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Showing posts from December, 2020

New Years's resolution - Be more organism

  Be more Organismed   Whilst walking with my two sons to ward off depression, anxiety and in my case fibromyalgia, the eldest turned to me and asked, do you think you could build a nest with your mouth? I thought for a bit and was understandably taken aback. How do they know how to make the structure in triangles he went on? I’m not sure they know how we consider knowing to be. They don’t have an instruction manual to follow. It’s more a case of the knowledge being part of their body. My son started to say something about them being programmed. But who is controlling them he asked? At this point I felt that this idea of control is perhaps the greatest stumbling block to expanded empathetic thought that there is. God used to be the controller so who or what is in control now that he is dead?    After being thrown in at the deep end with affect theory during my doctorate in fine art I have become more and more interested in the idea of embodied understanding and the a...

A funeral in Norwood

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I once went to a funeral in Norwood of the neighbour opposite A widower who fought in the Korean War, lent me a book on Darwin as well as The Origin of Species. The vicar told the one about going to another room And I espied in my mind's eye the pale lime green shiney embossed wall-paper interior A water colour of a boat on the sea hanging forlornly on the wall Roy had had stomach pains for a while Try peppermint tea I suggested In my new father's alternative wisdom Nothing will shift it he says a month later It's cancer he politely tells us a few days after. His son, a nomadic young man, comes to stay When his father dies we hope he will remain. Take on the house but he doesn't want the bother doesn't want the legacy the what's its name? the responsibility. Is that how we do it then? Tell ourselves we have a responsibility to suffer? hello Mr Burden  I'm your responsible adult Roy's just gone to another room says the vicar forgetting that the whole conc...

Here is a poem

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Here is a poem An if not now when? *Passes the binoculars Think of it like a bird-table hanging from a goat-willow tree Somewhere for the sparrows to arrive upon and take succour inside its damp moss covered form A miniature primitive hut evoking the majesty of Corinth Suspended for a moment mid-air seeds spilling to the ground below Birds twitching like anti-matter bulbs in an inverted roadside illumination beckoning drivers to stop and grab some nutritious sustenance a bite to eat before continuing on their way to the final destination the museum of human endeavour. 

Why young people walk so slowly

  Why do young people walk so slowly? Content to saunter and gently chat About the mornings course or this and that I genuflect for youth is holy   Why do young people walk so slowly? Behind them I must trail and stumble My ears eaves drop the words they mumble I cannot understand their manners wholly   Why then do young people walk slowly? Legs languidly stretched across my path A head softly turns and I hear a laugh Its muted echo repeats come follow me      

Up Den Hill (ABBA)

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Today I walked up Den Hill Past the museum with its historic recipe for gingerbread Through the Carfax with a memorial for the war dead I did all this whilst sitting still  Today I walked up old Den Hill Into the park where, as a child, I watched a re-enactment of the American Civil-War Down past football pitches where I longed a spectacular goal to score I did all this whilst sitting still Today I walked upon Den Hill Up past the Co-op that was once a Spar and before that a Vivo Behind the house where I grew up kicking a ball against a wall, a place we had to leave though I did all this whilst sitting still Today I took a walk up to Den Hill Past Waterstone's the bookshop serving coffee and posting handwritten recommendations  About life changing insights and transformative story-telling sensations I did all this whilst sitting still Today I walked up to Den Hill Down the Causeway towards the old Parish Church Through the golden daffodils in the graveyard where for ...