Waiting for Tomorrow because there’s no Today…

Actually I’m far from feeling like singing in my heart this morning: a grinding sense of ongoing failure is pinning my soul to the figurative floor.  However, you don’t want to read all about that, so I’ll move on and tell you about yesterday.  It was a fairly busy day for a Sunday: church first, as usual, then home to make soup and watch Casualty (as is tradition).  After lunch we went up to the New Walk Museum to see Daniel’s photo.  I can’t find the photo but here’s a link to the Open 24 exhibition:

http://www.leicester.gov.uk/open24/

It was great seeing his photo in there.  There’s a lot of good work in the exhibition – photos, graphic art, painting and drawing as well as sculpture so it’s well worth seeing.  You can take in the excellent DNA expo as well:

http://www.leicester.gov.uk/insidedna/

Then home for a quick rest and after dinner I finally made it to Yesim’s where a huge crowd packed in to the tiny cafe to hear music and poetry ably mixed by Jan.  It was good to catch up with people again and I did two poems; The Good Morrow which I put on here the other day as being part of our wedding ceremony, and one of mine on the cult of celebrity, called ‘Seleb’.  Here it is:

Seleb

Enjoy your five minutes

you haven’t got long

your thighs are so thin it’s

a ration-camp wrong

Your femur’s fragility

sentenced to starve

then sent to facility

carbing to carve;

they sell you lite biscuits

the fat of the free;

the plan of the whizz-kids

just down from the tree:

you lunch on a leaf

and a headful of air

and dine with a thief

who came round for a dare

you’re passing on purdah;

you’re upwardly billed

your high heels are murder

as kittens are killed:

but where do you go to

o loveliest one,

ingesting your O2

and ration of sun?

Our latterday Cleo

and spouse of Big Bro

conceived under Leo,

o where do you go?

When camera’s sleeping

and internet’s down

tell me you are weeping

for every lost frown;

tell me you are weeping

the tears of a clown.

(Liz Gray, 2012)

This morning felt very weird without the Today programme.  They’re on strike so we got the Pope instead… the Pope is no substitute for John Humphrys.

Kirk out

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Filed under friends and family, God-bothering, poems, politics, radio

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