Wednesday 29 July 2009

on faith


i'm not an 'overtly' religious person. and like most people (i suspect), any thoughts i have on the matter have always been kept to myself, for one reason or another.

i have always been perplexed by faith, Man's need for it, the things Man has done - and continues to do in it's name and in the quest for it. i realised at a very young age that pretty much all pain, war, misery, cruelty, suffering Man has committed and endured has it's roots in religion or faith.

but come the 21st century, we can tweet such inner thoughts. and i did this morning. just the one thought. and the responses came back. so, i thought i'd share them here...

@redalexred said "I like to think it's knowledge without proof."

@simonplotkin
offered "
belief in spite of lack of evidence."

@713punky proffered "
having faith doesn't require proof. faith is a belief that everything will happen as it should."

then added

"
faith is believing that no matter what proves otherwise,, you still commit."

@ilicco defined 'faith' as "
Faith IMO allows u 2blame some1 else when things don't go ur way, & thank some1 else when they do. Keeps u from blaming urself."

what i love about what happened this morning, is what i love about twitter; what to me, is the essence of twitter. every now & then, a tweet will inspire or coax the most head-scratching, heart warming profundities. yes, to the depths of 140 characters; and beyond.

the thought provoking replies also surprised me, in that they made me trawl back through my twitterstream on the bus to work, to re-read my original tweet.

how had i referred to faith? in what context had i suggested or used the word? for, to me, the above responses opened the meaning wide up.

and maybe that was the greatest gift.

faith isn't always of a religious nature. is it? or maybe it is religious by nature?

the individual hearts of the above twitterati seemed to shine through in their responses and made me smile.

i could have told you who had tweeted each of the above thoughts without knowing in advance.

or i'd like to think i would.

either way, i wanted to share.

because these things should be.

i find it fascinating that we all seem to either claim 'ownership' of our faith, or give praise and thanks for it, like it is something bestowed on us. maybe it is.

it seems to me that faith is often blamed for people not taking ownership or responsibility. but, in the handful of tweeted thoughts above, this all seemed turned on it's head. not something i've ever thought of before. i read in there, proud claims on faith. as if to say 'this is my faith, and it makes this possible.'

but then, it was a long bus journey and it's been a long day... and i think too much...

heartfelt thanks to those who answered my random tweet this morning & gave me further food for thought.





you were right





you were right
it's too wide
this landscape of night

legs restlessly reach
long, lazy, lonely swipes
this nocturnal kicking sleep

pillows laugh from the floor
too light, glowing
in the darkness between

turn for a different view
arms still imagine you
my skin knows I'm missing you

you were right


Sunday 19 July 2009

4 x 4 (Part 3)


Part 3.

Sunday.

3m 33secs.

(an observation: the thing about this little experiment is that it allows little time to mull over ideas - everything is done on the fly. the most revision i've done is to scrap an idea 20-30mins in, only to start again. nothing i've done so far seems particularly good/exciting, but i think today's is the one i'm least unhappy with. we'll see what tomorrow holds...)

Saturday 18 July 2009

4 in 4: part 2


Part 2.

Saturday.

2m 22secs.

"...the jingle-jangle of a thousand lost souls..."

'enjoy'.

4 x 4 (part 1)


we can all get too lazy & comfortable.

we can all make excuses. i know i'm always making excuses for not getting things done.

so, as i have Monday off, i thought i'd try an experiment...

record 4 new tracks in 4 days. one a day. not that scary. everything new - no working from old ideas. no finishing off old songs. these will be 4 new tracks written n' recorded on the fly.

to make it a little more interesting, i thought i'd use the following times:

day 1 - friday - today: 1m 11secs
day 2: 2m 22secs
day 3: 3m 33 secs
day 4: 4m 44 secs

i've just finished track 1. you can find it here if you're curious.

'enjoy'.

oh, and have a great weekend!

