Aug. 21, 2022

These days I find myself oscillating madly between rage and despair. Rage at the stupidity of our species in its devouring of the planet and despair that it is too late. My default response is to dissociate remove myself into some sort of la la land, become the ostrich, excuse myself from the struggle on the grounds of age or this mess is the inheritance of the young. So I need some solid ground on which to stand so I don’t sink into the morass. One of these platforms is the present, the here and now, appreciation for what is before me, that counteracts the awfulness, a mindset that allows me to go on, to see what can be done in spite of everything. So here is a little snippet of observation captured recently. Read, enjoy, pass it on and give me some feedback.



Aug. 21, 2022

Eyelid hinges squeak tiredness on opening,
a child cries early morning hunger pangs,
a dad groans as he looks to allay those tears.
Young boys stretch long, engrossed in their tablets.

Touch needs are enlivened by sensual
caress, as bed creaks to rising body.
A sink outlet gurgles in response,
house symphonics swell with heating pipes.

The trek downstairs is slow, noised by crockery
and cutlery, the spilling
out of cereal and milk and tea:
humans crawling from their inertia.

So begins another Sunday morning
that elders look upon with smiling gratitude.

Peter Clarke