A Cut-Flower Worry 

Trying to diversify a bit and get some spoken word and book-related chat going. Here’s a spoken word offering from a few years ago that reflects some of the worries we’re experiencing now. 

Use this link for a recording – http://chirb.it/xAKtnK


A Cut-Flower Worry 


It could all have been so different.

Us.

This.

 

You’re right though, the timing was all wrong.

Mr. Jekyll was doing so well ‘til Mr. Hyde came along

The plane tickets in some dusty drawer

Don’t know the havoc they’re wreaking to heads and hearts.

And I’ve been here before,

But it’s doesn’t get easier.

 

While we walk and trip

And gaze and shake

The drip

Drip

Drip

Of doubt keeps rattling around the pipes

Keeping me awake

And it’s going to take a better man than me to fix and

Make amends

 

To plumb the depths of all things good and kind.

I tried. I did.

Maybe if the sun had shined…

 

And… Well…

It hurts like hell.

I want to take life by the scruff of the neck and yell

Shake out of his pockets one more chance

But all I get are Stevie’s words that tell

Me

England, the songs you sing are the songs you sung

On a braver day

And now they are wrong

 

And a sadness seeps and sweeps inside me.

Clearing complacent cobwebs clinging to the past.

An intangible part of me has been cast

Away
A lifeboat, still within sight or sense but out of reach, out of hand

The pitfalls and perils are many and vast

The sun is, droplet by droplet, sweeping up the common causes

As it sweeps away the night’s rain so fast

And while this worry is not the first or last

It is different

 

It is a cut-flower worry,

A clean, crisp blade of thought, devoid of concern

And Time has passed and changed and turned

The bell tolls, is heard and I have learned

That my cuckoo clock friends have swept themselves away

And I can categorically confirm

 

That to have loved and lost is always better, however cruel

And I don’t even mean true love, head over heels fall

I mean chips and a pint on a rainy Tuesday.

Although, maybe, on reflection, that’s the truest love of all.

 

Sloth out.



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