It's been some time since I blogged last. Six months, actually, it seems. Half a year. It's 1am on a January morning in Scotland and the icy wind is whistling down the chimney to the fireplace in my living room, which only serves to force the issue that it's been a long while since mid-summer, when I last felt inspired enough to write anything. I'll be back on the canals this summer, on a different boat - Tranquil Rose, which has been changing ownership over this winter from Steve and Steph (to whom I referred once or twice in my previous posts) to James and Sheelagh, parents of an old TGI Friday's workmate of mine (to whom I'm certain I have also referred). I'm looking forward to getting back outdoors after last year's insane/fun/frustrating/liberating experiences, but until then, my focus is going to be on creative output. I've been inspired recently by a few different factors, mainly people, mainly one person. I won't go into naming or describing people and situations, as I want this to be a place where I put purpose-specific writing and not a personal journal - but I do want to thank those people, and that person, for helping me get back into the swing of things (whether intended or not).
So, taking all that into account, what's first? Poetry seems to have dominated my mind for the past week, although it's certainly never been my comfort zone. Below is a poem a lot of you may recognise, as I posted it on Facebook and Twitter a few days ago (you can find me on both with the username katobell). It was published in a little local homemade magazine at one point in 2009 but it wasn't exactly widely read - I'm eager now to have one "dumping ground", as it were, for everything I do, so that I can easily access it.
By the way - please feel free to post comments on any of the work I put up here. I would love if you enjoyed my writing and saw fit to repost it anywhere, but also if you don't like it, I want to hear constructive criticism.
I'll put another up tomorrow, but this is it for now.
If you don't want to read it yourself, you can hear me reading it here...
Ambient light plays its eyebending tricks
so the sky seems the same shade as Kelvingrove bricks
And glowing young people eat suppers so hearty
to prepare for an evening of loud raucous parties
The homeless continue to search for a blessing
On finding one, chuckle, as though they were jesting
Oh Glasgow, my Glasgow, in sunshine or snow
The thrill is in wandering, and wandering I'll go
Smokers in doorways flick ash in contempt
of the newly passed laws; of the gesture well-meant
Taxis crowd Queen Street and its traffic-coned prince
While perpetual drizzle gives Shawlands a rinse
Teenagers gather with guitars strapped to backs,
Plan to later unleash them as a way to relax
Oh Glasgow, my Glasgow, the place of my home
Your faults seem perfections wherever I roam