7.30pm and woke just after ten. I went back to bed at midnight and slept through until almost eight this morning.

This is in stark contrast with how I began the summer. Rising before 6 am to water the garden. I can no longer sustain late nights and early mornings, even when the lateness is driven by inability to sleep.

I could have put some plants outside which arrived yesterday, but I have felt so tired.

I am intreagued that it has taken Boris Johnson so long to realise that being overweight is a comorbidity for Covid-19. It is a comorbidity for anything. Being overweight is a risk for cancer, diabetes, heart attack, stroke, anything. Even flu can be leathal if one is overweight.

I feel sorry for anyone who has not taken the opportunity to lose weight during lockdown. The opportunities to walk, cycle, and alter ones diet were as never before. Some eat a healthy diet but drink too much. Those are the worst calories of all as the habit leads to alcoholism and all that is entailed with that.

Spain has apparently started a second spike. I am surprised as it is too hot. I think it is the first wave popping up after lockdown being lifted to early. We must all be cautious.

Good that we are leading in the second Test against the West Indies. I love cricket.

So very tired…

I got up today and with two hours I was taking a nap. I got up for the postman, and napped again.

When I awakened I felt hot and lethargic but needed to pick up a prescription, fetch my clock from Jordi, and go to another shop.

After waiting ages in the airless chemist it was found that the prescription had not been sent. I felt peeved as I do not want to go back in a mask. I got my clock and then the shop I needed had closed before it’s closing time.

I got home feeling weary and forlorn.

The pain in my hip is ok with painkillers. My neck is still a bit sore.

I just attended a poetry zoom meeting. It was good. Not my usual crowd. I’m glad I made the effort.

Getting around pain…

Last night I struggled to open a box with two bags of compost in it. The carrier had had to retape it. I was too lazy to get my scissors or a knife so I wrenched at it. Afterwards, I realised I had strained muscles in the top of my shoulders and by the time I went to bed, I had a knot of acute pain to one side of my neck.

I made sure my wheat pillow was supporting my neck and stopped myself from turning on my side. Thankfully, I fell asleep fairly quickly and awakened in the same position this morning. An alert on my phone made me jump, which reminded me that my neck hurt.

I have spent the day trying to massage it with two fingers and the painkillers for my hip have helped.

At around five I went to ask a neighbour to help me tip the compost into the tin bath that I am converting into a raised bed. I bumped into another man I talk to and he came and did it for me.

I watered the garden and wanted to plant in my new bed but for some reason my solar plexus (abs?) were aching badly. So weird.

So I came in and ate, and have been resting. My neck feels a little better and now the ache has gone.

I am resetting after all the pain on Saturday. One cannot think straight in such pain. It is exhausting. I’m so glad I have respite from it. Life feels so different.

I wonder at times about the girl I found in the street. I’ve heard nothing. I hope she has support. If they can’t prove she was punched, like no bruising, it may be an injustice. I don’t know. She was so distraught. Why make something like that up? Why be sobbing in the street if nothing happened when only I was approaching and she didn’t see me anyway until I called out to her.