Thursday 2 July 2009

this is a call



Originally uploaded by bobcat rock

there's a phone box
be there
the phone will ring
pick up

there'll be a voice
listen
there'll be a question
answer

there'll be an alley
don't turn around
there'll be some worry
don't run aground

there'll be rubbish
don't look for weapons
there'll be passersby
don't eye them with questions

there'll be a blacked out building
don't look for me there
there's an open window
you can't go through

there'll be some shadow
don't try to hide there
there'll be something heavy
hanging in the air

there'll be a cool breeze
breathe while you can

breathe while you can

Monday 11 May 2009

sonnet xvii


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

(Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda)



a much loved and respected co-worker unexpectedly lost his wife last night. the size and impact of the ripples of her loss - the void her departure has left, and his grief - were so hard to comprehend or size up today.

what was plainer - and strangely shocking - to see instead, was the disbelief, the shadow of an as yet uncomprehended grief that slowly crept across co-workers throughout the day.

two co-workers in particular - strong, positive women i respect and look up to - separately confided how determined they were to maintain their exteriors and power-through the day, as we softly worked out the practicalities of our leader's absence... as tears welled up in their wide, searching eyes...

there are so many memories, so many times, that flooded my mind today. times when he fondly regaled us with stories of his wife from their long and very happy marriage; all those countless times when the phone would ring around 5pm and we knew it was his wife, calling on cue; he'd ask "so what's for dinner" and we'd quietly chuckle at their endearing old married banter...

she'll not call again.
i'll not wave him out of a meeting again for that call.
we'll not hear him ask "so what's for dinner tonight, then?" again.
or "how's the boy?"

we'll miss someone we've never met.

we already do.

we'll tenderly mind and console a dear co-worker - distanced by the rungs of the career ladder - finding ways to deliver the impact of a hug through the mundanity of greyed, everyday, officed, achingly English gestures.

thinking about it, grief seems an ambiguous beast. where does it begin? how does it end? what ends does it serve? what profit from grief? where does that brutal curve lead?

i honestly think the only certain thing - as in everything in life - is love. and that only love can help. it soothes, slows, eases, wraps.

love; from one creature to another.

maybe not a silver bullet, but a slow, steady, purposed course through the bleakest, most brutal terrains.



(i wanted to post this as a mark of respect to someone who i'd barely brushed paths with. just a small, quiet post, to mark a moment, to send my small, anonymous love into the void, charted to those reeling from this loss.

i read this poem at the wedding of two dear friends a few years ago, at the beginning of their life together. once it came to mind tonight, it struck me as being just as fitting to mark the end of what seemed to be a very happy and long relationship; a marriage that was a quiet celebration of solid, understated love.)

Saturday 9 May 2009

multi-media instrumental



i've been playing with this tune for the last few hours. it's still very raw, messy and not yet fully formed.

for once, i'm at a complete loss for lyrics that suit it.

you know when you're writing and you can feel 'something' coming, 'something' brewing, but you don't know what; because 'it' doesn't know what 'it' is itself yet?

same thing.

and that's half the fun.

anyway, for some reason - maybe an aching for narrative - i decided to try dragging it into imovie and dropping random photos in.

i think it works.

sort of.

maybe.

it's my first (maybe last) attempt.

thought i might as well share.

seemed a shame to just leave it sitting on the hard drive.

'enjoy'.


(you can see it a bit bigger here, if you really want to.)

Tuesday 5 May 2009

the game


Rolling out of London
On a cold November night
Yeah, I'm leaving the old town
To start a better life

Packed my bags months ago
And then saved up for the flight
Some say I'm running - no -
I've finally made up my mind

Someone once told me
You can make your dreams come true
But no one warned me
They'll haunt ya 'til you do

So I find myself on the open road
With a guitar on my back
Yeah - you laugh - it's the oldest joke
'til you try to live like that

I don't want fame or gold
I just need some peace of mind
I'm just trying to save my soul
From slipping farther down the line

Every man has ghosts to pay
And demons he must face
But in the end it's just a game -
We're all hurtling through space...


(a very old song, but one that haunts me. probably 'til i obey. i'm gonna have to turn and face this one someday soon.)

Monday 4 May 2009

thank you


every now and then
something will remind me
of how you came and saved me
caught my fall, behind me

every once in a while
i'll see a mouth shaped like yours
my breath will catch in my throat
my feet will slow under me

every day a random thought
will take me back - like soul remote
inches from your face, i feel
your breath warm and sweet and almost real

every night i wonder if
our paths might cross like corny ships
i'd send a ship hand with a note
just to say thanks for keeping me afloat

so wherever you might be tonight
still so far away, or returned from flight
i send you this will thanks and love
and hope you found what you were in search of


(a song whisked me back 12 years tonight, straight out of the blue, as songs do. the above was a poor & clumsy attempt to exhale some of the warm summer memories it swept back. and also to send out my love and gratitude for the gifts those few brief weeks brought. they are happy memories, but there's always an ache with the smile they bring. and that's ok. there's a great story here, but now's not the time.)

