We Live in Spaces.

 

We live in spaces, in between places,

of routine, normality, obviousness.

The struggle of the everyday

and the placid milieu.

 

Streets, buildings, apartment blocks and bus stops.

Public parks and cocktail bars, pavements, double yellow lines and shopping trollies.

 

It is easy to feel the distance,

strangers in the waiting room, circling one another

playing a game of astronauts.

Childhood pastime rollplay.

We sit in these regions of kindness,

and coldness, 

observing this world we call home,

standing together, yet also alone.

 

So maybe you’re going too fast.

Normality is the realm of the abnormal,

take a closer look.

We circle the sun, day in day out.

Shadows are never the same, forever changing.

 

Notice how your space changes, frequent the local coffee shop.

Discover what you have yet to see.

Rediscover the familiar, the rehearsed.

A kaleidoscope of light, painted on the floor

just for you.

A shared secret you can be privy to

should you be paying attention.

 

Pay attention.

Look, see, observe, live, be, sit, exist, inhabit, dwell, discover, rediscover, think, ponder, investigate, question. Please.

 

Time moves like water leaking through a child’s fingers.

To observe, to try meticulously to be present in the here, the now, 

your normal, your everyday.

 

Look at the bus stop, the parking lot, the window frame of houses and shadows on the street.

The number of flowers in the vases in your favourite coffee shop, the flame of a candle and its dancing light, the people on the street and the way your washing hangs in the wind, a forest of white sheets.

 

“Note down what you can see. Anything worthy of note going on. 

Do you know how to see what’s worthy of note?

Is there anything that strikes you?

Nothing strikes you.

You don’t know how to see”

Georges Perec, Species of Spaces

 

 

 

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Airport.

 

If you are in the airport 

You are somewhere 

And nowhere 

All at once 

Nameless faces

Nameless spaces 

Bright advertisements of far away places 

Escalators that are flat

Not up 

And long, plain corridors.

 

You may flick through newspapers

Feeling thin newsprint become worn

With every turn 

You’re not really reading. 

 

Departure boards 

Arrivals hoards 

Faces you may never see again

The possibility of chance encounters. 

Exciting! 

 

On the plane 

Strangers pull in their legs in crowded aisles 

And say bless you 

Hiding dirty looks. 

Throw away politeness. 

Bless you meant something once. 

 

Near yet distant 

We sit in regions of kindness 

And coldness 

Together in space 

For the same purpose 

Same destination 

Yet you may never know your neighbors name. 

 

And so, in this airplane 

We observe this being human 

Here

Standing together, 

alone 

In this non place, space, 

far from home.

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A Poem from Covehithe.

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Let me live, unseen and alone

In sandy dunes and sea beds below

In fields of green, drowsed by maturing sun

Whos mellow light paints trodden ground 

And awakens springs buds

Of wildflowers and white daisies beloved. 

 

Morning sun revels in its birth 

Conquering with its beams our earth

Blessing us mortals with its celestial gifts 

And making apparent what before was unknown 

The fullness and beauty of small details 

In our little peaceful alone.

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Chocolate frogs.

 

I miss food trollies on trains.

The friendly, uniformed people

Offering tea

And biscuits 

Light, British refreshment. 

 

Ideally 

It would be like in Harry Potter 

An old fashioned trolly

Squeaky wheels

And a plump older woman

With slightly too few teeth 

Selling every flavoured jelly beans 

And chocolate jumping frogs. 

 

You’d talk about the weather 

And sights you’ve seen along the way. 

You’d pay in change 

Be a penny short 

And she would smile

Say never mind

And push her squeaky, old fashioned trolly away. 

 

But trains seem to be more busy

Now-days; 

More people,

More train guards, 

More fines. 

Less food trolly ladies. 

No chocolate jumping frogs.

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If I owned a supermarket.

 

If I owned a supermarket 

It would be seven stories high 

With trollies that are pulled for you 

By pigeons while they fly. 

 

If I owned a supermarket 

People wouldn’t walk very far

They could ride a bike 

or tandem perhaps 

And exclaim - what fun they are!

 

If I owned a supermarket 

It would have a pink cafe inside 

Where an old lady serves you tea and cake 

And asks if your day has been alright. 

 

If I owned a supermarket 

I would want people to sit and chat 

Have a cup of tea and digestive biscuit 

And talk about how they are getting old 

and fat. 

 

If I owned a supermarket 

I would make a rule that would say 

Talk to your fellow shoppers please 

You never know, it could make their day.

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