Loved for half a life

My glasses fell down 
The back of the bedside table. I reached down
To get them 
Like Timothy Dalton in that scene in Flash Gordon; not knowing
What I would find.

14 coins
3 bobbles
1 of the kids' toys
3 socks, all different - I've thrown their partners away.

And then a folded piece of paper.

A letter to you, from half a lifetime ago.

Did you keep these?

Do you read these? 

Even now.

I opened it and read about a boy who had fallen in love. He made silly jokes, thought he knew things about the world
And what our life was going to be like.

He was completely in love.

Here I am, a lifetime older than him.

Scarred from battles lost,

Fading memories of battles won.

Old eyes.

Not who I promised to be in that letter.

And then there's you.

Scarred from battles lost,

Fading memories of battles won.

Bright eyed.

Everything.

He's completely in love.

A walk around Underbank Reservoir

 I drive up to Underbank Reservoir 

for a walk

with a bag packed with all I need.

I turn off my phone, which was harder than I'd like to admit.

The false start branches of the coniferous trees. The

thin trunk pulling my eyes upwards to the

green canopy. These trees are delicate, their fallen comrades

lay at their feet.

There's some people in canoes on the reservoir, which looks like fun

but I wish they weren't there.

A click and a whistle. I wonder what bird that 

is. I look for it and see the trees sway,

they sway too much. I can see why they fall.

And then, there it was. Along the western edge of

the reservoir, a heron.

I'd hoped I'd see one. I find them intoxicating.

It stood so still that I worried it wasn't real.

Then it started to wade

through the shadows and

marsh.

Something spooked it and up it went. Those

big slow wings from a time long ago

taking it away.

There's a beautiful hamlet on the 

other side of the path. 

Maybe it has problems like everywhere else 

maybe the people don't appreciate its beauty because there's no Wifi or shops.

But it sure looks lovely.

Suddenly the path stops and I seem to be 

in someone's garden. There was a gate out

into the road. I take it and I'm back in the real world for a while.

Before I find a path back through a small car park: "Keep Out"

It feels more like Autumn. There are acorns and brown wavy 

leaves on the path on this side of the reservoir.

These trees are much more substantial.

Gnarled, twisted and strong.

I found a spot down on the bank to sit

with my book. There's something about reading

next to water.

"I hope that heron comes and sits with me. Is that weird?

Surely it wouldn't. Imagine if it did"

I roll my ankle over the elbow of 

a root. I said "ow" before it hurt. It was ok.

I start and stop a jog a few times. I convince

myself that the ground is too uneven and it's not my

unfitness why I stop.

"I hunch when I walk. I can feel it across my

shoulders. Is that because I have an office job?

I need to fix that."

The sound of traffic mixes with the sound of the wind.

I can't tell which is which. 

Up on the eastern edge is the damn. Thirty geese

stand at its foot, watching, keeping

guard of the water.

It's much windier along the damn. A gull plays

with the wind, never flapping.

"I've noticed that for the past hour or so I've

got out of my own way. I spend a lot of time hating

myself but today, just watching things and 

noting them down, seemed to give me a rest."

It won't last. But it's here now. Which is good.

A little further along the path is a bench.

"Why here? There's no view. A tree is in the way"

But the plaque reads

'For Margaret's friends. May they rest here a while.'

And the world seems quieter and to

make sense.

There's a slight incline as I come back to the

beginning of my circuit. My breath is a little

heavier, which makes the ever growing

coldness of the wind, reach the bottom of my lungs.

It feels refreshing.

Good Koalas and Bad Koalas

The Good Koalas sit next to the trunk, on the thickest and safest part of the branch. They deserve this safe spot, after all, they are Good Koalas.

The Bad Koalas sit on the end of the branches.

The wood is thinner there and sometimes it breaks.

If the Bad Koalas proved themselves to be good then, of course, the Good Koalas would find room for them near the trunk.

It doesn't matter that the Good Koalas don't need to prove themselves, they were born near the trunk and so must be good.

Bad Koalas are lazy and ungrateful.

The Good Koalas even let them pick leaves from the branches to eat

(after they have given double that amount to the Good Koalas first.)

It’s only fair!

The Bad Koalas work from morning until night to just about get enough leaves for them and their families. Sometimes Bad Koalas are so lazy that they only pick enough leaves for the Good Koalas' pile and they go hungry.