Sunday 3 May 2009

clouds over babel


The Rosicrucians held that, all things visible and invisible having been produced by the contention of light and darkness, the earth has denseness in its innumerable heavy concomitants downwards, and they contain less and less of the original divine light as they thicken and solidify the grosser and heavier in matter.

They taught, nevertheless, that every object, however stifled or delayed in its operation, and darkened and thickened in the solid blackness at the base, yet contains a certain possible deposit, or jewel, of light - which light, although by natural process it may take ages to evolve, as light will tend at last by its own native, irresistible force upward (when it has opportunity), can be liberated; that dead matter will yield this spirit in a space more or less expeditious by the art of the alchemist.

There are worlds within worlds - we, human organisms, only living in a deceiving, or Bhuddistic, 'dreamlike phase' of the grand panorama. Unseen and unsuspected (because in it lies magic), there is an inner magnetism, or divine aura, or ethereal spirit, or possible eager fire, shut and confined, as in a prison, in the body, or in all sensible solid objects, which have more or less of spiritually sensitive life as they can more successfully free themselves from this ponderable, material obstruction.

From "The Rosicrucians: Their Rites and Mysteries" (1870) written by Hargrave Jennings (1817-1890). (Googling him now, it seems unclear whether he was a reverend or secretary to Col. Mapleson, the operatic manager, or both. Mutually exclusive? Maybe not, to the Victorians. It has been said that he was also a practicing Rosicrucian and Freemason. And also that he was not. Victorians, eh? Talk about coy.)

The legendary A.E. Waite didn't seem to rate the book. At all. In fact, he wrote "The Real History Of The Rosicrucians" as a 'correction' to it. And it does look like one hell of a read.

However, i find Jenning's efforts (or not - there are people who say it's little more than stream-of conciousness drivel) endearing, for all the reasons Waite slammed it.

It isn't definitive.

It reveals very few (if any) 'secrets'. Right the way through, Jennings practically winks from the ancient ink, insinuating that *maybe* he does know more than he reveals. Or even admits. And this is after flat-out saying he was not an initiate.
(Reminds me of more recent emphatic denials. Can you see where I'm going with this?)

And in other quarters, you can still smell the smoke from the trail this book (shoulda? coulda?) blazed. It is still visionary and inspirational in its forward-marching message regarding gender, sexual equality; the balance and co-importance of the sexes and indeed, the forces they wield and are wielded by. In essence, he meant well, obviously driven (maybe too fast?) in his search for confirmation and coordinates to an ever elusive spiritual zenith.

The World will always scoff at those not thumping their chest from atop their professional mountain. But, I suspect, it is better to be cutting a path through the shadows of the idolized; it is quieter, less pressure and there are always diamonds in the flotsam & wake of the puffed & proclaimed.

But then, that's just me. (Mixed metaphorical mountains and swells and all.)


So, why this picture? why this extract? Why here? Why now?

This is a view I enjoy from outside my new front door. It makes me smile every morning. It reminds me how much i love this city.

It also reminds me how much mankind baffles me. Is money, power - the very ripping, raping and renting of the sky by money - is this what mankind is about in the 21st century?
I had secretly (and even I know with what futility) hoped we'd be able to take a tip from those cultures and religions who say that after a certain age, we should turn our minds and hearts to learning; having made our contributions to the material world.

We have built, we have worked, we have laboured.

Surely now is the time to heal, to learn, to repair, to protect?

