At sixty four she’s spent half and more
But the next half will be better
because she is free.
Why are we born if not to soar
- she turned to her companion –
don’t you agree?
Everyone has the chance
but few take it.
She sat with her dog
watching, just watching
the purple blue haze above the mountains;
the fruit orchards beneath
the damson trees, the vines,
the embers of the setting sun
upon the darkening heath.
She was God on his tea-break
the space between the lines,
she was spending wisely
making every second count.
Something was coming to her
its value increased a millionfold.
Spending time wisely was indeed
a precious and rewarding skill
a pleasant discovery reserved for the old
Here, I find a sense of space in which to move,
and yet be still; to grow,
and to become small;
to sing and also to be quiet;
to dance with you all,
and then, to be alone.
I find time …
time to look within myself,
and time to gaze out,
beyond my own, transient boundaries,
to where I really am.
Here, with each breath that we take,
we are imbued with an old peacefulness
that has been used many times before us,
but which can never be used up.
All that is around us is patient;
it waits for what it knows will come.
WHY I WRITE?
I write solely because I enjoy it. I enjoy having to think about something
else other than the usual mundane things in life. It widens my outlook
and stops my mind wandering and brooding.
Also it is quite educational, as in our group we are given different
subjects to write about.
We also gain from listening to other members’ writings.
When I leave the workshop I look around at members of the public and
think what they are missing and ask myself why they don’t come and join
us in this friendly group.
A BRICK IN THE WALL
I am a brick in the wall. I would prefer to be a brick on my own, or a rock on my own. I long to be a hermit for a while in some wild place, enjoying the scenery and chilling. But that is not my state; I am a brick in the wall and I suppose I will be till I shuffle off the proverbials The brickness is maybe due to me being a townie. Country bred people are different. They grew up with space. When you are born into a crowd with Irish on one side and Jewish on the other and a broom by the door so you could knock on the ceiling if upstairs are making too much noise, then you get the edges knocked off, and like the Japanese, who live in paper houses, you get very careful about protecting the privacy of others. You learn to fit in. A Japanese will fold into herself and do a lot of Origami. I will become a brick. When I was young I had the music that I liked, and all the old people, teachers and parents and uncles, didn’t find it musical at all and hated it. So when my oldest became a teenager I expected he would have his own music that I would be able to disapprove of, but it was Pink Floyd, Another Brick in the Wall. He went to a concert at the London Arena. We waited outside in the car to pick him up in case there were drugs and rabble. No, he said. All the people in there were old, like you. He still liked the music. If I’m going to have to be a brick, it’d better be the right kind of wall. There are walls that exclude or imprison. There are walls that keep the light from the poor devils living under them. Don’t let me be in one of those. And there are walls that support and shelter. A brick can’t give a lot of support but a wall can; it gets its strength and stability from all the interlinked and interlocking other bricks. If you look closely at a wall, each of the bricks is a bit different; surface texture, different shades developed in the kiln. That’s why it pleases. But do you think just one would be missed? Just one gone wouldn’t make that much difference. I could do all sorts on my own; doorstop, paperweight, propper-up of flower pots. Actually it doesn’t seem a very long list. Or I could go to the Tate. I could just stand there on my end as a post modern comment on that other pile of bricks, emphasising the essential aloneness of the great artist that is me. I could win the Turner prize.