#64: darker intents (1/Nov/18)

welcome, welcome, the first of November, remember it was once October but now, but now, but now it’s November… remember November, it was long, long ago, maybe twelve months, yes I know, yes I know, it was twelve months twelve months ago that last there was a November but, this one is different, this one is now and not then not jaded not yet anyway… but I suppose give it some time perhaps 30 days or even less maybe just three before it becomes as haggard as the rest, all the other Novembers from distant pasts now lost in the mists not one of them lasted much more than the others grown long in the tooth and over the hill…
descend
descend
descend into winter
sliding down in darkening down
this is November all shiny and new but just like I said won’t be very soon and time as time does will invoke its toll, corrupt its soul, wear it as thin as the thinnest of things that are thinner than anything words can express…
descend
descend
descend into winter
slippery, sliding the slope is for sure for all your sure-footedness will come to nought when there’s nothing to grip and the cold rips flesh from the bones so ready yourself although no one’s ever prepared, it’s the same every year as winter come sooner and quicker than sound or even than light that it east for its breakfast and spits out what’s left to eke out the day in its discards, so…
welcome, welcome, the first of November, did it or you get here first?… or was it a tie both at the same time setting foot into unknown tides… the rise and the set, the hours that let only shreddings of light hold sway until once more that knock at your door as night drags in winters deepest and darkest intents……

© 2018 robert greig

#53 secret blog: borrowed time (26/Oct/18)

soon the clocks will go back, they say we’ll get an extra hour but how can that be as that would mean there’d be 25 instead of 24 hours in the day and be that as it may it just can’t be… and would it be applied to all days, every day or just the one day that we trick the clocks, wind them anti-clockwise standing back to watch them staring back confused… what would I even do with an extra hour, it’s fairly paltry after all, now an extra day a week, now that is something worth negotiating, eight instead of seven, with such s this one could do a lot or at least something useful with a whole entire day but an hour, well, that’s neither here nor there and will be wasted well before you know it, absorbed into the same old, same old to become as indistinguishable from the rest as they are right now towards each other… it’ mere sleight of hand, a trick of the eye behind which lack of substance lay… you can’t touch it, hold it, taste it or even see it, it has no smell, no shape (except that of hour-shaped), doesn’t move in any way except for one way, forward, it can’t entertain me, make me laugh, make me cry, make me gasp as some surprising acrobatic prowess… instead it does nothing except leak away and will be taken for granted before the sun has set… all I see is chicanery, and the cunning hand of borrowed time………

© 2018 robert greig

last thing (28/Sept/18)

what was the last thing you said to someone you last saw that and never seen again, all those people years past, maybe decades, that you didn’t necessarily know that particular conversation would be the last you’d ever have with them… of course you wouldn’t have known it would be the last thing you ever said to them and of course when it’s someone who died then it makes it all the more pertinent and poignant and quite often you may remember because of that but what of those still alive, someone on the same planet, part of your past but not of your present, what was that last thing you talked about?… it could have been as innocuous as “see ya later” or even something more involved, either way most of those last things are long forgotten, buried in gone-time, as is often the sound of their voice which you may remember or may only think you do cobbled together from remembering their quirks and traits…… there are those I knew very well long, long ago and yet even though I remember their faces, often clearly, and maybe roughly when and possibly where we last chatted I can’t remember specifically what was that last thing we said when we parted not knowing………

© 2018 robert greig