Write-Place

  A first page waiting,  clean, virginal yet hopeful. Craving profound thoughts.  BG Nothing Ever Happens - Del Amitri

  I came across this poem in a discussion online and was not as familiar with this as other "War Poetry", so looked into it's background. The discussion was a debate on the topical and political climate as it appears to the "public" in the UK today and the current Prime Minister's statement this week that "We are on a war footing". And today, on  81st anniversary of the Normandy landings,  D-Day.  The Beginnings It was not part of their blood,     It came to them very late   With long  arrears  to make good,     When the  English  began to hate.   They were not  easily  moved,      They were icy-willing to wait   Till  every  count  should  be proved,     Ere the  English  began to hate.   Their  voices  were even and low,     Their eyes were  level  and straight.   There was  neither  sign nor show,...

Recently I have been reposting some of my long ago posts from this blog, with a view to remind myself of them and also to see how, my views/observations of life in general have changed, if at all over the years. It seems that I am being helped along with this by those who have not only read and commented on the re - posts but have also been reading other posts from the past, which is very nice. Thank you. Here is the post from 2011 which I had certainly forgotten I had written, and my comment for today is only that I am now only just over two years away from the "three score years and ten" that I mentioned back then, as though it were a lifetime away : "One day, Clifford T Ward will be mentioned in the same breath as Rupert Brook and Dylan Thomas, for he is as quintessentially British and poetic as they were. Like them too his life was tinged with great  sadness and unfulfilled promise and was ended far too soon."  So reads a comment on You tube on the link to a per...

Sometimes, what you are thinking or have thought has already been written down by someone else, perfectly. This is one occasion for me.  "On the day I die a lot will happen. A lot will change.  The world will be busy. On the day I die, all the important appointments I made will be left unattended.  The many plans I had yet to complete will remain forever undone. The calendar that ruled so many of my days will now be irrelevant to me. All the material things I so chased and guarded and treasured will be left in the hands of others to care for or to discard. The words of my critics which so burdened me will cease to sting or capture anymore. They will be unable to touch me. The arguments I believed I’d won here will not serve me or bring me any satisfaction or solace.  All my noisy incoming notifications and texts and calls will go unanswered. Their great urgency will be quieted.  My many nagging regrets will ...

 Thoughts - A Poem My best thoughts come while washing up ...  Perhaps they feel for me, the tedium of the chore, as they wallow in the murky depths, of the sink. They try to  take me by surprise, and send me rushing to find a pen  before the idea disappears, leaving pools of dirty dish water on the kitchen floor. Another job to do.  Perhaps my epitaph will read  "Here lies the makings of the world's greatest poet. Thoughts lost for want of a towel". Brenda

Thank God It's Friday  - A Supply Teacher's Lot  Monday                                                                                                                                                      I'm scheduled to teach "Key Skills" (English, Maths, Basic Information Technology) to a class of   prospective` of  prospective plumbers and painters & decorators - aged between seventeen and twenty   one years old. " I left school to get away from all this,” says one. “I wanna be a plumber not an English  teacher,” says another.  We practise writing job applications an...