I found a pebble
on the beach,
small and round
within my reach;
I picked it up
I put it down,
it made me smile,
it made me frown.
.
I visit the beach
most every week,
I see my pebble not
though I do seek;
perhaps someone else did find
my pebble there,
and did not leave my pebble behind,
took it away, without a care.
I was writing a poem,
it wasn’t that good;
but, even so,
I had to finish it,
as a proper poet should.
.
I honed it to perfection,
made it absolutely the best,
a cut above your average,
a thrust above the rest…
.
… then I accidentally deleted it,
‘Whoosh!” and it was gone;
never to be written the same way;
but, its loss,
not to be dwelt upon.
When you go
(and I know you will)
I hope that you’ll know
that I am still with you;
and all that we had
is with you
and all that we were
is with you
and all that we are
is there
with you.
4 leads out; 3 leads back.
Well, it wasn’t going to be a lost dog lead now, was it? No, yet again, it was my iPhone charging lead. I will never learn. And we did two more laps of the woods to try and find it – the dogs loved that – but, no, I didn’t find the 18” long, shiny blue lead. I will have to head off to the local shop and pur-chase a replacement.
You have to laugh at these small, inconsequential, misfortunes.
Anyway, I shall post this now as a reminder to myself to take more care next time – but, there is going to be a next time for losing my lead, that I can assure you.
Nobody knows how
to safely praise the Titanic;
a feat to be measured in two parts.
The first somewhat shorter
than the second,
the second, reckoned,
to be longer than the first.
How can this task be done?
I ask you this,
because I know that you have knowledge,
and brains,
know the difference between locomotives and trains,
and can count from ten to one,
backwards.
But, how can it be done?
I ask you this,
as I have asked you before,
is there any way
that we can possibly praise the Titanic
from the depths of our hearts?
Tobie was a catcher,
a catcher in the rye;
he’d catch the ball I threw for him
no matter how far or high.
I miss my little catcher,
his cuddles and his ways;
but that pooch did live his best life
in the most mysterious ways.
There’s an acquaintance
that I have no knowledge of –
I call him Sidney.
.
He likes to call round
at inopportune moments
and brings me flowers.
.
He stays for minutes –
barely time for a cuppa –
then he toodles off.
.
I count down the hours
until he returns once again
a bunch in his hand.
.
I don’t like flowers,
or Sidney, or Sidney’s hat;
they make me feel sad.
.
One day – not today –
I shall answer the front door
wearing just a smile.
.
This may do the trick,
or it might encourage him,
who can tell these days?
—//—
When Sidney passed on,
I cried for a long weekend,
and felt my time called.
.
Forty years later,
I still think of old Sidney,
and his horrible hat.
Our Triffid, it’s gone!
Or it may be hiding;
we dare not go and see,
we do not go and look –
or perhaps it’s just a mythical creature
I read of in a book.
We counted them out,
and we counted them in,
there were fewer came back,
and they cried ‘Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a degree of sorrow;
‘But, we are bound to win tomorrow’.
So, we counted them out,
and we counted them in,
still fewer came back,
and they asked ‘Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a soupçon of sorrow,
‘But, we’ll probably win tomorrow.’
So, we counted them out,
and we counted them in,
just a handful came back,
and they asked, Did we win?’
‘Not today.’ we said,
with a small pinch of sorrow,
Though we’re quite likely to win on the morrow.’
Then we counted them out,
and we counted him in,
a dusty young lad from the Farthings,
and he asked, ‘Did I win?’
‘Not today’. we admitted,
with a tear in one eye,
‘But tomorrow is another day,
in which you can try’.
We counted him out…
Sadly, that is what I did: whilst trying to listen to a ‘notes’ document on my iPhone I managed within two or three seconds to delete the whole thing.
Not the end of the world, nor a major catastrophe, but I felt the sadness that losing something precious brings.
It’s not like losing a friend or a relative – as also happened today – and in comparison losing a sketch, poem, or script is nothing – but it set my mood on a downward slope that has been hanging around me since.
Losing a friend of Jane’s today is much more serious, and my error pales into insignificance – however, some things we can avoid, and some things we can’t.
It’s been quite a rubbishy Friday, and all on top of the current crisis in the world.
Sharing a thought for those who lose, and those who are lost in the world today, and every day.
G❤️
Graeme Sandford 