unearthed secrets (29/August/18)

there it sat, among the panderings of trivia, a blog that time forgot… I must have wrote it, how long ago now?… can’t be that long that it’s languished neglected between a haiku and a doodle… it’s not long and maybe that’s how it got overlooked, buried as it was among a pulpery of words strung in ink across line after line with few in between unstained by some random wandering… the page still intact but for a tiny dog-ear top right corner which wasn’t made to mark it, as I at first thought it might but an accident of page-turning more than likely, catching it perhaps in some haste to write yet another aimless scribbling… anyway, like an intrepid archaeologist I unearthed it and now display it ere in my ever-bulging museum of words… and this is it, called (the secret)

in my hand sat a pine cone that forgot to be heavy… it was big, cone-shaped, as one might expect but what I didn’t expect was how light it felt, almost as air, weightless despite an appearance of heavy…… we passed it around hand to hand turning and tipping it this way and that examining every possible side, if something conical can have more sides than one, looking for the source of its lightness and even, so I wondered, if and where it might be hiding its heaviness… it was opened, empty of seed no doubt long gone by now, bracts that once folded tight against the elements from where it hung with other cones no doubt several feet off the ground, tens of several perhaps… but now it sat open in my open palm looking for all its worth like drawers that had been emptied in a rush and left as such… none of us could figure out why it was so light yet looked so heavy, despite now so exposed to the probing tips of fingers, curious eyes, mumblings of increasingly absurd theories it failed, or refused, to deliver up its secret…

© 2018 robert greig

all you can eat (6/August/18)

in the background a piano tricks the air into follow the leader, a Pied Piper of keys unlocking threads of persuasion… rowan berries have reddened too soon, “too soon!” cries the blackbird, “too soon!” begs the moon losing coherence in am omenic wane, will there be anything left come the winter?… the apples are pickable, how did that happen?… somebody ordered a helping of summer only to find it was a neverending ‘all you can eat’ promotion…. wasps confusedly rush to the plums as though their lives depended on it… and it does…… water, water everywhere, or so the myth goes as we drink, drink and be merrily wasting it hitherly-thitherly, wantonly, wistfully by making the most by using the most as though water grows on trees, all those trees, oh the trees being cut down one by ten by hundreds and thousands dragged from their roots in favour of houses built over gardens, levelling woodlands, built over fields, levelling hedgerows, bulldozer, bulldozer awoken again to rape and to beat the land to submission for more of the same and less of the green, fellows are felling, chopping and snedding all for the good of mankind, health and safety and anyway space is a premium and we’ve put a price on its heads and sold it for bricks  to developers waving their pricks comparing that my plot is bigger than yours… the piano is reaching its final accord on a chord that will signal the end as a day in the life of the seep-away light marches unashamed reaping the short-term with spade-loads of gluttony building them cheap and piling them high in a graveyard of those still breathing… “bring out your dead, bring out your dead!” your zombie-eyed seekers claw permanence from ephemera and hope for the best with their fingers and toes…. yesterday was summer, today is autumn, tomorrow we’ll see now won’t we and if there’s nothing much left, “well, we did our best”, or that’s what we’ll tell ourselves picking the skin from our bones……

© 2018 robert greig

rain-rain (28/July/18)

it’s actually a relief… rain… proper rain… not half-hearted apologetic rain but what I could call, bringing to bear all the technical jargon at my disposal, rain-rain… the landscape looks grateful, sighing through the remaining leaves that’ve managed to see it through the previous lack… lest we forget the value of water in favour of blue skies and bikini lines… no doubt some will gripe and moan with the “so that was summer then” as though it was gone in a blink, an awfully long blink if that was the case… what do you call a long blink?… sleep, I suppose… what do you call a longer blink?… death… maybe that’s what I’ll have on my headstone, not dead ‘just blinking’… or half a blink anyway, that’s the thing about blinking, one has to remember the second half of it, the unblink…… I know not everyone wants rain, but then again not everyone engages their brain enough to see the point… oh, to be clueless…… and soulless… do you ever meet people to just come across as just that?… not clueless, there are plenty of those milling about, no, soulless… people who seem to have nothing there, nothing going on, more vacant than stone, who blow through life oblivious to anything outside their own skin… for reasons peculiar I know them as soon as I meet them, first impressions and all, which to me, despite popular opinion, are not just important but inevitable, and on meeting someone anew I just know…. I have no idea how or even why, if it’s a feeling, a smell, electricity, something they say, their eyes, it’s impossible to quantify never mind bottle it and sell it online to the ever-expanding hoards of the gullible…… are people getting more gullible these days?… hard to say as any opinion I have would be loaded in bias anyway, but I do wonder…… the sound of the trees, hedges, grass heads, it slips between words and nestles in the pauses teasing the gaps between letters and indulging in abandon at the end of a sentence when they know it’s their cue to boast and brag and don their finest swishes and swooshes indulging their Aeolian catwalk… it’s the sound of between, the sound of space, that’s why it never stays still…

© 2018 robert greig