You
are the second month,
and
many consider you to be second-rate.
You
are seen as something to be endured,
a
stepping stone to the beauty of March.
Four
weeks are all you contain,
yet
in those 28 days you bring so much change.
You
prepare us for the oncoming beauty,
you
taunt us with the lengthening days.
You
remind us of warmth and of comfort,
while
keeping us locked in the cold.
I
thank you, Feb, for your efforts,
but I have to say I'm glad you are going.
RC 28-2-26
If
Doctor Frankenstein were here today
and viewed the monstrous chances people take
I wonder, would he turn his head to say
"these are worse beasts than I could ever make"?
If melancholy Hamlet was alive
Ophelia still worried by his side
I wonder, with his demons, would he strive
to slay the King that slayed the one who died?
If Jesus Christ himself was born again
and offered up his sacrificial blood
I wonder, would he put himself through pain
to save his brethren from the 'pending flood?
For their poor planet, our embattled Earth
Is filled with souls who do not know its worth
RC 27-2-26
I've been so busy working on poems that I've
barely noticed the daily passing of time. Now, suddenly, somehow, IT'S NEARLY
MARCH!!!
And now I start to realise how much I was being affected by Winter. Coz finally,
hopefully, it's slowly starting to disappear.
Thank You, God. Even though I don't believe in you, I thank you.
RC 26-2-26
If I told you I'd been faithful,
that wouldn't be the truth.
I had a brief liaison,
with my secretary, Ruth.
I also took some money,
from your dying mother's purse,
but now my body's failing,
I need you to be my nurse.
So please forgive my sinning,
(I've been selfish since my birth),
and love me like a Mother would,
until I leave this earth.
RC 25-2-26
I
am, I have to admit, missing the Winter Olympics. The Summer Games are always a
sweat-fest, full of combat and competition, and you have to fit them in around
other duties, and they can get in the way a bit if you're trying to enjoy nice
weather. But the Winter edition just seems more relaxed, more watchable. It's a
welcome distraction from the horrors of the British cold, at a time of year
when we're all in mock-hibernation and trying not to go outside, and it takes
place in beautiful surroundings, with beautiful scenery. Every event looks like
it's taking place on a Christmas card. So the Summer Olympics pales in
comparison, aesthetically. Watching the triathletes swim through the Parisian
sewage while their face blisters from the sun really isn't the same as watching
cross-country skiers elegantly gliding through the Italian snowscape.
I
did bring up an idea in a manager's meeting this morning, that may or may not
have been taken seriously. I want us to get a curling rink set up somewhere on site.
I want us to take advantage of the recent publicity and the huge public
interest in the sport and make us one of the few locations within England that
people could come along and have a go at proper curling themselves. A nice way
to up our income over the leaner months, I suggested.
When I got told it would be a ridiculous expense for an extravagant facility
that would rarely be used, I said, "Well, my original idea was for us to
bid to be the hosts of the Olympics in 2042, so I've scaled my ambitions back a
bit to save you a few quid!".
I'm still not expecting an approval, but I've started looking at costings of
the build, just to see what we'd need.
RC 24-2-26
Maybe
if I took more time with my poems,
they'd
be better.
Maybe
if, instead of just throwing down words,
I
considered them carefully,
placed
them in a proven order,
provoked
responses with their power,
they'd
be better.
Maybe
if I learned the craft,
studied
the greats, obtained the experience,
honed
the skills, paid the attention,
they'd
be better.
Or
maybe I'd take away their essence.
Maybe
I'd change their birthplace,
the
internal well they spring from,
the
divine river I fish them from.
Maybe
I'd uproot the Christmas poe-tree,
under
which I find my literary gifts.
Maybe
my mind would dry,
my
pen would falter,
my
keyboard sit untroubled.
Maybe
my poems would suffer from the strain of some schooling,
be
weighed down by the weight of work,
become
a chore, a bore, an unasked-for task,
a
problem.
Maybe...
...they'd be worse.
RC 23-2-26
I don't want to tell my sons what they should
do. I want to show them what they can be.