Saturday 2 May 2009

where once


where once there was light
a shadow crawls in tight
whitewashed in slight relief
silent, blind to the street

Saturday 25 April 2009

these sheets



did you lie here
where i lay yesterday

did they hold you
as gently as they hold me today

did they scratch your fading skin
did they soften with age

did they bear witness
as you passed through this place

then stay with me
as i tripped with school

do they tie us together
some ancient nocturnal rope trick

do they thin
with years, weathered

a finer thread
still tying us together

did they witness grief and tears
after the love that brought me here

will the name you gave to me
stitched and faded, one day pass on

folded and laundered
soon now they'll be quartered

staying and waiting
for your grandson to come

Sunday 19 April 2009

the whole thing is absurd


"I think we must have a faith, and if we haven't we must find one.

Because if we don't, life is empty and senseless.

We must have some explanation why cranes fly south, why children are born, why there are stars in the sky.

Some system of belief.

Because either you know what you are living for or else nothing matters - the whole thing is absurd."

Masha speaking to Baron and Vershinin (with whom she enters into an affair) in Act 2. of Three Sisters, by Chekhov. (Brian Freil translation.)

Friday 10 April 2009

pitch n' weave






if i could track your pitch n' weave
through space and endless time
if i could predict how i might rise
when you, sublime, decline

if i could pitch the tilt n' thrust
of Fate's uncertain hand
if i knew what she held for us
and still leave her in command

if the planets in their graceful speed
for centuries, certain, sway
if surely as i crave your touch
the Sun imparts her day

if tidal as the seas I swell
at the mention of your name
if gentle as a night time bloom
the Moon sends me this way

if lying in the still of night
i wonder how and where you are
if dreaming on this single dream
i wish upon that star

if tomorrow brings me closer to
the allignment of our hearts
then let the stars alone have their way
as they know I am yours

Sunday 5 April 2009

"A Brief Exhortation To Confession"





This morning I came to the strangest realisation. I'm glad - nay, relieved - to have less disposable income, now that I'm living alone.

The thought of having to live a more limited (or maybe just a more 'considered') life was one of the main reasons that I had shyed away from living alone and kept me sharing with friends for so long.

But today, the thought excited me. So many distractions have been stripped away. I am more myself now that I've been for years. And, more importantly, I can't afford to galavant around town the way I used to; avoiding dreams and chasing ghosts.

I always knew this move would force me to spend more time on things like music. "consume less, create more" was more a dream than a maxim.

But now, this wonderfully puritanical new way of life, faciliates one of my greatest indulgences. Music.

I seem to have broken free. I can't help but think of Martin Luther nailing his tenets to that door...my front door...

"here we go again
on another great trip..."

Friday 3 April 2009

far & wide






whenever I look up and out
into the world so far and wide
when I tune out the screams & shouts
and fence off a moment to breathe & hide

when I close my eyes to wipe them clean
in preparation for things unseen
when I need to drink the still
and crave rememberance of sweeter pills

when I feel the need to share
the beauty lost here, still hiding there
when I yearn for a softer place
and dream of a gentle shoulder's grace

when I wonder if I've served my time
after waiting so patiently in line
when I turn my thoughts from you
for fear that dreams really don't come true

I see you, blurred, in distant lands
removed by months and hours and sands
I wonder when you'll come back home
to walk me through life's danger zone

Saturday 21 March 2009

Kywitt, kywitt!





"My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!"


(Extract from "The Juniper Tree" from Grimm's Fairy Tales. I'm rediscovering many loved old treasures, post-move; like this 1975 edition, in near perfect condition. Apparently, mine since I was 2.5yrs. Contains some truly frightening engravings.)

Sunday 15 March 2009

tied up





when I think of you
I smile and have to look away
afraid you'll see
what I just can't say

when I'm near you
I always fear the worst, by the way
afraid I see
what can only be dismay

when I speak to you
the idiot inside takes over
speaking in tongues
that should never have their say

when I hear from you
it's always more I crave
tell me what you'd like to do
let's go spend a perfect day

Thursday 19 February 2009

empty sheets






I close my eyes and see you there
Across the bed, and time, and air
I hear you breathing in your sleep
And watch you smile in dreams so deep

I turn, to sink still further down
Behind, the pull of someone warm
We touch our toes and bodies talk
As if subconscious, not needing words

I used to dream, as a weekday child
And wake to find it's not Christmas time;
In latter days, from recent dreams,
I wake to nothing but empty sheets...

Saturday 14 February 2009

testing...testing...the old man is snoring...



Most Saturday mornings, if I'm lucky and if diaries allow, I kick-start my weekends with Saturday morning coffee with my dear friend Mr B.

