Invasion of privacy

I took a bath. The window was open, but it is too high for even the tallest of voyeurs to see in, but one prying female neighbour was capable of astonishing athleticism... then the photographer arrived.

The cat may have been wondering if she had found a mouse.


It is time

It is time
Just look at the clock
It is, isn't it?
Come on now
You know what for
or perhaps for what
even if I do not
and I certainly know what for
or perhaps for what
even if you do not
It is time
It really is
this time
Think about it
and you will know what it is time for
or for what it is time
And like me you will have thought about it a lot
but the knowing is not the problem
It is time to move on from the knowing
and get started on the doing
It is time
this time
It is time
to do, not talk
Just look at the clock


Another one seems to be going now, so sadly, although he is 93
His real being disintegrating each day before us, is dreadful to see
A grey shadow, turning black, creeping over a once bright mind
A stumbling, emerging, confused, incoherence, as consciousness turns blind

Light ebbing from a darkening evening sea
And so who next?
Maybe her, him, you, me



Coexistence is possible
if you leave me alone
and I leave you alone
and you don't try to change me
and I don't try to change you
We may never be friends
but we may coexist


Late afternoon in Leith

I love Leith. Rough and ready when I lived there many years ago - a famous old port of working people and pubs and a fair few gangs and thieves and prostitutes; but alive with the dirty messy vigour of humans being human in the best way they could manage, which was often not very well at all. Now greatly gentrified in a wonderful vibrant way, but with all the old traits and characters and drink and drugs still clearly there in the muddled messy mix of humanity heaving and flowing like the lapping sea that surrounds it. I was educated in Leith, until the age of 17, in the days of uncontrolled playground fights and bullies and girls and youthful attempts at love and hate and good and bad, but not much evil, although under the surface, yes that was in there too. I got hurt in Leith, physically, emotionally, romantically. I got tough in Leith, more mentally and emotionally than physically. I grew a hard carapace that even now can hide the wobbling soft pathetic jelly of the man within. And I come back occasionally, not often enough, to walk and eat, and still again yesterday to shake my head with an almost apologetic smile when a surprisingly pretty lass tried to sell the brief use of her slim body to me near the dock gates... where my father used to stand as a young police constable, fresh from fighting a war, but then directing the traffic when not called, as he often was, by a shrill whistle - no personal radio in those days - to intervene in another melee of flying fists and smashing glass in a riverside pub. I love Leith, and I will be back again, sooner next time, to walk and watch and sit and drink and eat, and probably to shake my head with an apologetic smile again and say, "no thanks", sweet, sad, young, dear, lost, lass... no thanks.