SOC Writing _ 30 September 2020

Big Inside

Slide aside guys, let me through – I know what I’m gonna do – get the shit off the table – I know, I am strong, tender and bold – cold and hot – able to follow my yes and make this dream pinch your skin. Fuckery, the beauty of majestic mountains woven into ones life – the life of freedom and clouds - of blue and green – skylines – and wild caps in the ocean distance – As things occur to me I move on them but not before. A door before me, before you – why are you here now? Let that pass and then at the pass – the heat of the kitchen – the look on the chef’s face - complete immersion in flow – the looks on his face - the mutton bird resplendent in Europeans fare – this fan base building – what – not race – because this is a race all unto myself – mine is a currency of thought unique to myself – the running team of gentleness – the oomph of the inner child – the thing that cannot be chastised into being – the seeing all from the child’s feeling mind – this is their space to walk, run, sprint from – can you feel it? Can you become quite and attend to when you might need to carry them so they can bide their time? And, and, and – he, the youngest got it all - carried and left to cry – left to feel cold and alone – the look of stone on his face – I retract myself and hold him – he needs me now and at time, at a time future bound – England’s shore - in the marshes – his pub, his own lost mire – his drunken spur – the fog and then the feeling of me holding - memory surges back and he is not completely lost. I smell into his rough oilskin jacket and though it is cold and I am undone – I feel his strength and that I am loved, and watched in the gaze of a godly man – held by forces beyond time and tide – beyond the farmer tillage another world’s waters beckon for me, for him.