RC 22-2-26
When
the Moon falters
He would consider himself afraid
Dancing through meadows
and imploring the Gods to aid him
as he plucks herbs,
selects shoots,
upending roots and
replenishing potions
Gathering the goodness
of the Eternal Earth
for kings and compatriots
to heal with
When the wind scuttles
He calls himself a charlatan
Proven beyond power
to be powerless
Pretending to be other
and sending his wares to the tower
Hoping for angel's hands
to guide him,
as all hopes lay in his hands
When the Great One revives,
by chance,
He finds himself exalted.
and the merry fiction continues...
RC 21-2-26
I have to admit, to myself as much as to anyone
else, that I am depressed. I've been feeling a bit under the weather, physically
and mentally, and I've been struggling to drag myself out of bed each morning,
and I've been finding seemingly easy tasks to be almost insurmountable, and
I've been worrying about it all, thinking I might have something seriously
wrong with me. And then, this morning, I realised - "I'm depressed."
And that's all it is. But that's not a small thing, and it's a very real
hindrance, and the acknowledgement of it doesn't make it dissipate,
unfortunately, so I still have some work to do to get through it. But I WILL
get through it, because I always do.
It's probably hard for anyone who doesn't suffer depressive episodes to
understand, but I know any readers who are familiar with it will empathise
and sympathise, and that makes me feel a little bit better. The truth is, some
of us find life hard sometimes, and it's not a weakness or a lack of effort, it's
a condition that we live with and get sideswiped by occasionally; usually when
it's the least convenient time for it, to be honest. But admitting to it,
instead of ignoring it, and accepting it, instead of fighting it, is a good way
to make the episode last for less time, so here I am, outing myself and hoping
that it might alleviate my symptoms.
RC 20-2-26
The bloody Winter bloody Olympics is bloody well
stopping me from being productive at work. It's such an amazing aid to
procrastination. I'm sitting here in my office, ignoring the depressing rain
outside by watching people on skis racing in something called 'the Men's Ski
Mountaineering Sprint' and I'm captivated by the snowfall and wishing I was
there to watch it. I'm keeping a very close eye on the men's curling
competition, even though Team GB aren't even playing. The point is, results
have to go a certain way for our boys to make the semi-finals, so I'm watching it.
Italy vs Switzerland. Two countries with which I have zero connection or
affiliation, but I'm watching every second and every stone. Because I have an excuse
to, and because it's more relaxing than the admin tasks I'm supposed to be
doing on my laptop. I could just pop onto a media website in an hour's
time and read the result, but I'm not going to do that. I'm going to sit here
with various different screens open, watching various different Winter sports,
and trying to convince myself I understand what is happening. And I will do it
again tomorrow. Because the bloody Olympics are bloody addictive and bloody meditative
and easy to bloody access and I am bloody weak and can't resist watching it.
RC 19-2-26
Inspired
by someone in a restaurant:
I've
never seen you before
and I'll never see you again
but you are, without question,
the most beautiful thing I've seen this year.
Prettier than that gorgeous, colourful sunset over the sea.
More attractive than every member of every girl group, ever, combined.
As kissable as a supermodel's mouth.
As huggable as a polar bear teddy bear.
And yet more so.
Tonight, you have been everything.
You have filled my vision with loveliness.
And I don't even know your name.
But thank you.
RC 18-2-26
When we were together
she had multiple affairs
Liaisions with losers
and mad millionaires
Dancing the f**ktrot
with actors and druids
Being their fantasy
drinking their fluids
Helping the heartless ones
getting their kicks
Lowering her standards
to let others have their fix
She tried different flavours
she ran the gamut
She says she's a player
I think she's a slut
But ours is a world
that now celebrates sin
So I'm the 'bad' yang
she's 'adventurous' yin
While I spend my evenings
in solitary slumbers
She'll end up with anyone
racking up numbers
Boasting to barmates
recounting with pride
While crying, and dying
and trying to hide
But I see through the selfishness
into the shame
The one who is helpless
and throwing out blame
Hating herself
for the things that she's done
Wracked with remorsefulness
and calling it fun
Losing herself
in an egoic hole
Repeating behaviours
that shatter her soul
Stuck in a cycle
that's wasting her youth
While I hold my head up
embracing the truth
So while she's in bed
with a partner or three
I can sleep in my bed
feeling proud to be me
RC 17-2-26
I
may have said this before, as I've been blogging now through a number of
Olympic cycles, but I'm not keen on events where medals are handed out based on
decisions made by judges. I prefer to see obvious winners rather than graded
participation, because it means the prizegiving just comes down to opinion. I
know there are always guidelines, and I know everyone knows what they're
getting into before they get into it, but I don't think I'd want the most
important competition of my life to be decided by the opinions of a few people
watching it on a screen and then passing judgement on it. Wouldn't it always be
open to corruption, or affected by personal mood on the day? I'd only feel
happy winning gold if there was a clear-cut methodology that proves I deserve
it. If I run fastest or jump highest I am absolutely worthy of being called
champion, whereas if the criteria for success was 'on this given day this group
of six people chose me as the best exponent of my event' it wouldn't sit so
proudly with me.