These usually start with sleepy mumbled twittery, until we meet, with practically silent acknowledgement, atop one of London's most beloved bookstores, where coffee and laughter swiftly ensue.

This morning was a bit different.

In a good way. A very good way.

You see, Mr B is a very interesting man. He says interesting things. He works on interesting things. He is also a very patient man, which is a wonderful quality to have, if you happen to be talking to me....about interesting things.

In recent months, we've frequently stopped and said what an interesting podcast our chats might make. We did it again today.

And as if by magic (or rather, the magical facilitation of the iPhone), we soon started recording. (Or rather, as Mr B spoke on, I sneakily downloaded and jump started the marvellous iTalk iPhone app. Luckily he just chuckled when he noticed the big green light on my iPhone.)

The sound quality is wonderful. The ambience of background music, cluttering crockery, etc, just add to a wonderful conversation, casually captured. In my opinion.

Considering we let it roll on as we nattered and strolled for 42mins through the book store, the 100 odd mb barely dented the usually sensitive iPhone battery.

I've emailed a compressed copy to Mr B and we're going to try an edit each, but are still excited that what we got was pretty good.

Next time, going forward, we'll try more constraints. Probably recording at home, with freeflowing coffee, pre-ordered notes, more forgiving surroundings and probably an SM58. If i get my way.

Topicwise, I'm guessing we'll stick to what we know; social media, governmental social media, books, music, etc...

All of which will continue to make us laugh loudly and sporadically, I'm sure.

I'll let you know how we get on.

Have a great weekend.

-- Post From My iPhone

Wednesday 11 February 2009

flow






They come and go
These thoughts and flowers.
Like seconds, minutes,
Daydreamed hours.

I thought I saw you
In the crowd
A face, upturned,
Then washed aground.

I spent a while
With you, in dreams,
Then came back down,
To harsher things.

Monday 2 February 2009

"Oh the weather outside is frightful..."


So. We were told last week, that 'Siberian' weather was on it's way and to expect it to hit this week. And it has.

We got a few random flakes Sunday (yesterday) morning, then the 'snow proper' started last night. I spent Sunday afternoon with friends and we were all excited to see the snow-covered world outside when i left at about 6pm. An inch-worth of virgin dusting, gently draped over the world. There were five of us, but it was the four adults who practically squealed with excitement when we opened the door; not the two year old. We all called out to him excitedly, running about; his dad frantically trying to find his little gumboots and hooded coat, while the rest of us rushed to find the poor boy.

He must have thought we were all mad.

I was still saying my goodbyes, but father & son were already on the pavement. Father - endearingly almost impatiently - rushing ahead, while my little friend pensively pottered, head down, almost startled at this wonderfully weird new world, gumboots kicking out, finding their feet on the new land... (He has seen snow before, but this was the first time it had snowed since he had learned to walk.)

The news cycle tells us that the snow grew heavier, the weather fiercer, overnight. A bus accident early this morning decreed that the weather would be too unforgiving for London's bus services. Most of the 'underground' lines also have a fair stretch of their services overground, which means they too are down 'til further notice (bar the Victoria line which is wholly underground, and a couple of more robust lines). Last time i checked, an hour or so ago, other rail services were suffering 'severe' delays, restrictions and disruptions due to the heavy snow. Commuters were still being advised to...well...not to.

The weather seems to have brought out the kindest, most beautiful in people. A kind man passing by, stopped and grinned at me as I waited for my bus to work this morning. "All the buses are down" he said. He told me he was going to try his luck at the train station. As I trudged carefully back homeward, I passed a very happy looking family, seemingly doing the same. The man offered "there are no trains either, apparently", as he peeked out from under delighted, piggy-backed daughter and we exchanged experiences and travel information.

I arrived home just before my housemate's return. She was laughing, exclaiming "i tried to walk it, but only got a mile. the snow was up to here!", as she pointed to her wet knees.

We put the kettle on and settled in front of BBC Breakfast News to watch reports of "the worst weather for 18 years". Even the phonelines seem to be suffering. My three bosses got my email before any of us had managed to actually speak to each other. My main boss had tried to call, but had gone straight to voicemail, as my network struggled to keep us all in touch. When we eventually spoke, she said she had managed to get in, but her husband was staying home with their children.