Yes, there are enough leaves for everyone but that is quite beside the point!

If the lazy, Bad Koalas worked harder than they would have enough.

Now the poor old Good Koalas, how hard they work.

They spend their days having to count all of their piles of leaves and working out ways to get those lazy Bad Koalas to work harder.

The Good Koalas are very fair. For instance, every Koala on the tree gets to vote-in the Decision Makers. And, any Koala can apply to be considered as a Decision Maker.

Obviously, there needs to be rules and the Koalas need to know prospective Decision Makers are responsible and good.

How better to show this than having lots of piles of leaves? Leaves are good and so having leaves shows how good a Koala must be.

Sometimes there are emergencies and the Good Koalas meet to discuss what is best.

The Good Koalas have even been known to let the Bad Koalas move closer to the trunk in these times-

Not that they deserve it!

During these times, gathering leaves is crucial to the health of all Koalas.

It is, therefore, only right that the Bad Koalas go straight back to work.

The wellbeing of everyone must take priority over the wellbeing of a few Bad Koalas who get hurt.

I know what you are thinking, "but what about all of those piles of leaves? Couldn't all the Koalas share those?"

Those poor Good Koalas didn't spend all of that time counting those leaves just to have Bad Koalas eat them.

No! Not on a civilised tree like this!

There's another tree where Koalas take turns to get the leaves, share what they have and they are happy.

How uncivilised.

Good Koalas and Bad Koalas…. And Worse Koalas

The tree on the other end of the plain is where Worse Koalas live.

They have slightly different coloured eyes and wildly different ideas of good and bad.

Simply not the right sort for a civilised tree.

One day a terrible storm occurred and lightning struck the tree home of the Worse Koalas. 

Some died as the tree burned.

Some had the temerity to grab their children - who are just as guilty of having slightly different coloured eyes - and fled to the plain.

Now, any Good Koala will tell you that there are Dingoes on the plain who love nothing better than to hunt slow Koalas.

“What kind of parent would put their children in danger like this?"

The Good Koalas ask.

“After all, the Worse Koalas chose to be born in a tree that was flammable. Why wouldn’t they just choose to be born a Good Koala like we did?”

As always, it falls to the Good Koalas to solve things.

The Good Koalas, in their infinite generosity, explain things to the Bad Koalas (not that the Bad Koalas deserve the time away from working)

“If those Worse Koalas come over here, then they will want to pick leaves. Even though you Bad Koalas have barely enough to eat as it is. We, the Good Koalas, will not stand by whilst these Worse Koalas try and make our friends go hungry.”

Rapturous applause

Sometimes the Good Koalas, in their haste to do good, forget about the huge stores of leaves that they have; which could feed everybody.

What, with all the work that they do and how much time it takes to educate Bad Koalas, they can’t be expected to remember every small detail.

And so the Good Koalas and Bad Koalas take a vote on what should happen.

Some of the Bad Koalas still think that Koalas-with-slightly-different-coloured-eyes-whose-tree-has-burnt-down should still come to this tree and maybe they will benefit the group.

The Good Koalas take note of these Bad Koalas explaining how stupid they are.

On balance a good decision is made.

The Good Koalas go back to the safe part of the branch, eat their well deserved leaves and watch those Worse Koalas get everything they deserve….. Dingoes.

Good Koalas and Bad Koalas…. And Hungry Little Koalas

The danger to the tree hadn't passed and no-one knew what to do. Of course, everyone had their own ideas about what to do for the best.

But as usual it fell to the Good Koalas to fix things.

The Good Koalas knew that they needed to keep the leaf gathering going because to not have a store of leaves is a very Bad thing indeed. And so the Good Koalas gathered and spoke together.

It was agreed that the only course of action was to get other Good Koalas - ones they knew very well - to devise a new way to keep leaf gathering going and help out the tree. Obviously, this work would take that second set of Good Koalas away from their normal work and so they should be paid handsomely for helping. And they will be helping everyone, so everyone must pay them!

Quite fair.

Some of the Bad Koalas offered to help. For they claimed to "know what it was like on the dangerous part of the branch and have some ideas of what might work". Clearly these Bad Koalas were trying to get out of leaf gathering. After all, if they had any decent ideas they would've had the decency to be Good Koalas in the first place.

