Time and the day Elvis died ...

I saw that today's the day in 1977 that Elvis died.

I remember the day well - the news had come on the radio.  It was a shame, because I'd always wanted to meet him - he was "the King" after all of rock'n'roll.  And now it seemed impossible.

With fascination I remember watching my parents alarm clock - it was an old pre-digital flip-number alarm clock ...

I think I watched it for about 15 minutes, watching with interest how the numbers recycled themselves.  They moved, and turned right over - 9 became 0 became 1.

And I wondered to myself if time itself came to a threshold, and rolled over again to play out again.  If so - next time I'd have til 1977 to try and meet Elvis on the next go through.

I was 7 at the time, but the idea held ... and grew.  I ended up studying physics and astronomy and finding indeed the Universe might just do something very similar in the Big Crunch - an event which would be the opposite of the Big Bang that started it all.

However I'm still no closer to travelling back to see Elvis ...

The Violet Sorrows

There is a place in the silence before sleep
Where there's an empty place we fear to think
A space where someone use to be
Someone cherished

For emotion cannot be dimmed
It bubble and gurgles inside
With no place to go
Or play out these feelings
We walk alone in them
Lurking in a somber solitude
Living out in a constant replay

But it isn't always so bad
And in time, the memories that make us sad
Will make us smile again
As we learn to treasure

Grief is sorrow
Hued violet with the warmth of rememberance

An Ode To Coffee

Dark, bitter
You are vitality & life in liquid form
Let me drink deeply of your promise

A touch

I hold your hand
Across a table
It's such a simple thing
But wondrous

That touch like morse code
Telegraphed to my soul
A velvet sensation
That reminds of sensual moments
And secret intimacies

A shared smile
A gaze of desire
A touch that weaves a daydream

Love

The Shadow Walker

I wrote this poem when I lived in Germany back in the 90s.  At the time, I lived in Lobeda, a rather horrid concrete village, that the former Communist regime felt was "good enough" for people.

During our time there, there were the odd flare of violence from some of the locals aimed at foreigners.  Well for "foreigners" read "people with different skin".  As a foreigner myself I always knew, keep my mouth shut, nod, and no-one will notice.

I was the shadow walker - the person who from the outside doesn't look alien at all ...


I look through the eyes of a foreigner
So secretly cast on your shores
To walk through your concrete labyrinth
Observing your alien law

I see you talk in your mother tongue
And note down your different ways
Watching you try hard to navigate
Society's bleak moral maze

I'm the shadowy watcher amongst you
Point me out if you think that you can
A sinister chronicler amidst you
Studying my fellow man

Trying something new ...

I run a semi-successful blog over at TestSheepNZ, which covers IT and critical thinking.

I'm quite proud of how broad the topics I cover are, but even so, I like the idea of a space to just write.  For the pure desire of writing.

This is that place.

Welcome.