Mind you, let's be honest, I'm more likely to get close to the Earth's core
than get close to an Olympic podium, so I don't think I need to think about it
too much...
RC 16-2-26
We
are back home after an absolutely wonderful Valentine's Day weekend sojourn. Anyone
who says that Feb 14th is for single people, or that it fades in significance
the longer you spend with someone, is mistaken. Even after a decade of marriage
it can be a romantic, delicious, heart-warming occasion, if you both make
effort, and both make it about the other person. I won't go into details, as
it's none of your business, and because what is special for one couple isn't
necessarily going to be the same for others, so you might read about how we
spent our time together and think, "Why the Hell did you do that?"
But
today was made even better by watching TWO separate Gold Medal-winning
performances by British Winter Olympians. TWO on the same day! For the first
time ever! And it was made all the more special by the fact that Philippa and I
watched them both together, even though neither of us are particularly patriotic
or knowledgeable about Winter sports. Supporting our countrymen and women as
they pursued athletic excellence and achieved things only a rare handful ever
get to achieve, and watching it together as a couple, was just wonderful,
especially as both gold medals came in events where a man and a woman worked
together as a team.
Soppy? Yes. Sentimental? So be it. It has been a very, very memorable day and a
very, very special weekend.
RC 15-2-26
I
DID IT!!! And I feel that this poem falls into many categories:
Nonsense poems... Alliterative poems... Alphabetically acrostic poems... Ok, it
falls into 3 categories, but I'm proud of it!
Anytime anyone asks for air
Benny the bouncer is bound to appear.
Counting his Christmas cards, coming to call
Ducking and diving and dancing with all.
Everyone, even the elephants, eat,
For fishermen's friends find the food at their feet.
Going to Gloucestershire, Gary and Glen,
Have handpicked a harem and hassled a hen.
In India, Ian is inking his imps,
Joanna the juror has jumped til she limps,
Knowing her knee will be knacked like a knot,
Loathing the landing that lost her a lot.
Michael the mason has muscles and might,
No nurses can nurture the news in the night,
Of octopus orgies and opening owls.
Peter the panther will pee where he prowls.
Quanta will quieten a quorum of queens,
Rubbing respectfully round runner beans.
So someone will stutter and somewhere a son,
Tried terribly timidly, towing a tonne,
Until, up in Utah, upsetting an urn,
Violet vexed violently, viewing Jules Verne.
While walruses waded in wellies, in Wales,
Xenophobically xeroxing X-rays of snails,
Yet yetis in yashmaks yelled "yes! I'm a hero!
Zoos are the answer!" and zipped them to zero.
RC 14-2-26
Yesterday's
poetry effort has made me want to write an entirely alphabetised alliterative
poem. The first line would mainly feature words that start with the letter 'A',
and then so on and so forth all the way through the alphabet. And I'd quite
like it to be made up of 13 rhyming couplets, as well (just to make life easier
for myself...). I've given it a go, but it's tougher than you might think, so
I'll stick at it and report back when I have it completed.
It's fine - it's not as if this is distracting me from
far more important things I could be spending my time on....
RC 12-2-26
Through
a venerable valley of values,
he strives to start something sensible.
'Whatever will be, will be waiting,'
he unconsciously utters, unnerving us.
Letters leave London, letterbombs litter lives,
maiming many Men and making me mumble 'mercy'.
No-one nameless, nowhere nascent, nothing new.
An array of amateur attempts at autocracy.
Behind battered battlements, boys become benign
and billionaire bureaucrats benefit.
Call out and cry for common sense,
cradle your comforts and crawl towards catharsis,
but know that noble Knights no longer know you.
You're alone, and you're in this together.
