Friday, 18 August 2017

common as the clouds, 18/August/17

the buzzards have been busy
soaring overhead
sometimes even landing on my roof
plonk!
calling with a voice much too high-pitched for its size........
once upon a time when I first moved here all those years ago a buzzard as a common sight was decidedly not, in fact spotting one caused much pointing, staring and shouting,
"a buzzard, look a buzzard!"
a privilege to boot........... as the years have from all those years ago moved on as they do until we come to now buzzards have happily become a much more common sight hovering over verges, field and now my garden, spiralling up and up and up into the clouds going round a space of air as the earth goes round the sun and my eyes do as I watch.......... it's happened without a fuss too, and with a little hep from some much-needed education of the fools who used to shoot or poison them out of blind and wilful ignorance........
despite the relative frequency as a spot upon the sky I still stop, and stare and maybe shout but usually whisper,
"a buzzard, look a buzzard"
as I sometimes do with skeins of geese as their v'ing overhead as they do at this time of the year in ever-growing numbers every morning and evening dragging autumn snapping at their heels.... except I stop and stare and whisper,
"geese, look geese!"
despite them being common as the clouds.......


© robert greig 2017

Thursday, 17 August 2017

magic or madness, 17/August/17

I abandoned myself to the darkness.....
I believe one should write something every day, anything, preferably handwritten with a pen, in ink... or a pencil should one prefer...... lead can be a leveller, impressing its words depending on mood, what's on your mood, dark or light.........
the first line here are the first words I wrote when I opened my notebook... not my first thoughts, whatever they were now, long gone among a flurry of others and their turbulent ways stumbling in like expectant shoppers voraciously flooding through shop doors for the January sales.........


it isn't January......

worms sloughing trails behind them........

I hit a wall........ been on the go for weeks non-stop.... simply relaxing into the moment, any moment, has been all but impossible..... I know this now having just remembered to breathe....... without even glancing in the mirror I know my expressions are expressionless, stripped away, blank indiscernible vacuum where my features hang in weightless obscurity..........
my pen doesn't write upside down......
I remember the first time I ever typed, wrote, on a computer, I don't remember what the first word was but when I saw unwriting appear out of nothing....... magic or madness?


© robert greig 2017

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

washing words, 16/August/17

with the last of the light I could feel the approach of dark,
a meeting of minds,
one inclined one disinclined,
one refined one unrefined, stark as it is to be here between a touch straining pretence from its pores, there are no defences here, just porosity........
they're dragging the river with hooks and with nets and divers who move as fluidity, ottery, feeling their way through turbidity's murk a hundred metres up, a hundred metres downstream of a sturdy stone arch of a long-ago bridge built in a time when hands were the only tools, a number tooled into a plaque so small, so subtle, so weathered as to barely be noticed at all.... everything must be labelled, named, coded in language that only the ones who know, know ......... it's the details you know that you don't see at first, the overlooked, underseen, that's where the story resides......... only one thing to think about, perhaps none at all, as the river sings with a series of notes you couldn't compose, a melody, rhapsody hiding me laying below with the caddis and spawn but unlike the salmon I'm not meant to be there, I shouldn't be here and neither should they, searching with fingertips looking for ghosts, scrimping and scraping disturbing the sediment........
the sweetest disturbance of silt.......
a sliver of light diffused by the dark infused through a lensing of ripples, tomorrow's a new day, for some, I'm sure they will find me as for now just give me one  night here all alone beyond the rain, beyond the pain, washing my last unspoken words to the sea........


© robert greig 2017