So stacks of leaves were shared amongst a close circle of trusted Good Koalas. They came up with a perfect new way of leaf gathering whilst keeping everyone safe.

Simply:" do your work where you sleep"

The Good Koalas slept next to their stacks of leaves so could continue counting them and being very productive. They followed the perfect rules perfectly. The Bad Koalas, however, didn't follow the rules. They made flimsy excuses like "but we don't sleep near the leaves we have to pick" and other such foolishness.

There came a sad day when the danger got so bad that everyone had to stop working and stay safe.

After two days of this the Bad Koalas started moaning that their families hadn't had any leaves and were hungry. The Bad Koalas claimed they had given up their own meagre rations for their children but it still wasn't enough.

"Hungry Little Koalas indeed" scoffed the Good Koalas. "It's as though they think that leaves grow on trees and we can just hand them out to everybody. Maybe they should have thought about a once-in-a-lifetime-threat-to-our-existence and made provisions like us Good Koalas did"

Some of these Good Koalas spend their lives in service to the tree for a pathetic 10 times what the Bad Koalas earn.... and they still managed to not go hungry.

After all "If you feed one of them Hungry Little Koalas now they will only want more leaves tomorrow. It is much kinder to not feed them at all"

Some of you will think this is mean. Well let me tell you, there are some Good Koalas who give half a leaf to a Bad Koala family. Half a leaf from their own (quite unfathomably large) stacks of leaves. They call this supreme act of generosity philanthropy. And the Good Koalas celebrate such generosity with grand titles and lavish leafy dinners.

Good Koalas and Bad Koalas….. And Green Koalas

It became quite noticeable that the Home Tree was suffering. For it couldn’t get enough sunlight to keep it strong as its leaves continued to be over picked.

For some time now a group of younger Koalas who spent time out on the very edges of the tree, where the damage was most noticeable, had been trying to bring attention to the issue.

These little Green Koalas had been nothing but noise for some time - ignored for the attention seeking fools that they are.

But then one of the Good Koalas noticed that a crop of leaves was browned at the edges and bitter to the taste - this affected that entire seasons profits (which is a fancy term for all of the good work that Good Koalas do). Luckily the Good Koala had the good sense to bring it to the attention of the rest of the tree.

Unlike those Green Koalas just making nuisances of themselves.

A council of the goodest and (deservedly) richest Koalas met on the top branches and shared an abundance of leaves whilst they mulled over the quandary. Now of course, the Good Koalas did invite and Bad Koalas to join them if they were interested. After all, all voices are important in this debate.

All voices except those whining Green Koalas, no good ever came from talking to them.

The Bad Koalas spouted their usual claim of ‘we will lose our jobs if we take the time off to come to the meeting.’ As if the Good Koalas are to blame for them not showing up to work.

Lazy Bad Koalas.

“The Home Tree just cannot survive the amount of leaves that are picked. Something must be done." The Good Koalas murmured their agreement through leaf-filled cheeks. 

One of the oldest, richest and therefore most Good Koalas spoke.

“It seems to me all rather simple. Us Good Koalas, by virtue of being here, have shown how much we care for the Home Tree. But those greedy Bad Koalas; absent... careless.... and not even taking a day off from leaf picking to be here, are to blame!”

The Good Koalas cheered. 

“Those greedy Bad Koalas must change their ways” continued the old, rich, Good Koala. “They must offset their greed. Every step they take to pick the leaves must be counted and counteracted. We shall call it a leafy-footprint.”

The Good Koalas unanimously agreed. “They made the mess and should tidy it up!” they shouted.

Thank goodness the Good Koalas showed up to make sure the tree is protected and not lose one single leaf more in the process. For a good society is measured in the number of leaves the Good residents have.

And so a great proclamation came down to all Koalas. 

Offsetting the leafy footprint

‘Any Koala who physically picks a leaf must pay ⅓ of that leaf in the Leafy-Footprint tax. For it is the pickers [Bad Koalas] doing the damage.’

Some of the Bad Koalas moaned about this and how their meals were already meagre. There was a little unrest on the Home Tree and protests led by the Green Koalas stifled productivity. The Good Koalas, always finding ways to please everybody, called for independent research to be done. The criteria was obvious.

'The Koala that is the most good out of all of us must do the research!' Unanimously the Decision Making Koalas (Good Koalas) agreed. And so the heavy burden of deciding whether he was right or wrong fell to that same old, rich Good Koala. Painstakingly he looked at all sides and then finally declared.....'The proclamation is right.'.

