It’s been a busy week, full of contrasts, starting on Monday with a trip to the theatre to watch a new show, From Here to Eternity, which was very good, especially the two leading actors. Unfortunately, an eye infection meant the stage lights dazzled and irritated so I couldn’t fully appreciate impact of the slow motion scene where Hawaii is bombed.
Work on Tuesday ended with a fantastic writing workshop led by the lovely Paul Sherreard from Spread the Word who challenged us to write something about our journey home from work, taking inspiration from Eliot’s Preludes poem. This is my effort.
The autumn evening settles down
people jostle and push’
squeezing round legs, bags,
past covered mothers holding onto buggies.
A phone shrills popsong notes
I’m on the bus breaking through the hum of conversation
Mingling with smells of MacDonalds fries.
Climbing to the upper deck
My body into a vacant window seat
Shoulder pressed against the rain-splattered window
I’m glad to escape into my phone’s virtual space.
The burnt out end of another day.
Wednesday was an escape from work and London, to meet friends in Basingstoke for a trip to the New Forest and Solent. On the train journey from London to Hampshire, I happened across a short film of Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto in 1939; a fascinating piece of footage and very poignant. Most of people filmed had never seen a camera before. Old men, teenagers, mothers, young children all preserved on celluloid, long after they would have perished in Nazi Concentration Camps. It certainly made me very aware of how lucky I am to have the freedom to choose my path in life today, go where I please, say what I want, believe what I will.
It was lovely to catch up with my friends and spend the day together, walking in the New Forest, enjoying the last of early Autumn warmth as well as a few glasses of cider in a quaint, olde pub before heading to the Solent to see the distant boats, ferry and Calshot castle.
Thursday was National Poetry Day, marked by an Open Mic session in Redbridge Central Library. Some great poetry was shared and performed and it was a very enjoyable evening. Here is one of the poems I read out.
behind half closed doors.
of yesterday’s dreams
of what might have been
Flipping a coin
he trudges the same old path
through overgrown excuses
and stinging nettle regrets
past shuttered windows
screening well-worn illusions
and self-fulfilling angst.
Trapped in bewildered delusion
he can’t move forward
can’t turn back.
Blame blocks doorways.
Jangling, rusting iron keys
on a heavy chain of guilt
manacle him to invalid reasons.