Choosing music after cataract surgery

What music for a summer Saturday

evening? A glass (or three) of gascon wine,

Garden now greener, brighter, more defined

Clarity.

Symphony? Too complex. Concerto? Too

adversarial. Romantic? But dark

shades, half tones suggesting loss, not gain.

Ambiguity

Solo voice? Yearning, seeking. I don’t need

high emotion, Just a sense of storm past

unusual in simple melodies of folk

hilarity.

Something structured. Joyous, predictable

Harmonic proof that music, optics, peace

Pattern deep order. Allegro. Baroque.

Vivaldi.

24/6/23

Written the day after my first cataract operation. It came to me as I was selecting a CD to play with our meal : something that echoed the new sharpness of vision emerging in the operated eye that was at the same time structured and calming.

Cycle ride in Covid spring

“Only go outside for food, health reasons or work”

Roads run strangely silent under March spring’s blue sky

Bright sun but the air holds winter chill

Fields that should be inches high with green

Sodden, threaten summer will have to pass them by.

Isolated driver too fast to see a face

(Why rush? Home’s the only place to go)

Cyclist passes me the other way

Raised hand, “Hello” across at least two metres space.

Across the low hedge, slow sailing the field’s brown sea

Red tractor, hopper full of seed

Precision planting hopeful earth

Harvest promise for when this spring is memory.

It is hard to believe that 5 years ago we had been in lockdown for weeks. In March 2020 (after a very wet winter) I went for a bile ride just after lockdown started and wrote this, the first of a series of poems following the progress of the pandemic and one particular field of wheat which was just being sown as I came towards home.

The Embroidery

“Courage is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point”

C. S. Lewis

Rainbow vibrant, scattering bright sunlight

Colours of cardinal virtues captured

Deft needles made design reality

Embroidered beauty of true humanity.

Green generosity, pure love’s deep red

White humility, self-control’s bright gold

Cerise gratitude, diligence is blue

Quiet brown patience awaiting all things new.

Unseen beneath gorgeous flare of colour

Grey canvas holds the many threads in place

No thought given by the admiring crowd

This fabric does not speak its name aloud.

But without it no virtue will stand test

Staunch courage gives its form to all the rest.

May 2024

Shepherd on Friday

The fields are quieter now

The yearling lambs gone for sacrifice

So now I rest beneath the olive tree

As the spring sky drifts above

But why this mid day dark?

The call of songbirds sudden stilled
I am afraid for the huddled sheep

As the black sky covers all

It lasts for three long hours

Like no eclipse I have heard of

And when the light at long last returns

It seems something is now gone

And now I mind another darkened sky

Cold in the fields, huddling round the fire

The safe sheep stir softly in the fold

Waiting for the new sun’s light

And how at once the silence broke

The flash of light, the angel’s voice
The amazing message from the Lord

Of goodwill to favoured men.

I recall the way we all rushed down

To the sleeping little town below

The flickering flame of oil lamps

And the baby lying there.

And in that babe it seemed

All hope, all peace was won

I often wonder to myself

What on earth became of him.

.

Park Run

The lean lithe club runners for whom 5k

Is merely light relief on Saturday

The unfit overweight who simply just

Long to lose pounds because they know they must

The young, the old, the work-worn middle aged

School children who have all week been caged

First timers worrying “Will I get around?”

Regulars well knowing familiar ground

Sleek buggies powered by long limbed super mums

Dogs who secret think this is no real run.

We clap the volunteers and visitors

Who add to their collection this flat course.

“Let’s run’” The surge across to starting line.

“Hi there! Good luck! Run well! You’ll be just fine”

The countdown from three ends in a scuff

Eight hundred coloured trainers pounding off.

Legs stretching to their full potential length

(should training have improved their latent strength).

Adjustment jostle round the path side seat

The slow fall back, the fit are running fleet.

Across the narrow bridge the dense crowd thins

As now for some the serious run begins.

Others regret their all too fast a start

And briefly fear for their too flabby heart.

The back straight now, carefully avoiding those

Who walk contrary wise and seem to doze.

Through wooded glade. No slippery leaves

Excuse a pause to any whose chest heaves.

Then narrow path where some first feel a stitch

Others go wide, risk falling in a ditch.

And now lap two. The thundering herd

Sweep by fluorescent marshals who applaud

And then prepare, for in twelve minutes time

The swiftest will approach the finish line

While the rest, mere mortals, keep up the slog

Some run, some walk, some manage a slow jog.

So what? This is meant to be at least some fun

Summer Saturday warmed by morning sun

Though some now think that stopping’s best of all

Like ceasing to bang head against brick wall

Lap three. And now the faster overtake

Those slower souls who’ve not yet passed the lake.

They too are still giving it their best

Though moist of brow and sweaty under vest

Last time through woodland and the welcome turn

Homewards tired as legs, once just aching, burn.

Slight downhill gives last chance to quicken stride

A final burst of speed at least is tried

At last the funnel’s final fond embrace

Past the timer and we can slacken pace.

The plastic token is in order given

We stop, gasp and enter Park Run heaven.

Park Run is a great way to start a Saturday morning -i f it's a fine summer day ! My local one is in Lincoln: three times round the lake and through the woods. They always say it's not a race but you can't help wanting to achieve a new Personal Best (or - as I'll never be 15 years younger than now - at least a "Best this year")