Just before the last election here in the U.K, I wrote the following little squib which seems even more relevant now just days before the great (apocalyptic?) Trump/Clinton standoff. I didn’t include it in my collection, but it features in my Little Book of Pessimism:
Nothing will change, it’s all a lie.
Just cross your box and hope to die.
Just over a week ago, on the 26th of October, I officially became the luckiest man in the world when I married my long-term partner, Alison. The ceremony took place in the lovely old Town Hall in Eastbourne, the seaside resort where Alison grew up. It was modest affair, but a very moving occasion nonetheless. There were no wedding bells, but the Town Hall clock chimed obligingly as we took our vows. For the reading, we chose Michael Donaghy’s beautiful poem, ‘The Present’. Afterwards, we enjoyed a celebration meal at a hotel overlooking the sea and the following day set off for Torquay where we had a somewhat unconventional honeymoon at the Torbay Festival, surrounded by our wonderful friends from the world of poetry.
To mark the occasion here on my blog, here is a little poem that I wrote about Alison a few years ago:
I love to watch her working in the garden,
her movements full of gentle care and grace,
as if the very air around her hands
might come to harm if suddenly displaced.
To be with her a moment is to feel
this headlong world made kinder, calmer, slower,
and when she frowns at seeing a damaged leaf,
I pity everyone who doesn’t know her.