ever am or ever can (1/June/18)

listen
it took it’s time but got here in the end
was it worth the wait?
we’ll see
will it cool the air?
we’ll see
the plants will be pleased but maybe not so much the birds, feathers fluffed and sheltering beneath a tiny leaf, huddled over newly-laid or newly-hatched eggs… I’m pleased, or as pleased as I ever am or ever can be as the rain rinses the molecules thickened by the heat that had congealed into a mass of unmoving parts and hung, or slumped, so still…
so still…
earlier in the day it was as though the wind had been arrested, consigned to solitude and forbidden to propagate its talents ever again, it’s absence hung like decades-old, musty drapes… or had it been quietly shattered into a million whispers swallowed up by gravity… echoes of remembering lingering
stranded…
the air was stranded, washed-up, bleached, baked, seasoned beyond reason, become cloying, vacant, wanting, itself running out of… air…
listen
and now the rain
washing down the light to puddle and to leach away down into the soil bringing worms and slugs and snails and all their ilk to the surface in a topsy-turvy revelry.. drips become a meditation…
a mantra…
one continuous unrepeated phrase recited newly-born as though by heart, by rote, habit, routine… it got here in the end and I for one am pleased, or as pleased as I ever am or ever can be…

© 2018 robert greig

I went to the moon (22/May/18)

I couldn’t sleep so I went to the moon… and you know, it wasn’t made of cheese, green or otherwise, which actually I’m quite pleased about… nor did I find a man there, in it or otherwise… and that it doesn’t have a dark side, or perhaps does but not in the sense of lightless… it has a far side, a side we never see from here (from here I mean earth)…. and yes, it does have gravity, granted not a lot, but a bit, little bit, just enough to stop all the mice falling off it…… what, it has mice?…… of course it has mice, mice get everywhere, in your attic, behind the skirtings (probably eating woodlice), in the tool shed, and on the moon… so it’s shouldn’t be a surprise, and anyway, who do you think ate all the cheese (green or otherwise) and hence, there’s no cheese on the moon…… so I couldn’t sleep and went to the moon, peeled back the curtain and there is was, or half of it anyway, where the other half had gone I’d no idea, possibly eaten by mice, you know what they can be like when they get peckish though I believe they prefer peanut butter but there most certainly isn’t any of that on the moon, although, who can be sure that if you dig down a bit it might be there under the ground, the core of the moon may indeed be made of peanut butter… mice also are partial to chocolate, milk chocolate seems to be a preference not being as keen on such head-spinners as 80% dark chocolate, which I adore and luckily mice abhor… mostly… but you know what mice are like, when the chips are down, and I don’t doubt for one minute they’d gobble up chips in a heartbeat, they may also tuck in to  a chunk of strong cocoa solids…… so if the moon did has an inside made of peanut butter the mice may well have hollowed out the moon by now, but then again it would take an awful lot of mice to eat all the peanut inside all the moon, would take many a-millennia, at least, and then some, or there’d be one hell of a vast number of mice living there but if there were surely we’d have noticed by now… unless… unless they rarely if ever surface and live most of their lives underground, as can you imagine with so little gravity any mouse popping his head out might float away forever and ever… unless… unless they wore leaded boots like astronauts do, but I don’t think mice are particular good at inventing things like that, or anything, and the thought of mice in space boots almost defies imagination…. the rest of course is all perfectly plausible……

© 2018 robert greig

scraps (17/March/18)

there’s a weary solitude to the morning… will it snow, will it snow, will it snow I ask, I ask and ask again of the solitude masquerading as morning and yawning surreptitiously into light… will it?… hush……
it’s a scrappy day.. I can feel it… can you even begin to imagine how many words have been written in books since writing ever first began, and imagine counting them, even guessing… and how many are lost, totally, shreddings, confetti, ashes….
rain, rain can wash it all away
(but will it snow…?)
the colour, the fog, the noise, the fear… sending it skittering down drains swilling to the sea or deep into the cracks and fissures of the mantle, to seep into geology locked forever among the unfound fossils that no one would believe anyway growing ageless in their airless cavities, while out in the wide not actually blue oceans it’s swallowed, diluted, sheared of identity in exchange for some kind of uniformity, all provenance, self, subsumed into the selves of others….
rain will banish it…
flay it from the skin as if it wasn’t ever there… a chance of starting over always in the air… evaporation…… dark and light are just different jackets worn to suit the weather… but will it snow?… new skin please, my old one has worn out, a little worse for wear, under the weather one might say…
I despair at the human condition… carving out lives from thin air with no foundation and nothing to break their fall from their imagined lofty heights…… fall is inevitable, whether by your own hand or that of others, fate or not some things are what they are what they are… like the weather… but will it snow?… that’s what I’d like to know…
falling without hitting the ground is always going to be a, as they say, big ask… as in the end, and ends are as inevitable as beginnings, gravity always wins…
but will it snow, will it snow, will it snow I ask, I ask and ask again… see, I told you today was a scrappy one, sweepings off the floor, the sort you’d use for teabag, the thrown-aways… even the gulls are restless again, gulling away, even they want to know will it snow…… talking of gravity……

© 2018 robert greig