It isn’t easy
People think it might be romantic
It is also hard, difficult to decipher and full of land mines,
Sink holes that can open up beneath a man’s feet in a quiet moment when he is just trying to read the paper
Because first of all a Poet thinks
incessantly
Her mind working at levels great and small
At her best she is almost untouchable, rare and strange
utterly enchanting him again and again
never growing old
or stale
At her worst she is unfathomable, combustible
prone to over thinking everyone around her
Worst of all him
In those times
He wishes her mind wouldn’t think of him at all
Poets notice everything
their minds run like reams on a spool
at any moment it could spin backwards
to a Friday afternoon mid Winter
ten years ago
and something that was said in haste
committed
ink to paper in that brain that never forgets
it appears in her eyes
mind
heart
in the present
she produces art from it
a rough draft of which is enough to sweep the legs from beneath
both of them
Everything is forgiven
Nothing is forgotten
Not the sweetest
Not the rotten
Every memory
Lies like fire wood
stacked
Thrown onto a furnace somewhere
Memories that warm and glow
A flower picked from a row outside a building
Passed to her as he slid into the car
At his busiest, with phone to ear
He thought of her as he walked by something pretty
long after the little flower withers
it blooms in her mind
That moment
Cost him nothing
Yet he handed her diamonds
Brains work differently in wordsmiths
The iron for hammering is endless
Been around for centuries
worked over by far greater minds then hers
She used to think his clicked along in a similar fashion
Now she knows
It is completely different
As he sits in the sunshine
Form guide to hand
Bible with tips spread
Pages dog eared
He is thinking of nothing more than picking a favorite horse
A winner of course
She is thinking of the racing industry as a whole
what it does to the souls
of equine and men
And prone at any moment to bring it up again
or perhaps instead
lightly pick a name
as easily as a bird dives on its prey
how does she do that and wander away
while he chew his pen
and considers the other things
he wishes she hadn’t said
and circles
Poetic Charmer 1.30
Randwick
in red
*He would be mad not to pick it. Winners don’t come from books written 5 days ago and sold in the newsagency (unless they’re poetry books) the best punters listen to the ether, jumbled conversations, a name mentioned twice, drops and turns on the dice. They roll with their guts, the quiet voice inside and even though I couldn’t give a jot for the racing industry, I’m usually luckier than not because in a high energy moment I can pick, pick, pluck like a musician playing from the mind. Magic – is always in the moment, never from a form guide.
Anyway 🙂
Let’s change the subject.
*Header photo is one of a series of photos I had taken by Sophie White, a local photographer. None of my social and professional platforms were cohesive, it was a mess that I suddenly got tired of so I rang her to come take some photos. Luckily she was able to fit me in and within the hour we were tromping around the back paddock. Sophie did such a great job, I’m not photogenic at all and as you can see – not exactly prone to make up or fuss either, so I don’t help myself out in that department. The dress was chosen because it matched the colors outside. My face is aging and my spirit is not meant to be caught in a freeze frame moment. As a photographer myself, I have a strange aversion to appearing in front of the camera.
I don’t think I’m alone in that.
There is a dissonance that occurs between how we feel on the outside and how we appear on a screen that frustrates me time and again, particularly as we grow older. I will be 80 years old and will no doubt feel the same – forever youthful. Sophie caught my spirit, I’m so grateful to have these lovely photos to stand up behind now across my professional and personal platforms. So glad I made the decision to have it done.
I think everyone should, if able, spend the time and money on a good photographer. Our worlds are increasingly digital. We cannot reach out and meet people the other side of the world in human form – good images that tell our story along with our words are important. Even if it is just one afternoon as the winter fell away to spring. As a human being. It’s nice to be captured in that moment. I can live there for a couple of years.
