157/2023

the wind from the north is an
unwanted constant under the
gunmetal motionsless sky
no rainbows will cut through
again in this age without sun

the grey morass of weather
presses down on the self
nothing new nothing hoped-for
nothing but the same day
every day until the clouds

compact the earth and all
its artificially-built monstrosities
into junkyard clod of metal
ready to be sold to the
nearest solar system of dealers

R 05/06/2023 20:15

Of course, I have a backlog again of poetry on here that needs transcribing into the journal. My desk’s a mess. Life seems more like it needs living than scribbling directly into the journal. I forget how labour-intensive my writing life was when I was young. All those first poems for M were written long-hand first, befor I transcribed them onto paper using an old IBM golfball electric typewriter that I’d salvaged from an office I’d closed down; transcribed because I probably reckoned she wouldn’t be able to read my writing.

As if it matters, I had my 5 seconds of fame on national TV yesterday evening on Points of View, talking about Jeremy Paxman’s last appearance as University Challenge question master. Start at 12:30 minutes if you can be bothered. And note the splendid product placement.

On that note, no more quiz nights on Monday TV till the autumn now. Very sad.