My first piece of writing on here for a while, I have stopped travelling so much, and time is full of work and commute. I am trying to keep all my time together and use it well.
What happens when we use up all the names
for storms that whipcrack race to us
across the Atlantic?
Ready to lift trees, roots and most of our life.
We weather the storm, the ground opened
and the push pull vacuum.
We weather the clawing at the windows,
scoured walls, pock-marked by debris
as the dust settles to a silence, a wait.
Here now the milk moon is clear sky bright
and full to drag the tides high, to drag us all
into pitiless grayscale light.
We are such poor shadows without the sun,
in the new silence of un-named storms.
We stand and watch on opened ground,
waiting for rain that clears the sky,
breaks the shadow hold on watchers
hidden in the doorways. Waiting for spring
and the tidal race we find the world
has turned her back on us. The weather is coming,
and the world turns with the coming storm.
When the tide is out, there’s plenty of space to think. Exmoor in the haze, miles to walk, and because of the sharp wind, nobody about. Winter in a seaside town can seem bleak, but it has such views and sunsets here on the West coast of England.
On clear days like this you see across the Bristol channel to Wales, the Brecon Beacons, with this cloudscape for added drama. I love the shades of blue, the detail in the clouds.
After the three storms in quick succession, all rolling up the Severn, creating havoc, it’s nice to look back on quieter times. This past Saturday we had the first face to face meeting of our poetry group. You forget how good it is to listen, in person to people reading for the pleasure of sharing.
I hope your week is good, and you are staying safe out there.
A week up in the North of England, an evening stroll and a camera. Just a few shots from this set, all the time I have to get them ready. Tomorrow I head home, always a good direction to head in. At the end of this post, as it’s National Poetry Day, I have a short piece for you to read, let me know what you think.
It is always amazing how much things can change over a few minutes from oranges to blues and deepening into grey and black.
For National Poetry Day.
Being displaced, different,
I am North, an unknown.
I am a stranger.
Every word is a dislocation,
I am not of here,
of hills and dark walls,
of strange names.
Each night I sleep, wait
for the sun,
wait for my shadow to fall
behind me. To wait for one day.
and I am home.
I always have a strong affinity for London, I grew up South of the city in Eltham, going to school at Crown Woods Comprehensive. We did lots of trips in and around all parts, visiting markets and museums, travelling on the Red Buses, a great place to grow up. So now, although I don’t want to live there, I do enjoy going back. I feel very comfortable around its streets and still manage to find my way around. This trip was to meet up with friends from Belgium, to take time, walking, chatting drinking coffee and seeing a bit of the city. So here are a few shots taken over two days around Kings Cross, Covent Garden, Camden, and places in between.
I apologise for an image heavy post, but London is a big city. I love getting out and about in places, seeing some of the quieter corners. We visited the British Library this time, where they always have some sort of open show going on. Walking around and seeing manuscripts from Mozart, notes and drawings by Da Vinci. Maps, the Magna Carter, all priceless and free to go and see, nearby the statue and frieze in St Pancras is amazing. Go visit, it’s a great place.
It occurred to me while doing the tourist, and of course taking pictures of things that interest me, that we sometimes lose sight of why we came. Have friends with us, talking, strolling and stopping for food and drink took us on a slow stroll around some of the quieter places, and some of the busy places. But looking with fresh eyes at things we may not normally see. And to all the people, faces stuck to phone screens without peering around the corner, this is for you. But don’t feel too guilty because we all get lost in it sometimes.
There is no pause when you point and shoot,
and instead of looking, seeing,
imbibing a place, drinking in the soul
of the people as a photograph in a box,
on glass or celluloid once did,
now it is stretched so thin as to be seen through.
Click and shift, click and shift – Gone.
So many possible eyes, maybe millions, maybe none.
Still reaching, still stretching, every second
draws out the soul of the picture, colour fading,
names, places, tags and Instagram come and go.
Statistically placing a value to each view
to create a top ten list of pictures you must take
when you visit this city at this time, with this person.
So much lost space, paths no longer explored
untrodden corners to tarnished gems and silent seats.
Places to wait and let the sun cross the sky,
unpictured perhaps except in a dream,
a silent waking memory of a dream,
with a smile on a face seen through glass.