Places

Crystal clear water
washes over the weir,
bubbles and froths
in the dark
green pool at our feet.

A kingfisher darts,
an iridescent flash
in the depths,
shimmering in
a balletic haze.

We dangles lines
expectantly,
in the slow swirling eddies
at the pool’s edge;
sun on our backs,
smiles on our faces,
hope in our hearts
of a world for the taking,
childhood  dreams.

.

Who’s going to tell us…

 

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Mornings

An owl hoots somewhere in the darkness
to my right where there are no stars,
only the solid blackout curtain that is
the silhouette of the castle atop the hill.

I can’t see it but I know it’s there,

know the stars still sparkle

behind the sandstone facade

of the long terrace,

beyond the many windowed walls

wan with pale moonlight,

only visible from the town side,

concealed from me by the night,

yet so imposing by day,

defining my surroundings.

As I walk,

the gentle morning breeze

re-invigorates my soul,

carries the faint echo of my footsteps

into the pregnant pause

of the day yet to wake.

Not another soul do I see

on my five in the morning walk;

no living thing,

though I’m not alone.

The owl, and

the still silent dawn chorus

wait impatiently in the wings

for their early morning curtain call,

and the scurryings underfoot,

in the hedgerows,

and beside the path

all accompany me.

I’ve walked this way

a thousand times;

no more.

No six o’clock start,

no factories left,

they’re all gone.

No buses to catch,

no early morning call

at the newsagents.

No Dante’s Inferno hell of a foundry
either.

This morning ritual,

my solitary walk with the creator, creation,

in all its subdued glory

is but a memory,

a dream

I revisit from time to time,

remembering

when life held so much promise;

when to be cold, tired and
walking wearily to work

in the dark dead of night

was a joy

not recognised

nor truly appreciated.

Tempus

bang
the big clock begins
attosecond one
history gone
Chronos, Kairos
relatives strung out along the
quantum superhighway
travelling paradoxically
confused by causality
non-spatial continuum
temporal delirium
celestial hourglass illuminating the
astronomical gnomon shading
an illusory time travelling genius
fleeting
floating
finite

Ian Rankin – Standing In Another Man's Grave

9781409144724I’ve just finished reading Ian Rankin’s Standing In Another Man’s Grave, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, as always with Rankin’s books. I’m a long time fan of the Inspector Rebus series and was delighted when I read the character was being resurrected by Rankin. I think every fan must have felt the way I did when they got to the end of Exit Music and Rebus retired. Why?

Standing in Another Man’s Grave is a wonderful read, although it did feel different to the other Rebus books. Rebus is still retired, and I think Rankin has done a fine job with the retired cop versus the  Rebus of his previous novels. In this incarnation he appears a little more aware of the consequences of his actions on the people around him; a more pensive side to the man who normally lets nothing get in the way of his search for the truth; rules, regulations, etiquette, nothing. Maybe the Rebus of old, with all the rough edges and ‘Bull in a china shop’ way of dealing with things will return in Rankin’s next Rebus book, Saints Of The Shadow Bible, which sees him back on the force and working with his old nemesis Malcolm Fox, who was out for Rebus’s blood in Standing In Another Man’s Grave.

I loved everything about Standing In Another man’s Grave. Rebus was once again working with his old partner Siobhan Clarke, and Big Ger Cafferty made a couple of appearances. I read this book in a couple of days, and that’s only because I wanted to savour the return of Rebus.

I thoroughly recommend this book, a great read.

Eyrie

I can see for miles from up here
in the big sky
clouds seemingly an arm’s length
above my head

I can see the stars at night
from my bed
the moon too
when it arcs into view

there are miles of open fields
and trees
all green and new
so much still to be revealed
to my appreciative eyes

I love watching the clouds
from above the traffic’s noise
people strolling by beneath my feet
the collective voice
of children playing in the park

then with night
everything changes
lights
everywhere
in the sky
on the ground
all around
beautiful
it
doesn’t
get
much
better
than
this