Thursday, 18 January 2018

a tattle-tale (18/Jan/18)



where are the jackdaws I wonder…

my jackdaws… would they really be spending all night atop the canopies of the tallest sycamore, ash and oak that root and branch the woodland across the road as though it was any other night?... in their rookery… alongside their brothers, and sisters, in wings, the rooks?...

while all the while tonight’s wild, icy, wintry storm raves and craves and drools for attention… everyone’s attention,  and it’s got it… after all, it’s hard to ignore…

if they are they’ll be hanging on for dear claws which, although are contracted when relaxed thus making perching with their closed talons is essentially effortless, in this weather I’m sure they’d be stretching their effortlessness to clinging with beaks clenched… much as I admire them, indeed all of the crow family, I’m glad tonight not to be one… out there, in the dark, at the mercy of the January elements at its most unforgiving January-worse…… the kind of weather not there to make friends nor any compromises as it decidedly uncompromisingly wails away to its hearts content bringing all of its mayhemical choirs to the fore for a crescendo that goes on… and on… and on……

I wonder if they’ll all make it through the night, for some new to the fold their first ever January, no doubt beyond their wildest imaginings… if jackdaws have wild imaginings which I’m sure they have, just look in their blue eyes…… I know they’re tough as old black boots but such stormy gusts punctuated by hail and sleet for good measure may be more than a match for anyone’s mettle but the most hardy… or the most canny who’ve dropped down below the canopy to slightly more sheltered branched retreats…

and here I am far form tree-hugging at no doubt the jackdaws are doing, instead I’m duvet-hugging, coddled in a bevy of pillows… I wonder if they even know I’m here, though I imagine they have enough on the corvid minds with the storm and all… but if they did would they think how  torrid it would be locked up inside that tiny box and with no feathers!... no feathers!... that’s just unnatural and obscene!... I can hear them tattle-taleing right now……
there was an old man who lived in a box
he didn’t wear feathers
‘tis surely his loss.


© 2018 robert greig

Wednesday, 17 January 2018

behind your eyes (17/Jan/18)


clatter, clatter, storm and clatter…..
the perfect night for a ghost story… the setting was set, the soundtrack composed of thumps and of creaks and of rattles and groans and of moments of deafening silence when the storm seemed to pause, take a breath and then start up all over again with equal verve and ire and tenacity……
a lot of angst to get out and it was unleashing it in squallish fashion…
clatter, clatter, storm and clatter……
‘twas indeed a perfect night for a ghost story even though none was told… though all the ingredients seemed to converge including even a graveyard that’s sleeping next door, as well as even a graveyard can sleep on nights such as these with the banging and bumping…… anything that wasn’t lashed down got lashed by the fingers of winds that slipped dexterously in and around them to use them in ways they weren’t meant to be used, everything outside these walls was decidedly restless, no doubt even the graves that shivered and shuddered sternly and stonely under their plinths and six-feet or more of earth with lichen protecting the headstones and ivy a blanket lay liberally strewn and hunkered as close to the ground as ivy could cling……
nothing walked and nothing flew and yet everything moved however unwillingly while a hundred or more of hauntings and shadowy flauntings are torn and flung with last autumns leaves like ragdolls ripped from another time that someone forgot but still lurks in an inscription inscribed on a headstone now somewhat askew just there, over there, under the holly that’s been there for years longer than anyone remembers, the holly that nobody planted yet grows unknown of provenance now tall and thickset in wintergreen leaves, protecting itself, protecting the grave from intruders or from any who dare to tread too close for comfort…
it coddles an under-darkness, beneath the night, within the shadows it gives birth to those of its own, more deeper more recessed, the kind you only will find  sleeping behind your eyes….


   © 2018 robert greig

Tuesday, 16 January 2018

big fish/ little fish (16/Jan/18)



it’s simple laws of physics… when something gets too big it becomes unstable at either collapses in on itself or pops… as so many big businesses, corporations, greed-mongers, mangy money-monsters have found to their detriment…… or more often than not to the detriment of those at the bottom who without fail get crushed in the aftermath……

and it keeps happening, there’s nothing new here with yet another over-bloated business, this time being a construction firm, going out of business having found its mass too big for its boots… and why?... because like all the other that went before and all those currently well on the way to the same fate, it’s only ever a matter of time, they have swallowed up smaller business concern after smaller business concern, some of whom were competitors and what better way to deal with one than to eat them alive through aggressive takeovers…… consequently they grew… and grew… and grew… getting bigger, lumpier, blobbier, more incongruous to the point of…. pop!...... imagine how you feel after over-eating, stuffing more and more inside even though there’s already no more room at the inn….

these companies are almost anorexic…. stuffing themselves stupid only to spew it all out again, in this case the jobs of those in the smaller businesses they’ve bought and then dismantled piece by piece, worker by worker… and then they do it again… and again… and again… until their body can’t handle it anymore and one by one systems irrevocably shut down until there’s nothing left but skin and bones…

it’s nothing new, nothing no one doesn’t already know and yet… it keeps happening… bigger fish are allowed and even encouraged and enabled to eat smaller fish under a fundamentally flawed and convenient misinterpretation of Darwin’s “survival of the fittest” theory… basically ‘strong kills weak and goes on to rule the world’ is far from what it means……

simple laws of physics… play Jenga and see for yourself…… there’s only so big a business of a particular type can be before it implodes, begins to eat itself alive and each business only needs to be as big, or indeed as small, as it need to be to remain (to use that well-worn cliché) fit for purpose, for its raison d’etre…. gluttony is probably one of the seven deadly sins for a reason……

   © 2018 robert greig