It’s been a hectic time, this Christmas, with a house move, a move into a hotel, a trip to Wiltshire and back, some 600 miles, then another house move and just time to meet some incredible new people and glimpse a life I know. So sorry, I haven’t posted anything recently. But as I was going through my stuff I found time to post up this poem what I wrote recently. It’s a bit Hugo Williams derivative, but I like Hugo Williams. It’s not about anybody specifically, just the end of summer, the end of holidays and the way people change, too.
Back to Ourselves
When one of us or both decide
That the songs don’t matter,
That it’s done, that we do have
A choice and somehow we don’t
Have to do the things that last week
Or last month or even yesterday we had
To do instead of everything else;
On the last day we start packing for
The trek back to ourselves after
Our little holiday, sand between
Our toes, another little white line,
And something sticking at the corner
Of our eyes; I expect it’s just a speck,
Probably. But you know, glad we went.
But we’re tired now and grateful to
Be home again, bags unpacked now
That we’ve shut the door;
Time to turn the lights on soon.
It gets so dark so early now.
I can’t quite see where I am at all.
Carl Bennett 2013