You can't say fairer than that! The Good Koalas, who use their goodness to give jobs can’t be blamed and therefore shouldn’t pay any of this tax.

Just think, if the Good Koalas started doing silly things like those silly Green Koalas kept suggesting such as taxing their millions of leaves so that the tree could rest and the Bad Koalas had full bellies, then that would just reward them for being Bad.

That won’t do.

Green, after all, is the colour of envy.

Four Stories From Lockdown

There's the artist who deals in joy, caring softly for girl and boy,
Who must fight back the greyness
That the World demands to see.
For her soul and paints enlightened, in a world that's frozen, frightened,
Seeks to find a way to share,
Share the things she shares with me.
And what I wish that I could be.

There's a man who lives alone, yet has found that love has grown.
He is longing for a girl like he
Has never longed before.
Where in his walls he feels trapped, his mind wanders, enrapt
Across the seven hills of his town
And to her front door.
Just to see her once more.

There's another who can't conform yet must adjust to a new norm.
He impresses when he dresses
Anybody he lets see.
Eccentric and disarming, in a world in need of charming,
He looks at the outdoors as
It's where he needs to be.
In the fresh air and free.

In a garden well and rested, where the robins nestle, nested,
There comes a little noise
And three suddenly are four.
For in the night a Wren was born and the birds rang in the dawn,
Robins feeling feelings that they
Had never felt before.
She was everything and more.

What Used To Be Posh To Me

When I was maybe half as young
And half as young again,
There were certain things for certain people.
They seem a little ordinary now but they used to be posh to me.

There was bottled water. Dad said,
"Taps would do." If you bought a drink
Then it was fizzy.

Playing any sport other than football!
Other sports needed equipment or special courts
That we weren't allowed on.

Unsliced crusty bread with flour on top
For some reason.
What a treat with stew.

Going on a train!
We once went to Southport on a train with Nanny Nuckley.
The Seat fabric itched my bare legs. "Why wouldn't posh people fix this?"
I thought.

Going abroad! Proper posh.
Eating whatever a croissant is and telling people about it
When school started in September.
I used to love Anglesey though.

Knowing that you put your knife and fork together after a meal at a restaurant.
Going to a restaurant!
Ordering coffee at a restaurant after a meal.
Sometimes with wonderful - Italian sounding- names.

Having a garden.
A big car.
Knowing what brands of clothes to buy and buying them.
More than a 16-bit games console.
Fruit that wasn't apples or oranges.
Memberships.
Poetry. I know!
Musical instruments. Although a lady at church did teach my sister piano once.
Errands - only posh people had errands.
Recording the top 40.
Not watching The Pools results. "Score draw"

Posh people had funny lives to me back then.

The Moon Follows Me

The Moon has followed me
For a number of years.

I feel very lucky to have had it along with me on
Long train journeys. It stares at me
Through windows, not looking where it's going.

I think it's because, when I hold up my thumb,
My nail fits perfectly into its smiling crescent.
We fit together.

It hovers over me like a hummingbird when I sleep.
Still and timeless.
Comforting.

It must be hard work pulling the tide or
Making werewolves or
Whatever it is that celestial bodies do.
So it's strange that it picked little old me to follow.

I suppose we understand each other.

Conker Season

The beginning of Autumn in the early 90s
We would walk home from school through Sandfield Park
Where the rich people lived.
Stab the end of a stick through a fallen husk
And then take aim at the great conker trees leaning
Over the fence.

See one that you want and throw the stick.
A hit! But it remains.
Then one falls. A miracle.
Who's stick was it as they would claim?
A spiky ball clips the leaves, landing on the ground
Behind the fence, where the rich kids played.
It was theirs.
As it always will be.

One season I sorted through my haul.
Seventeen conkers to string
And take to school.
Some would crack as Dad put holes through,
They had such potential, lost.

This year they all had faltered in the first game
Except for one.
It was small with a flattened side.
Lighter in colour, threaded with a black shoelace
And single knot.

No treatments; see-through nail varnish, 6 months in the loft, paint.
Just a champion.
A seasoner.

People noticed me and I played to them.
Spinning the champion around faster and faster,
Demanding challengers.
It hit the wall behind me. Cracked.

The challengers came quickly