Thirty years in town.

Thirty years of urban life

And still the fields they call,

The wild woods they pull,

The salt marshes send forth their feelers

And fill my heart with an anonymous ache.

Why can’t I let them go.



Or do their pagan gods still cling,

Put out their invisible threads,

Hold me with a grinning satisfaction

In their primeval power.

Oh, let me cut the threads.


But no, I would not cut those threads,

Destroy the unforgotten,

Anaesthetise the ache.

The tremulous spirit needs to stir

To far off music.

I will not close my ears.

My thoughts about the human condition.

I feel that I should be saying something about the terrible state the world is in at present in so many places,and also about the threats to flights, but what can I say? I long for a time when the people of the world will think of themselves as fellow human beings and not as different species from each other. I think it was in Pickwick Papers that Charles Dickens said 'we are all on the same journey to the grave'. If only we could be good to each other and accept each other while we are on that journey.

At This Moment

At this moment I want to write
A serious, heartfelt verse,
But unfortunately there's a constant fight
With thoughts that will intersperse.

And there's a cat on my lap
With his prodding claws
Which dig into my knees.
Why can't he have the velvety paws

Of the perfect feline? Also
There's the dinner to get,
And some clothes to iron,
If the family's not to fret.

So, tomorrow perhaps, my serious rhyme
Will find its way from my brain.
The day will dawn when there's plenty of time
For the flow of my pen and the birth of my rhyme.

St Peter's on the Wall, Bradwell, Essex

This is one of my favourite places in the world. It is a place of peace. I do not know who took this photo. It is a very lovely one.