Jun. 19, 2022
Recently I heard myself diatribe negatively about the state of the world and its increasing mess. I was speaking matter of factly as if it didn’t really impact on me, I was a casual observer. In a way this is true, I do not directly experience any of the horrors that large portions of the world population have to face daily. I am truly grateful for that there but for accidents of birth . . . Nevertheless, if I pay attention to the world, my heart sinks and I feel myself descending into irrecoverable chaos and hopelessness, running the risk of being another burden in an already overburdened situation. I have not found a way yet to be useful, help counteract the downward trend. The best I can do at minute is keep myself in some kind of shape. Deep down, I think I have delusional belief that somebody or something will do something – a classic denial. So I write, I stave off the chaos and I try to follow a basic rule do no harm. I have returned to morning reflection, exercise and writing. Here is one piece.
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024