Philatelic thoughts
Sometimes, when I am sorting my old English postage stamps, I wonder if this one or that one was a stamp my great great grandfather might have used.
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poetry
Seasons
Plumes of smoke on a cold Winter’s day bring thoughts of warmth and community and human busyness and achievement. Plumes of smoke on a hot Summer’s day bring thoughts of destruction and terror and loss and anger and failure.
Mine
I wonder what he was thinking, that first man who chewed a mouthful of pigment and then blew it over his hand pressed tight against the wall of a cave?
Love birds
Birds in pairs, galahs, magpies, rosellas, butcher birds, crows, peewits, birds in pairs, thinking of Spring.
Pastoral
“Listen to those contented cows mooing. Oh I love the sounds of the country” they say as they drive past a black herd in a green field. Not seeing, on the other side of the road, black calves, separated just last night from their mothers. Who are crying in pain and fear trying to get
Vale of the white horse
The white horse on the far green hill moves all day to a rhythm all her own, following clues in the pasture and the hill shape and the changing shadows from the trees, and some days, for no reason I know, he doesn’t appear at all, and I hope she is all right. He has
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Look through any window
Whether I am seven and a half or seventy five, the I who looks out of my window is the same I, no matter how he appears to those looking in.
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Brave new world
If you think after Coronavirus, corporations will stop exploiting workers, will stop trashing the world, will stop supporting wars, will stop buying elections, will start paying taxes, you’re living in a parallel universe.
We are all Pythagoreans
Have I gone through more than half a century with “the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides” stuck in my brain? Has the whole human race gone through twenty five centuries sharing the same ear worm?
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You must remember this
Sometimes I meet someone from my past who tells me something I didn’t know about a common friend, or enemy, or event, that completely alters my memory of that person or history. Are all of my memories fungible?
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