One could walk on. Turn left. Go up. But, for some reason, one looks right. A sight perhaps seen previously, yet coated with a fresh aura. A reflection of the sparkles playing on the river’s surface? A visible echo of the unreachable water depths? The river’s report about the earth’s message to the sun? Movements of the air independent of anything mentioned. Anything unmentioned. Of the imponderables. Makes one want to walk through the dream of the voice unheard. Only anticipated. Its unborn promises leaking through the crevices of today’s shadow.
Albert Einstein wrote 'I don't know what weapons will be used in World War 3 but World War 4 will be fought with sticks and stones', and it feels to some extent we are already at that point. Protest marches now almost always have an element of violence - on the morning of the last one I stood at Holborn and watched as masses of young people, tagged almost on the end of an afterthought, all wearing black, disguised in balaclavas - what was their intent? For a generation brought up with cameras everywhere - was this a day out or a more serious event? Read more »
This was my second session leading the creative writing group at the Connection at St Martins.
The previous week I met Judith Chernaik, who, with poets, has selected poems for display on London's Underground. Over 300 poems have been displayed on the Tube since the 'Poems on the Underground' programme was launched in 1986. Judith kindly donated some 'Poems on the Underground' leaflets to the Strandlines project; hoping the poems enclosed might provide our communities with some inspiration for writing. Read more »