Archives For Nature

The Dinner

November 4, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Ode To Social Anxiety

 

Sitting opposite my wife

With my napkin

On my lap,

I gripped my fork and stabbed the duck,

Marinated in weird oriental sauces, so I thought,

Served with a smashed potato,

As I was crushed by an

Intensifying anxiety,

Aware (or thinking) that the two diners

At the next table

Were watching me.

 

My mouth was as dry as the skin on the bird,

My stare as steely as the knife by the dinner plate,

And the guy with the beard and glasses grinned

And whispered something to his wife

Who turned around

To look at me.

 

And I chewed on the meat that was as tough as nails

Between my teeth,

 

And I knew I was not only fighting a losing battle

With my culinary skills

But also, the people around me,

Who I knew,

Found my side profile odd,

And disconcerting.

That was the only explanation I could find.

 

We were on a ship and had no choice,

Our seats were allotted arbitrarily,

At the reception desk,

And my fellow diners, complete strangers,

Now had to contend

With my presence,

Having spoiled their evening

With my glancing and scanning

To see who was watching,

And guessing that they must be thinking

What I knew to be true,

Without validation.

 

I do look odd from the side,

So they say,

And the duck, was really quite tough.

When the diners had gone

I asked the waiter

“What was the sauce” and he said

It was  plum puree.

Plum.

Puree.

 

And the ship sailed along

As we finished our wine

A man sang a song

We were both feeling fine,

And the diners had gone

To their cabins to sleep

Outside there were stars

And waters so deep.

 

But I didn’t go back

The following night

To our table

Beside

The strangers.

The inherent dangers

Of projecting our fears

On each other

Can be put aside

Because

We will never see

Each other again.

 

 

 

 

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How much more can I take

From the weak, petty and jealous

Propping up their frail egos

By draining me

Of my peace

Of mind?

 

How will this end?

 

Their ego and character will sit unsteadily

On a dry faltering castle of sand

As my mind

Will become even more focused

And rid of the trivial,

Glowing like real solid gold

 

As the froth from the sliding ripples

Crawls

Towards an already

Shaky fort.

 

And the happiness

Drained from me

 

Was not enough

To save the castle

From crumbling

Back to the sea.

 

 

Only to have my faith and peace trashed
And crumpled up
And thrown back on to the path.

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A split second moment
That meant nothing to anyone
But me

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Good afternoon.

Some wine,

Break bread,

Listen intently

As the afternoon breaks,

Out of

Morning’s cold clutch,

And becomes

Luminous,

In its own right.

Pulling the river and the people

Quicker

Towards a red silver evening.

A Sunday on La Grande Jatte - 1884

 

Grandfather’s Clock

December 11, 2016 — Leave a comment

I remember

Running through streams and stepping over twisty ripples

One mossy rock at a time,

The thin hands on the grandfather clock

Ticked and tocked and stopped momentarily

Allowing our laughs and screams of joy

Time to spread through the trees and bramble,

And the sunlight to dance on our dreams.

 

I’m older now and recall,

Such happy moments, golden times.

They pierce the hard days and drudgery

Of this horrid world

When the same thin hands on the grandfather clock

Never seems to stop,

To let the same old sun come into my dreams.

 

Summer Time

March 17, 2016 — Leave a comment

What a beautiful day

Nice

Hot

Sweaty

Clean fresh views

Of the raspberry bush

Purply red prickly swaths

Of leaves

And fruit

And watery streams

Running away from springtime