Nothing much from me for a while, and there’s been no complaints about that.
I seem only capable of making trite remarks about other people’s posts. But I repeat one here, because it came from a post from Esther encouraging limericks featuring some reference to the word ‘grave’ and limericks, of course, are the very essence of triteness, even if graves are not.
I’m not sure what this is. A love letter to my wife, probably. As usual, it’s just something off the cuff (should not all love letters be off the cuff?) without too much regard for artistry or poetic form.
To be honest, I was just enamoured by the term ‘love in the rain’ which seems to convey so much truth and meaning …. it just took me a few lines to get to it.
You may be familiar with Cyranny’s Vintage Notes, but I wonder if I am the only one to whom the word word ‘vintage’ immediately inspires thoughts of nostalgic personal introspection.
On this occasion she was hinting at her own getting of wisdom, even though she has been around for barely the blink of an eye, relatively speaking. The only wisdom that I can offer, from a bit further down the track, is that one comes to realise not only how stupid one was as a youth, but how stupid one remains and is destined to remain always. The big difference is that stupidity was so much more fun in youth.
So I sent Cyranny a little poem in response and repeat it here, just to indicate that I still draw breath and occasionally attempt to feign optimism, albeit not very well.
Neither of the people in the picture is me, by the way. The one with clothes on is Henry Miller, my first great literary hero, and the other person is somebody else – probably a very respectable old lady now, in a retirement villiage. I remember seeing the picture originally in one of Miller’s books somewhere with the caption, ‘no matter how attractive my opposition, I never lose focus’. If only I could claim the same.
Richmond Road 