I popped out just now for supplies; milk, bread, papers, etc. Our usually quiet neighbourhood is positively bustling with excited children and snowed-in parents. Our local supermarket has closed all it's doors, except for one on manual setting. The guy manning the door, shouted to the small crowd out on the pavement outside, explaining that they were only allowing one small group of customers in the store at a time; due to staff shortages.

I strolled back to a smaller, quieter local store. No newspapers had reached this far south yet. But I was lucky enough to get the last loaf of bread.

As I walked back home (on our incredibly well and quick-gritted pavements - well done Southwark Council!), i passed one young couple. The girl spoke softly and wearily to her friend "as soon as I get home, i'm getting straight back into my pyjamas". Probably the very best advice I've heard in the last 5hrs+.

Huddling round the television for further weather news, we marvelled - as we always do at times like this - at how little it takes to bring London to a virtual halt. Or, perhaps, an everything but 'virtual' halt. Once they would have said "Watch The Skies". Now it seems to be "get online". (Although, a guest on BBC Breakfast News practically scowled at the sluggish online 'updates'. "Listen to your local radio stations, they always have the best and latest news", he advised, practically leaning and winking into the camera. I had to admire his thinking.

We're staying warm, drinking ridiculous amounts of tea and watching the skies...

Be warm, well, safe and happy; whoever and wherever you may be.

Sunday 18 January 2009

"I Still Miss Someone"



I've been meaning to borrow the old family photo albums from my Mum for a while now, to scan some of these old shots in.

I ache to see some of these old photos, desperate to refresh fading memories, of ghosts and times i barely knew, but love and miss. Every day. Still.

I always eye the huge pile of loved, and lovingly assembled leatherbound photo albums, in their quiet place, at the bottom of a bookcase in the corner of my Mum & stepdad's living room.

They pulled at me again today, when I went round for lunch.

So I finally plucked up the courage, risking upsetting both of us, and asked my Mum if I could borrow the earliest volume to scan some shots in. Some gaps, losses, absences - whatever you call them - never quite seem to heal over. They're accepted, but never quite understood. It's so difficult to explain. Or talk about.

My Mum often reminds me how, when i was little, I used to plead with her, constantly, for her to get the old photo albums out, to talk me through each one, slowly, again. She'd resist, gently, remembering how much it would upset us both, seeing the other one upset by memories of things gone and people passed. But I'd promise not to cry this time (more to myself than her), but I'd start to buckle, she'd get upset and so it would be.

We laugh about it now, of course. On the rare occasions that the subject comes up. But there will always be that split-second silence, stillness, between the laughter & the "where were we?"...

I remember some of the old shots from when I used to look at them, when I was little; maybe 4 or 5 years old and randomly since.

I have strange reactions to some of these photos. Some I remember seeing, some I seem to remember being taken. (Like this one.) Looking at them this afternoon (in short controlled bursts), I was surprised at how strongly I seemed to remember one rattle (very cool - white and blue, great handle), my cot (cool pictures on it), an old towel that I was swaddled in all those years ago as a baby, and that I later remember my mum using as I grew up, that my Dad must have used and touched... Such good quality, it lasted decades, even outliving one of us...

Anyway. My Mum tells me that my Dad took this photo.

I think photography - or rather, the love of it - is in my blood. my Mum's family has significant roots in photography.

I'm told my Dad was a keen photographer. This photo was taken with his Voigtlander Bessamatic. (Bessie is sitting beside me now, here, in her worn, warm, loved leather case; having wound her way through the branches of our strange family tree, back to me - 15 odd years since I watched her go, out 'there', falling into other hands - the 'wrong' hands, not my hands, i remember thinking - while knowing too well, that it was just one of a few fine threads that might still lead back to my Dad...

But that's OK. She's come home now.

(linking the title to Rosanne Cash singing her father's song seemed somehow fitting.)

Tuesday 6 January 2009

Up





I looked and saw
A scratch of sky
Where people sped
Elevated high
Above the buildings
Amongst the clouds
Fleeting
Flying
Between the worlds

I saw the sun
Bounce to and fro
Off building corners
And high windows
I wondered if you saw it too
From where you were
Out in the blue