There’s something perfect in waiting; an unplanned meditation. So, Saturday night, I waited for a gig and walked in the rain. And wrote this.
21 May 2016
The Meadows it says,
as the sparrows settle
into eaves rotten since some war.
A battle long forged
to defend this England,
from the spoil of contented plenty.
The fence leans on air
more hope, less faith,
as rusted nails colour the earth.
Above all else
our masters forbid
unfettered pleasure in all its ecstasy.
Let us breathe in
shades of warm days,
think of all places, east and west.
Be here, be enough,
be happy, take this now,
offer no other prayer but my own.