While I was wrestling with the taxman this morning our friend Stephen Tunnicliffe came round to bring me a copy of a delightful little series of poems he wrote last year, describing the five senses as experienced by children. I didn't mind at all being interrupted, it's been a day for 'mopping up' leftover jobs, satisfying when all is done but not very exciting. Here is one of Stephen's takes on 'Seeing'; although there are no larks rising from the fields around Valley's End into the rather misty skies in winter, spring and summer will bring them back to us.
Can you see him? Only just!
He's like a singing speck of dust.
Lark, can you see me from up there?
You must have eyes like telescopes!
I stare and stare . . .
I wish the sky had great long ropes
Then I could climb right up there too,
And see our tiny house, like you.
They really live in their own little world.
Me too, of course;
the thing is that I am convinced that my world is the only right and proper world.
And they'll fight to the death over it, even if it means
that both worlds crumble and leave behind nothing
A child's lost glove on a branch showing you the way
to a more peaceful co-existence.
After listening to a discussion on matters esoteric and spiritual, I have come to the following conclusion :
When you think there's a beer in the fridge and you go to the fridge and actually find one there, that's belief. You've proved it.
When you think there's a beer in the fridge and you go to the fridge and there isn't one, but you still say there is one, that's esoteric.