Last Night’s Song Snippets
there are days when I remember you and on those days
your shadow falls over every other face I’ve loved
it’s true you were the worst to me but turns out
there is one love in this life and you were mine
your name is written on my palm and pressed against my heart
It’s A Very Rainy Wednesday In July
Saw Stu today for the first time since Queens Birthday weekend – and he made a small but slighting comment on my recent blogging status.
It’s been an interesting progression to start balancing the work persona with the church persona, with the me persona .. and figuring out where they all fit in the blogosphere.
Also – discussions to be written here ….excellence, matching values with expectations.. and future development… ah, yes. The blog is coming back, baby.
We Are Family
Uncle Eye has been home for the weekend and so Liam and Jesse are having a ball. Highly exciting times. I spent most of the weekend chilling out and getting ready for preaching on Sunday.
Preaching
Finished part 2 of a 2 week series. Phew. Actually I had a lot of fun this time around.
Saturdays
and all you wear is silk and lace
beneath old woman’s clothes
always looking after porcelain
and it glows under the light in your eyesand that noone ever touched this skin
or held that curve under a dark gaze
Lonely At The Odeon
There’s a girl in the cafe downstairs, sitting in the corner on the faded green chair. I like that chair because the arms are at just the right height, and the cushion is just worn enough to be comfortable. She’s been staring out the window, watching the pedestrians with a certain expectant eagerness. She’s disappointed, but hopeful.
I was waiting for my coffees-to-go; standing at the bar, looking across the room. Scavenging for eye occupation while the espresso brews and the milk is steamed. She walked to the bar and asked for ‘another while I’m waiting, please?’. She asked with a questioning tone at the end, all at once pleading for mercy and kindness, preserving dignity with a snigger and shrug.
She sat down again, same faded green chair and pulled out her cellphone. She hesitated and then set to it, with determination. She exerted a thumping angry force on the keypad, and hunched over it like a demon working a lathe. So firm and hard, her thumb hitting out the message.
When she looked up again, and caught my eye, I looked away. Stood up and caring far too much, there’s a damp glint in her eye. You can see pride rising up, and melancholy approaching over her shoulders and into her belly. She cares too much for it to be trivial. Someone’s on the last chance, the close pass on thin ice and it can’t be good.
She’s as empty a vessel as ever I’ve seen in the few short weeks we’ve lived over the cave of the Odeon. I’ve not seen her before, and may not again, cos it seems like she came a long way to get here today. I left, and she’s probably leaving soon.