Hello. My name is Mark Russell and I’m a fully qualified podiatrist – something you will probably already have gathered from the main page on the blog.
Footnotes
A Sup wi' a Lang Spoon
Hello. My name is Mark Russell and I’m a fully qualified podiatrist – something you will probably already have gathered from the main page on the blog.
Since this is an avant-garde type of internet space, I thought I would pen my (fairly) recent poem……
Café Contemplations
The air is dry – like snapped twigs
Anticipation no longer reigns supreme in my artificial heart
The scything of knives and thunder of galloping forks still
Just for a moment, then resume without regard
Follow no rhythm, though I keen for it!
Your love has gone…
The grey faces are conspiring with the night
To blot all rogue colour from my life like a sponge
Chatter crashes wave-like, then hovers in dark corners
Receding with a sigh of swelling furtive smiles
Long to join in – feel it wash past me
My smiles are gone…
Plates arrive as trains at a station
Clattering, bulging with weight, tempting to savour like a journey
Salad leaves, rustling in sheets, entangled in heat one moment
Then limp and bedraggled, as inspiration and passion cools
Oh! To feel alive again!
Your body’s gone…
Censors, closed against emotion
Light cruelly darts to the shutters in my mind, burning the cortex
So that all vision ceases to register past sepia
And reality is only ‘Café Rouge-like’ tones
Feelings never come again!
Our love has gone.
In Retrospect
It took a lifetime to get to here
The feeling of being unwittingly led is strong
All the circumstances, false turnings and pain, a mere sentence
In the story of a life spent running away
Real emotions? – to be avoided at all costs
For the luke-warm diet of numbness like tea taken liberally
Serves to flush out any likelihood of discovering sordid detail
The could overturn the apple-cart, spreading smashed fruit all around
For those who trod on the contents, albeit without hindsight
To have to face the ruin, and in turn, questions themselves
It would be unthinkable and at best, unlikely
Given the personalities and the time elapsed
What would be gained from the disclosure?
Swift pity?, revulsion?, a measure of culpability?
An overdue plaster laid 29 years too late?
Or silence, a stonewalled refusal to believe?
Yes then, the secret far from being out and salved
Would lay bare and fester in the glare of THEIR guilt
For no-one thanks the bearer of bad news
Nay, some have been shot for less!
A secret then, however despicable and cruel, it must remain
Lest it topple a heart fed with scraps of love
Gleaned from a lifetime of smiling, forgiving, serving hell
Because the telling of it wouldn’t change a thing…
Neglect would not disappear with its disclosure
Love wouldn’t spring up from shoots crushed without care
Retribution wouldn’t conquer over evil
Only pity might lift its head and crush any dignity remaining there
No, let it, by its very nature, languish there
For with realisation comes the truth of a life laid bare
And the power of one to destroy innocence
Shall NOT be given credibility from this day hence!!
Linda Russell
Wow Linda! You articulated the hurt so brilliantly. Thank you for sharing
HIGH SEAS (ON)
We are ships in a sea of confusion
Sailing together but parted by the winds
Tousled by the root of our adventure
Cleansed by the bitter-salt of our sins
In the calm waters our sterns touch caressingly
The storms of yesterday forgotten
We are one with the world
‘Til life’s relentless parry breaks our decks again
Timeless in our endurance
We sail for know-not-where
The bridge between lost in its solemnity
For whence we sail, we drift without a care
Carried on in hope culled from tranquillity
We are mapless, yet ever drawn within
Grasped by reason far from sane decision
Crushed by storms no man alive can win
Peace we seek, though none would speak it to us
Here, on high, we choose our destiny
The touch of failure can but pull us onwards
For where, but here, can souls alone be free?
Linda Russell