sporting blues

The first time I posted the poem 21st-century pugilist to the blog, I didn’t really have the right picture, so it was accompanied by a photo of the wrestler, Stan Roberts.

Now, though, I have a photo of the statue of Randolph Turpin, the boxer, so I think it’s a good time to re-post the poem, which was written in Spain around eight years ago:
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wings and things

I’ve said before that I’m not fond of birds, but they are a recurring theme of my poetry. I don’t, however, have many photos of birds as they so seldom stay still long enough to capture on film. (Hmm… I don’t suppose we capture anything on film anymore if we use digital cameras, so maybe that phrase must be considered an inelegant variation.)

I do a little better with photos of bugs and insects as they often seem less bothered by the approach of a camera lens and will sometimes sit still for hours on the same flower head.
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a distinct lack of clarity

I took a fair number of photos of the pussy willow tree I passed on my way to the market today. It was breezy, though, and, much like my thoughts, none of the pictures are very focused.

This first one was in many respects especially unsuccessful, as the camera settings were all wrong. Even so, it is by far my favourite.

I’m sure I should be able to come up with some particularly cutting or incisive comment about it, but I’m afraid my ideas are all a bit vague and rather fuzzy round the edges.

swanning around

Once more, my head seems to be stuffed so full of cotton wool, clouds or feathers that there’s no room for a single useful or original thought.

I do have a set of rather lovely photos of swans I took recently but I think pretty much everything I’ve written that features birds, feathers or flight has already appeared on the blog at some point, so I’m lacking words to accompany the pictures.

I would have thought that swans should be inspirational and make writing easy as the adult female is a pen. These, though, seem to be mute swans.
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invasion

I re-watched the 1978 version of The Invasion of the Body-snatchers last night and was much taken by this brief dialogue:

Elizabeth Driscoll: I have seen these flowers all over. They are growing like parasites on other plants all of a sudden. Where are they coming from?

Nancy Bellicec: Outer space?

Jack Bellicec: What are you talking about? A space flower?

Nancy Bellicec: Well why not a space flower? Why do we always expect metal ships?

Jack Bellicec: I’ve NEVER expected metal ships.

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better days…

…and worse.

dying bird of paradise flower

dead bird of paradise flower

must be nuts

I mentioned yesterday that I was up early enough on Friday to take a photo of the overnight snow before the sun came up and melted it. In fact, that was the third day of the week that I had to be on the very first bus of the morning.

Then, yesterday, which was Saturday and might therefore be supposed to be a little more relaxed, I was at the station soon after 8am and heading off to yet another early meeting. So much for the freedom of running my own business.
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