RC 11-2-26
A
wave of dread washes over me
Every day, when I awaken
Thoughts of swimming out to sea
A dark path has been taken
Aching arms and knocking knees
Stiff in every joint
Do with me just what you please
I just can't see a point
But every day it starts anew
A brighter Sun arrives
So I will reach out for my shoe
and put away my knives
RC 10-2-26
To
take a break from poetry and to soften the blow of the end of another NFL
season, I have to say I have finally got into watching some of the Winter
Olympics and I'm enjoying them immensely. Like the Summer Games, they are an example of
sporting excellence at its finest, but unlike them, there is always the added potential
of someone seriously hurting themselves. I have to say that coming top of the danger
scales, surprisingly, is the speed skating. I know it's on a flat surface, and
people are controlling their own transit across the ice, rather than hurtling
down bits of it strapped to a small projectile that offers no protection, like
in other events, but it always looks like someone could easily slip over, have
their arm lacerated by the skate of their passing opponent and die from an
arterial bleed.
I'm not watching it for that reason, you understand, but it does add a welcome soupcon
of scariness.
My highlight so far though, from a purely emotional standpoint, has to be the
reaction of the Italian women ice hockey team when they unexpectedly beat
Japan. A real outpouring of delight, camaraderie and pride, and it was
genuinely beautiful to see.
Contrast
that with the media-trained awkwardness of some of the English Premier League
football players, who answer every question as if they are taking part in a
seminar on boredom, and display about as much passion as a comatosed whale. (In
case you hadn't guessed, I got stuck in a pub with some football fans yesterday
and caught the end of a match on TV.)
And to end this one today - you'll notice I haven't mentioned last night's
Super Bowl. For the first time in a long time, I didn't bother to watch it. Or
listen to it. I just went online this morning to see, out of (a small amount
of) interest, who won. And it's hard to believe, but I feel I did not miss out,
despite it having previously been a huge highlight of my year. I guess my
enthusiasm must have waned this February. I guess that's what happens when you
let the Patriots reach the Super Bowl again...
RC 9-2-26
Surrounded
by bubbles, watching, waiting.
He stands on the shore, biding, baiting.
Into the depths, he casts his lure.
Hope aroused; intentions pure.
Under the surface, staid, serene.
He stays and shelters, calm and clean.
Open water, empty thought.
Drawing on what Life has taught.
Time evolving, passing, past.
A recent trend that cannot last.
A mental lapse, a mating call.
Without the other, each will fall.
A deadly dance that moves apace.
They watch, and wait, in silent space.
RC 7-2-26
There
is a glow, emanating from her smile.
There
is a wave of pleasure, awaiting in her arms.
There
is a love, hiding in the forest.
There
is a hope, dancing with her sighs.
There
is clarity, caught among the clouds.
There
is honesty, held within her heart.
There
is truth, blossoming from a betrayal.
There
is effervescence, bubbling and free.
There
is 'never', dwindling in power.
There
is 'future', opening and open.
There
is 'rapture', rampant in the field.
There
is 'power', allowing me to trust.
There
is a moment, waiting on the journey.
There
is a movement, waiting in its cradle.
There
is a memory, waiting to be woken.
There is a chance, waiting to be taken...
RC 6-2-26
Yes,
it's one of those days, I'm afraid. Sitting here feeling full of SAD, watching
the dull grey carpet of cloud and thinking, 'please, God, just remind me
there's a sky up there'.
Anyway, enough of that old rubbish. let's try and post
positively as a way of changing my mindset and altering my day for the better.
Last night was great fun. A couple of iffy performers, but mostly a
surprisingly high level of talent, and a nice mix of ages, styles and
instruments. My personal favourite was a lady in her 60s who sang some
traditional Irish folk songs, accompanying herself on a battered old acoustic
guitar. Josh - the guy we were there to see - was indeed a great singer, but
sang over some pre-programmed backing tracks, which I find a bit less
impressive, and I'd rather not have our hired performers do that at the holiday
centre. We like our 'live' acts to be completely live.
However, the general vibe was amazing, and I had several chats with various people
(or various chats with several people, if you prefer) and I floated the idea
that we might ourselves start hosting a regular night like this, and the
suggestion was met with great delight. These people are keen amateurs, yes, but
they work hard at their hobbies and are prepared to put their songs out there
for the judgement of others, and they welcome any opportunity to do it more
frequently. They turn up, they try their hardest, and there seems to be a
dedicated following for these things, with everyday people enjoying the chance
to see everyday people, rather than paying to watch a polished pro. So I'm
pretty convinced that, if we go ahead and launch our own Open Mic thingy, it
will be well attended and will add something new to our entertainment output.
