this won't last forever

'Larger than lifesize we become, great in the eyes of someone.' - A Fine Frenzy, Lifesize

That's a photo of S. looking at the snowball he's making. How happy is he? It was sunny this morning and it's been snowing on and off all day with the sun shining through in between. This morning the kids played and made a snowman while I watched them for a while. Later I talked to my neighbour on the balcony in the sunlight and their dad went to play with them downstairs.

March is an odd month. It's a month that doesn't really know what to do with itself. Neither here nor there. A bit adolescent I suppose. I heard someone say once that in Holland from the spring onwards it's all a buildup to Queen's Day and then just a disappointment. I disagree.

My favourite month is September, when the days have started to draw in a little and the light is golden and faded. In September I feel like every sunny day is a splendidly unexpected gift, but between March and August I'm full of expectations and I don't enjoy them as much as I should. Less expectation, more enjoyment, maybe?

The poetry of Colin Morton sneaked up on me on a snowy afternoon. After I read the first poem, I breathed a sigh and settled in to read the rest.

My favourite because of the way it made me feel is forty-five years from now. I also liked today we both phoned in sick. Isn't that the most romantic thing you ever read?

This one made me sad.

Over Coffee

You say another year of marriage is
another cup of coffee in the morning
~ some kind of addiction
safer to continue than to quit.
Each one requiring a little more
sugar, stops the pain
in the head anyway.

Your bitter smile through steam
is the grimace of boredom
on the fourteenth floor ~ really
the thirteenth ~ boredom
the safest expression you know, each day
a strategy of postponement.

Rising and descending in the elevator

eyes forward clouded with sleeplessness,
you keep escaping your dreams
and finding them in wait around corners.
You could just turn your back, you say,
walk out on the badly played scene,
but life is no technicolor movie
with credits and no debits at the end.

Evenings at home are only more memos
you say, in a language of indirection
you are afraid
you have come to understand, and speak,
swallowing your words with that dull
insensitive frown you make
with each gulp of sweetened coffee.

--------- Colin Morton

Read more about Colin Morton here, and buy his books online from Abebooks.