Perspective Of The Bear

We forget nor do we understand
The sacrifice of the bear
The twenty million souls departed
Memories of horrors passed down

Still hard to live for peace today
In a world of threat perceived
Be it real or imagined within his mind
The bear feels safe only within his lair

Should he fear a new empire
Its power through financial stricture
Corporate democracy with no electorate
No visionary to bestride our time

Now he growls from the cave entrance
With narrow view born of memory
While the world outside stares back and snarls
Forgetting his perspective of sacrifice

The bear is strong but he lives alone
War and peace interwoven in his mind
He fears the hunter to this day
Even while the rifle lies in the snow

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Mastiles Lane….Easter Monday memoir

Well, yesterday was Easter Monday, and springtime in Yorkshire. So, a walk above Kilnsey Crag would be splendid. Setting out with optimism, after a mile and a half a photograph was taken just below the snow line, with the fell top indistinguishable from the skyline. On turning back a direct-into-the-face blizzard ensued. Being inappropriately dressed, my trousers and nether garments became soaked through with ice cold water. Back at the fish farm at Kilnsey I changed all relevant garments. Never before have I seen my knees glowing red and luminescent! Hot tomato soup saved the day. An excellent walk in Yorkshire!

Discommunication….Mike and Bernie discuss

While you sip that pint of yours, take a look around, Bernie. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, the change of behaviour in the pub. See that old couple over there, been married for donkeys years, obviously. The bloke bought two drinks fifteen minutes ago, then sat down next to his wife. They’ve not spoken since. They just stare forward, thoughts confined to their own brain, no communication at all. I reckon that’s not good. They’ve come out for a drink but have nothing to say to each other. Sad, eh?

Yes, Mike, but not unusual. Happened for years. It puts you off marriage, and we’re both married. Maybe that’s why we come to the pub together and always have done. We talk at home then come here and talk to each other, intellectually compatible we are. But it’s not just the old couples, Mike. I’ve been watching the two youngsters in the corner. Probably been together for a few years, not married yet, that’s my guess. She’s pretty, he’s handsome, they look aspirational types. About 25 I’d say. He got them drinks and then sat down next to her. And then? They both started looking at their phones. They’ve been thumbing away for twenty minutes, not a word said between them, not a drop of drink drunk. Now that is sad!

Bloody hell, Bernie. That’s depressing. Good grief! Well, maybe that explains why I turn up to see you every bloody week. A good pint and a good chat. Get me another pint!

Belonging

I live here
In a house near a city
At the end of a journey
With hum drum and the day to day

I live here
Have lived here
Thity years and more
A wife a daughter now flown

I live here
But I don’t belong here
I belong on a hillside
With my thoughts and my strangeness

I grew on that hillside
Staring into space
Staring down at the valley
Flood and snow and fields of colour

I live here
I cannot go back
To that hillside
Though it is where I belong

I know that
I shall always know that
To the day when breath it leaves me
And returns to that hillside for all time

Sons Of Magna Carta

So
My sons of Magna Carta
How does it sit with you
This so-called negotiation
With bureaucrats and fonctionnaires
Unelected arrogance
Snarling in the face of democracy
Rejecting the ballot box of millions
With a desire to punish and belittle

It is time
To stand firm and test their mettle
For they fear their own psyches
Their unity a facade
To protect them from themselves
From the cracks within
And if compromise defeats
Then my sons of Magna Carta
Smile and turn and walk away

Return to gender….Mike and Bernie

Glad you and Joanie can make the dinner party on Saturday. According to the Daily Mail, the minimum number of people at a dinner party should be eight so I need to invite someone else. I thought of asking Alex, from work, you know, good looking, short skirt, great legs and great to chat to. What do you think, Mike?

Excellent choice, Bernie. Everyone likes Alex. Just one thing, Bernie. That short skirt, well, it’s a kilt. And as for the legs, he does play scrum half, you know. But, yes, great choice, although he’s not keen on football. Just rugby. 

I’ll invite his wife, too, of course. Never met her though.

Even better. She supports Chelsea. Loves football.