In The Graveyard

After our deaths - when we're laid to rest

...no-one in the graveyard will care.

No-one will care that we thought ourselves 'the big cheese' of something - there's no power to wield in a graveyard.

No-one will care about the grandeur of our tombs

the family mausoleums in which we lay - leave that to the living!

No-one will care about the words carved onto our headstones - as touching as they are!

No-one will care about fresh flowers

regularly placed on a tidied grave.

No-one will care that you've chosen to leave no mark

to have your ashes scattered...

anonymously

feeding the deep lush grass of the crematorium gardens.

No-one in the graveyard will care!

Death comes to us all 

Be we black, white yellow or brown.

Who will we be in death?

No-one in the graveyard will care!

But...

who we were in life is more important.

Think about it!

Who Are We?

Who are we?

Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?

Are we our lineage

our ancestry 

are we just our DNA - maybe?

Are we the sum of our own experiences?

Are we our family's traditions?

Are we the music we were exposed to

the TV programmes they 

watched - they watched them 

so we did.

Did the jobs our parents had define us?

Did the wisdoms they passed onto us

their religions and their beliefs 

in a kind of subliminal inherited wisdom

of rights and wrongs

how things should be done

how to carry yourself

how to be in this world...

did that define us?

Were all these elements imprinted onto us by our family

our people

our culture

our upbringing?

Growing up you may not have realised this

or - if you did

you might not have liked this

how they did things

their choices

their ways

but these ways were already instilled in us.

Growing up you might have felt the need to rebell

but you would only have been rebelling against what you were destined to become

or we're already 

these standards which had been instilled in you

which you in time

will pass on to your children.

After all...

Who are we?

Who are we if not just the culture in which we were raised?

Click here to hear me read this piece 

We, We Two, One, Us

I am - 'me'

the personal pronoun - 'I" 

I've always been - 'me'

'myself'

I thought I didn't know how to be anyone else - but I found a way

when I became - 'us'

when I met - 'her'

when I asked - 'her'

the big question

and she said - "yes!"

so she and I became - 'we'

'we two'

'one'

'us'

and we've been - 'we'

'we two'

'one'

'us'

for so many years

so much so that 

being - 'we'

'we two'

'one'

'us'

is all I know - now

who would I be if there were no 'we'

'we two'

'one'

'us'

for - at some point in time

one of us is going to loose the other 

what we have 

now

can all be swept away so very quickly!

But...

have I forgotten who I am

what the personal pronoun 'I' means anymore

what 'being me' - is or was?

Who I am?

Who would I be?

And...

could I ever be 'me' again?

Click here to hear me read this piece

Looe

Low cloud hangs over the steep valley sides above what was one of Cornwall's busiest ports.

Separating the twin towns of Looe - 'The River Looe'

nearly at it's end 

is spanned by a small grade II

listed bridge

built replacing an ancient 15th century structure.

Once both angry and fast 

tributaries,

the two main rivers

with identical names to the two towns - are joined as one

in a confluence north of the towns

they become a calm 

tidal harbour 

where for many centuries

shipwrights made the ships which set sail

to fish

and to sell

exporting all that Cornwall could produce.

Nowadays it's quays produce

beds for the night

and lunches

coffees and teas for tourists

who

in the summer months

flood in; in their thousands

by train

by boat

or by car 

down the narrow winding lanes that feed the two towns. 

The single river having become a slow 

calm

harbour

provdes shelter for a small fishing fleet

a mere fraction of what it was -

the pleasure crafts and weekend sailors making up the numbers

then

finally 

the river becomes an estuary 

and passes 'Banjo Pier'

when this former gateway to a wider 

waiting world

...becomes the sea.

Click here to hear me read this piece

An Encounter

He came in from the night. 

He was thin - very thin

and had a gaunt and pale complexion.

His overall appearance was dishevelled,

you could say he looked 'shifty'.

His face was weather-beaten  

hardend by life.

He had thin lips - which he kept tightly shut

and supper for this thin

dishevelled

weather beaten soul?

10 cans of cheap lager

with a bag of crisps on the side.

His tobacco stained fingers handed the cashier a crumpled ten pound note 

which he took from a pocket.

It could have been his last - who knows

he certainly didn't look well off

but had a homeless look about him

unkempt

wearing many layers of dirty clothes

looking like he hadn't the means 

nor the circumstances to do anything about it.

He took his change from the cashier's hand

and loaded his empty rucksack with the lagers - with what looked like a very well practiced routine...

...he then turned

and disappeared back into the night.

Click here to hear me read this piece

(Haiku)

Valentine's day cards

hastily being bought and

written on the day!