It's an interesting question. I have read a few blogs in my time and they seem to be at two extremes. There is the type that wants to inform the listening world why it was right to choose that roll-neck sweater this morning, or indeed how the blogger is coming to terms with the fact that Typhoo's new range of slightly larger teabags doesn't fit the base diameter of his mugs. (Can I make it clear now that none of my friends' blogs fit this category.) Then there is the type that keeps an extended group of family, friends and concerned strangers informed of very significant developments in the life of the blogger. Some of my friends' blogs do fit this category and it is to this type of blog that I aspire. Those of you who have been on my email list will know that I have been recently re-diagnosed with cancer, and that it is serious. You will also know that Orange have become picky about which members of my address list to deliver my emails to. Infuriating when you are trying to communicate news that is important to you and, hopefully, to others. Perhaps the blog is the answer...taking the pressure off my technology! However, I think blogs are also a way of recording in diary form how things are going, and what the latest dreams, hopes and struggles are. This may well be important to my children in the future. Now, having billed myself as a weary poet, I probably ought to include a few lines. Here's a more positive one wot I wrote...
.
.
After The Snow
Last night you fell asleep in the valley,
wrapped in the breath of summer,
curled on the bank of the safe path.
Today, you wake on a high road
after the snow.
From under you,
bleached gauze
rolls out to the horizon and
tears coarsely away, revealing
the mottled skin of the sky.
Like Noah,
lingering on a high flood,
you ache for the lost landmarks
and familiar roads that lie
beneath the surface
like veins on a cold day.
The thaw will start
with pale colours
bruising through cloud,
a band of seven soft tones
that will arch over you
like the handle
of a shepherd’s crook.
.
Last night you fell asleep in the valley,
wrapped in the breath of summer,
curled on the bank of the safe path.
Today, you wake on a high road
after the snow.
From under you,
bleached gauze
rolls out to the horizon and
tears coarsely away, revealing
the mottled skin of the sky.
Like Noah,
lingering on a high flood,
you ache for the lost landmarks
and familiar roads that lie
beneath the surface
like veins on a cold day.
The thaw will start
with pale colours
bruising through cloud,
a band of seven soft tones
that will arch over you
like the handle
of a shepherd’s crook.
.
.
Enough for now; time to try and coax Joel into the bath...mummy's out and he really isn't going to do it without a struggle. To bribe or not to bribe?
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