Faces…

It struck me the other day that even after a year out here, there are still work colleagues whose faces I have not seen without masks on. Arriving in the middle of the pandemic, masks were required in all public spaces – and rigorously enforced – with more than a few people cited for either having theirs pulled down or not wearing one as they approached the security gates and barriers that dot the landscape. Only when I then see a face without a mask does it register that I have made up the hidden contours, seeing the mask as an integral part of these faces. This brings with it a mild sense of discomfort, stemming from – I think – the fact that even though I have built relationships and friendships with these people, their uncovered faces scream unknown  rather than familiar.

Faces apart, I have found myself returning again and again to Carlos Andres Gomez’ poem, Father. I first heard it read by Pádraig Ó Tuama on the excellent Poetry Unbound podcast, its second stanza perfectly encapsulating how I felt on many a visit to the ICU in the aftermath of L’s arrival.  Those moments, in which I grasped at everything that I hoped could provide certainty, come back to me in lines such as:

I confessed every wrong
of my life to an empty, over-lit room of steel
and sterile instruments

and

I never wanted
so badly to have been wrong
about anything in my life

This, for me, is part of the allure of poetry. Sometimes, amidst the many lines we read, we can feel seen and known in the words of others.

Forgetting

Prabhat+Blog+Broken+Heart

Image Source

~~~~

I catch myself sighing –
Laboured breath held,
And then expelled
Like the unsteady,
Weary chug of a steam
Locomotive as it drags
Its weighty backsides
Up a steep incline.

My dreams, a hurried,
Harried concoction
Of fevered, whispered
Half phrases and fearsome
Visions of a searing inner fire
Haunt me, my mind
Slowly numbed
by the intense,
Unforgettable clarity
of a growing insanity
And the delirium of delusion.

The first time I saw you
You were a distant-
blob of light, bright pink,
shimmering red, blazing sun-
shine, driving dirty,
grey snow into the
corner of Kings and Guilds.

Between there and here
Is something irretrievably broken
a gangrenous, festering sore
That refuses to heal, its ochre
Colour, the colour of dried blood.

I catch myself sighing,
Laboured breath held
And then expelled slowly
Like a puff of cigar smoke.
But in the distance,
Like a storm cloud bringing rain after a drought
Is the redemption of the forget-ting

#130 – Osmosis

Delirium, for the We Write Poems prompt Osmosis;

~~~~

You catch her eye
on the corner of King’s
and Guild’s, rush
of bright pink, blush.
Gaze, furtive.

A coy smile
works its way
across her face,
before she disappears.
A bird, startled as by
a twig snapped underneath
the lumbering feet
of her unwary hunter-
Half dream, half mirage,
half stolen, garbled-
fairy tale.

You feel the fever-
dry skin, throbbing head.
Unrequited memory like
the force of a hammer
against rock, a blunt axe,
Patagonian rosewood, a caged bird,
tethered to it’s roost.

Your siren’s sung-
her half song, half lure.
And like five bowstrings
plucked till worn-
all you have
is the unsated thirst
of your delirium.

Crossroads

Canada: The country after my heart, thanks to stumbling on a description of the low population, arctic in Kurt Koch’s demons and Demonology. Problem is the relatively high entry cost for me – uprooting myself from my life of the last three years, loss of income and the costs of chasing further studies required to break into that part of the world.

A girl: The girl I think I like enough to, in the words of Clay Christensen, devote my life to making happy; and who has only just moved to Aberdeen and is adamant she’s got a two year plan before she buggers off to Nigeria.

Australia: The future, land of opportunities and growth in oil and gas, and one which has popped up fairly regularly in my conversation lately both at work and with trusted knowledgeable others. Plus side is I can progress permanent residence without leaving the UK.

The Dream role: Back in Operations support as a Corrosion & materials engineer for an oil and gas producer with a reputation for great work, opportunities, international exposure and great remuneration.

The problem:  Finding a means to meld these disparate directions into a coherent whole, or at least find the optimum solution to the problems!

😦

 

Girl Crush-ing… Hypothetically….

I think I have a crush.

…… And what is perhaps most disconcerting about the waxing and waning of this particular attraction is just how atypical its advent has been.  For one she is well and truly outside the +/- 2.5 year band that I once swore to live and die by… And perhaps most importantly, the sum of our interaction over the last one month, one week and six days has been fifteen emails, five phone calls and one handshake; hardly a compelling oeuvre for a bloke whose standard MO – bar the not exactly happily-ever-after spring misadventure from 2009 – has primarily been based on weighing pros and cons, extensive googling due diligence  and incremental engagement rather than a full on pursuit.

My friend Des seems to think there’s at least something to explore, but I suspect it might just be a case of cake cravings on her part (she’s called dibs already on providing the little bride)… Me the cynic thinks it’s more molehill than mountain and that lurking just beyond the edge of what little I know are revelations bound to kick this delirium into touch… Me the pragmatist agrees with Des, and thinks it would at least be useful practice, bringing me closer to the magic 12 number which supposedly is the ideal number of partners required to define our dating baseline.

Me the analytical, in the few quiet moments the cacophony in my head allows me, wonders if there’s some low risk, non-intrusive way of closing the knowledge gap and progressing the opportunity (which may or may not be there)… Or if a wild plunge isn’t the way to go here…… After all someone once said doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result was insanity….

Or not….