Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter

Life, Poetry, Sport



There is no certainty in the knowing,
Always that small nook of doubt,
The crick in your neck asking if you can
Really be sure of anthing. And then the
Sun disappears, and the day ends, and
All the questions jump out of the dark,
The ones there are no answers to, the ones
That breed more and more until all
Your knowing is nothing but an imagined memory.

R, 08/01/2023 12:42



the black box there in the
windowless dark room in
the corner the one which
has replaced all the books
and holds all the knowing
in the world connected with
no wires and a reach possibly
beyond the edges of the universe
past the white picket fence
that bounded our imagination
when we dreamed as children
of living as far away from
home as possible and now
inhabit a square box in a
windowless room on this
featureless planet.

R, 08/01/2023, 12:48


Today’s #MastoPrompt was #knowing. And there you have two for the price of one.

I spent the afternoon at Carrow Road seeing a very poor Norwich City side losing in the most absurd way possible to a similarly poor Blackburn Rovers side. A slugfest between two inadequates would probably be an apt summary. Having said that, my face is still glowing with having walked 3 miles down the road, sat in a cold stand (under cover, thankfully), and having shed a couple of tears at the beginning of the game, because I just love love love watching football in person and soaking in the soundscape and sightscape. Over the top, me, as always, but who cares? What a great way to spend the last afternoon of my Christmas holidays. The poor standard of the game is irrelevant. I was there.

I always find it mildly ironic that the man wh doesn’t like people nor loud noises per se feels at his most alive when at a sports game with a big crowd and when listening to very loud music. Go figure.

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