Day 41
One ninth through the year already. February into double digits. Don’t look back, don’t look back. Too late. The time is gone already, and warmer days are ahead. Way ahead…. Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
One ninth through the year already. February into double digits. Don’t look back, don’t look back. Too late. The time is gone already, and warmer days are ahead. Way ahead…. Continue Reading
Fragments. I don’t expect this to be coherent. A new adventure today. I have a ticket for tonight’s football match. Ever since A started working at Norwich City, ever since… Continue Reading
Yesterday turned into a self-care day. Necessity is the mother of self-care days. I had been plagued all Sunday night by bad toothache. I woke with it. Too early to… Continue Reading
The cat is drinking water out of paint can lids again. Yesterday’s rain is fresher than indoor water. She Has always done this, prefers a dirty puddle to A clean… Continue Reading
Today, I will not chide myself about not getting up until after 10am. Today I will not get into that pit of telling myself that I have wasted my day… Continue Reading
Three of the six books I’ve read so far this year have been non-fiction, which is probably more non-fiction than I read all last year. And of course I’m ploughing… Continue Reading
An hour ago, I started keying a poem directly into this blog. It didn’t work. It can be like that sometimes, with poetry, with prose – you start something, it… Continue Reading
I just threw a cough sweet wrapper at the bin. It missed. That’s just about a metaphor for my days. Yesterday, Ren wrote about having ideas and almost immediately forgetting… Continue Reading
When I thought the storm had ended yesterday, when I hoped it had ended, it started up again, and the wind threw itself itself at the house, the office, and… Continue Reading
The scrag-end of the storm bites Its way through my various layers of clothes Screws my back into untenable postures So I have to lie on the bed to bend… Continue Reading