RC 5-2-26
I am having a rare non-family evening out
tonight. One of the bar managers at work is taking me to an 'Open Mic Music
Night' because there's a guy performing there that he thinks we should add to
our list of local entertainers, and also because we've talked about setting up
an open mic night of our own, so it'll be good to see what's involved and
whether it's worth contemplation. Gavin has loved the things I've done which
bring in people from the area, as he's keen for the site to increasingly become
a community hub of some kind, rather than just a spot that people visit from
around the country. He's trying to do both without considering whether they can
co-exist, of course, but it does seem to be working ok so far. Things like the
Halloween event, the quiz nights and the Family Festive Fun days have all been
successful and brought in extra revenue, while also upgrading our profile
within the nearby villages. So he'd like to try some more. Ideally, we would
reach a point where our permanent residents find their daily lives supplemented
satisfactorily by a plethora of off-site engagements, while interactions
betwixt them and temporary, holidaying families would enhance the onsite
experience for all concerned in exponentially beneficial ways.
God, I hate myself sometimes...
Anyway, the point is, a monthly Open Mic thing might bring in some local trade
during Winter, while also giving us a way of providing entertainment in one of
our bars without us paying to bring in a professional act. That's the bottom
line, to be honest.
And even if nothing comes of it, it'll be nice to pop out tonight and see some
live music, so I'm going.
RC 4-2-26
It's only 4 weeks until March... It's only 8
weeks until we change the clocks to BST... It's only 9 weeks until Easter...
These are all things which are bringing a smile to my face this morning, as I
deal with the beginnings of a pre-season sort-out and clear-out in preparation
of preparing the preparations for the onslaught of the busy months.
I've found a new card trick that I want to learn. A bit more complicated than
the ones I've tried before as it involves both card-forcing and sleight of hand,
so there's a lot to put together and practice before you can think of trying it
on an audience. Not that I will try it in front of an audience, you understand,
but I'd still like to be quite good at it before I force my wife to indulge me
and watch it. I've set myself the target of perfecting it before the end of
Feb.
Philippa has suggested I make a doctor's appointment and ask to have my
shoulder looked at properly. She says I might have a problem with one of the
tendons at the back of the joint which is causing the odd bits of pain I've
been having. I asked what may have caused it and she said, "Just wear and
tear, love. You're at that age now where everything you've done to your body
will start to have an effect."
I don't want to question her knowledge, but I think she must be wrong. Surely I'm
not 'that age' yet, am I? After all, its only three years ago that I was
skipping between lessons at school, right???
RC 3-2-26
It
felt weird to be sitting at home last night and NOT be watching an NFL game.
We
had a great day though. Sister Sophie came to visit (we always do this, go
months without seeing each other then have a mad rush of dates within a couple
of weeks). Mathew finds her an absolute delight, and to see the way she is with
him when she's being Auntie S really is wonderful. I guess it gives me an
insight into how she is in her career in care, but with her nephews I imagine
she is being more naturally loving rather than professionally caring.
I really am very, very proud of her. I'm proud of all us siblings really.
Despite an awkward upbringing and a lack of decent adult role models at home,
we've all ended up as (dare I say it?) decent human beings, and we're all
making a go of it with important positions in work environments that primarily benefit
others. Less so with me, I would say, but to be fair to myself, I am still spending
my time trying to ensure people have a good time and enjoy life. Sophie is now
overseeing quite a large team across a number of care homes, and Hannah is
working in education. So between us we cover most age groups, and it's
conceivable that someone could encounter us all as they navigate their journey
through life - Hannah could help to teach them, I could give them fun holidays,
then Sophie could look after them in their dotage. Maybe we could set up a new
company that offers just that. I can hear the advert now - "Why bother
making your own decisions in life? Let The Chesworth Ultimate Care Corporation
take care of EVERYTHING! From birth to 'bye, from the cradle to the coffin, we
can meet your every need, and see you through it with support and speed. Come
to Chesworth Care - Coz why make the effort yourself?"
RC 2-2-26
