One of these days I’ll get it all together
gather up my debts and gather up my thoughts
One of these days I won’t have a choice
there’s be no other way, just a fading day
I always say
one of these days…
that’s right
one of these days…
One of these days I’ll write to my family
tell them all, I love them, always have and will
One of these days I’ll start giving to charity
go out and help my brother/sister man along their way
I always say
one of these days…
you watch
one of these days…
One of these days I’ll fix that creaky stair
change the bulb in the darkened hallway
One of these days I’ll start a band, write a book
put something away for the time when I can’t work a day
I always say
one of these days…
I will
one of these days…
Ah, the days they go, slipping by
I just let them go, slipping by
as they build themselves into a tidy month
build themselves into a neat year
build themselves into a pretty lifetime
One of these days I’ll take stock of what I’ve got sit down with a pen, and calculate the cost of everything One of these days I’ll stop talking, speak in actions only like I’ve been promising myself I would for so long I always say one of these days… you just wait one of these years…
[2007]
Thanks for reading.
I named my first poetry collection after this poem. It felt fitting after finally doing something I’d always said I’d do. You can buy it now on Amazon
Friend, we drink together talking at a wedding lit blue and gold familiar faces dance around us
Friend, secretly, I wonder if you were to open up your essence lift a pen to kiss the paper to vent your heart aloud
Friend, I long to know what your poetry would be if you chose to write
Which desires peskily linger at the edges of your furrowed mind which old flames still burn a fire which hidden wounds you’d dare parade what is the meter and the rhythm of those unspoken secrets
What ribbon would you choose to decorate the mundane Which words would you feverishly grasp towards what profound truths do your fingertips quietly trace which wisdoms guide you along your way what strength of light shines inside of you and what damage might you do to leave us reeling
And I don’t say it but every time we meet, I think it Write! right out loud for me for you splash your heart across the page in every shade lend me your light if but for a moment
Spill your soul for all to see Friend, I love you, and will always wonder what your poetry would be if you’d set it free…
In these surprising years beyond expiry forty and not failing the journey remains largely painless and brightly lit wrapped up in love in beds hearts and books
Pull this feeling tight around me another year of moving on from all that didn’t seem to fit closer to who I want to be tangled up in love in beds hearts and books
All these lines, I can’t help but keep weaving on the loom of all my longing happily in awe of the ever-expanding story forty and still dreaming swaddled by love in beds hearts and books
There’s a deep and lingering kiss waiting in the other room the co-author of all my future stories if I put down this pen, move to that place we’re smothered in love Hunkering down in beds hearts and books…
Poems are my photographs my diary my inner monologue poems are my measurement my record the fingerprints of emotions invisible no more Poems are my expression the sum of interactions they show my working out Poems are the breath of lost lovers against my neck Poems are the kisses for my family and my friends the hugs I seldom give
And your poems… your poems keep me company a little light calling to my lost ship I sip my tea and slip into your mind…
There’s a girl in tears upon the cathedral steps as I walk to work the rain a mist that swallows us leaves blowing by I want to wrap my scarf around her and say
There will be better days there will be lighter times there will be happiness again
And there will be birds in the morning singing for you and me singing for you
There’s a boy in a phone box framed behind glass, he sighs as I’m passing by his call has ended the last call of that friendship I want to get him a beer and say
Don’t forget the love you have don’t forget those faces it will be bright again in time
And there will be birds in the morning singing for you and me singing for you
And the rain comes down and leaves blow by all the busses look so busy I laugh quietly to myself wondering Do birds even sing on winter mornings?
I used to hate this part of town After London it felt like stepping back in time as if all our momentum to the capital had been lost these shops with their hand-painted signs I didn’t recognise the names they’re not triplicated on every high street
And now I sit in the Crooked Café the waitress always tries to remember my ‘usual’ but I love that she never quite gets it right gives us something to laugh about breaks the ice as I sit alone and eat drink my tea and sketch my little lines
The walls adorned with guitars and records someone really loves the eighties the food is good the best I’ve found ‘round here the perfect way to start a Saturday it’s always busy people drinking coffee and talking through their lives there’s material everywhere for a writer-thief like me
Afterwards I’ll drift down the lanes between the crooked dwellings past out-houses, slate roofs, shared yards neat boxes all pushed so close together clinging to the hills I’ve learned to love this feeling just absorb the history let the thinning shadow of industry that’s still cast across this city seep into me
But for now I sit by the window stare out into the old street feel the season a little more keenly so grateful to have found my peace here where I can stop and think and write my little lines…
I’ve been remembering the garden we once tended I’ve been thinking of the petals that fell each autumn I’ve been working through the list of things we said but never did
And the rains that fell upon our garden and the snow that covered all
I’ve been remembering the garden we once enjoyed I’ve allowed myself some moments to reflect with clarity I’ve been feeling sadness for the trees that have since been felled
And the sun that fed our lawns and the snow that covered all and when it thawed you were ready to be gone
And all the seasons since… Now you’re with another’s child…
I’ve been remembering the garden the flowers but not the thorns I’ve been reminded of the feeling when spring was all we knew I’ve allowed myself some hours to wander through those flower beds once more
I can remember how that snow felt even now; I can smell the rain I accept that all things end that’s just the way of things that’s just the way of all things
And all the seasons since… I hope your new garden is blossoming now…
The Lighthouse 