I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again

That rousing song of the same title by Chumbawamba reflects how I feel today: It’s time for me to begin my next volume of The Long And The Short Of A Part Of My Life; It will be out on iBooks in the coming months, which means I now feel ok to serialise Volume 4, on an occasional basis here, beginning with page one:


Yesterday was 1989, last month was September
I hope this day you are feeling fine, I hoped that this day you might remember
Yesterday was 1989, last month was September
The summer before we’d danced in line; I’d called in to see you, in that December

I know absolutely, that there is no going back, yet I also know for certain
That there is no smoke without fire, there are no dreams without deep desires
You have become rooted in my mind, you are now part of the zeitgeist
Each day I succumb to your kind, you are my night-time’s darkest heist

Yet I know so little of you at this time; I haven’t been close, or heard from you
For too long to remember, but yesterday was 1989 and last month was September
Yesterday was 1989, last month it was September; I hope you can see, that I am
Feeling fine, though that my thoughts for you, are still somewhat tender

Our essence forms the beginning of that year of shadow boxing
Yes that’s right, we were shadow boxing, yet time moved on, and you moved closer
We became better friends, you disclosed intimate details

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The Best Way To Avoid The Gym – Hide The Trainers

So, after buying myself a new sports bag, and watching the wonderful Mel Robbins self-motivation video on youtube, I thought I was ready to go to the gymnasium.

I woke, counted down 5 to 1, immediately got out of bed, then started writing my morning pages, where I reinforced my intention and committed to visiting the spa.

The bag packing began; tracksuit bottoms, polo shirt, sports socks… all I needed now were my trainers. A full hour later they are nowhere to be seen. A full hour later I have to abandon my intention. C’est la vie.


A New Expanse

To be in love
To have been in love
Six coins in the fountain

The sea of love
The three of love
Warm hearts
On snow-capped mountains

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Sometimes the wait is worth it; I was fortunate to be able to take my time, most are not so lucky.

In the spirit of spring cleaning I collected together my past writings, that is in their physical manifestation, for the computer database of my work is not yet anywhere near a useful realisation.

In and among I found a booklet which also contained addresses for potential employment; I must have sent out dozens of CV’s before landing my dream job at Watercombe on Dartmoor.

Sometimes the wait is worth it; I was fortunate to be able to take my time, most are not so lucky. The small spiral wrapped notepad was a gift from Sarah, who now lives in Thailand; how times change.

Watercombe In The Mirror

That late May afternoon
Twenty-six years or more ago
I climbed the five bar gate
Walked two thousand metres

Over the pipeline

I kicked stones down to the river
Whistled to the sheep
Who appeared to be reasonably settled

By the trout pass I took off my boots
Dangled my feet into the water
My laughter trapped in the bowl
Of the wrapped around hillside

Only now the laughter

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Sweeping Body-Scan & Breath Meditation Christopher Sanderson

In 2013 I enrolled on The British School of Meditation’s Teacher Training Course, which I can highly recommend. We were worked hard, but we also had lots of fun, we made friends, and learnt a good deal about meditation, of which you may know I am a fan.

Four years later I enrolled for what I thought was a ten-day silent retreat, at the Vipassana centre at Dhamma Dipa. It turned out to be ten days to learn a particular kind of meditation, not altogether in silence, but rather by audio and video instruction.

I did learn the technique, and enjoy using something similar in my own meditations. No doubt I didn’t catch hold of all the nuances, I don’t concentrate well enough for that to have happened.

The two events have now been combined in my conspiration to produce an audio guided meditation and a video. youtube and insight timer are the places to look.


Always with a question
With the same question

Yet never asked
No never proffered
Hidden so deep

Hidden away
With that great security
Of insecurity

Always with contemplation
With the same meditation

So often fallen
So often fallen into

Dwelt so deeply
Dwelt with that great time
Of no time at all



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From One Champagne Socialist To How Many More

Saturday night I was in The Nook, in Holmfirth, my hometown. After many hours of quaffing their finest Blonde beer I was turned on by my so-called compatriots (they know who they are so no need to name them).

I was attacked firstly for being against Brexit, then for being a Corbyn supporter, and finally for being a red, or supporter of communism. This by too ex-working class lads from Yorkshire; has the world gone mad I thought.

Anyway, I stuck to my guns; I bought another round of blonde and said I thought it only right that everyone should be able to drive a BMW, like yours truly. And why shouldn’t socialist be millionaires, or be ladies with titles?

Maybe its because I was an apprentice to the shop steward at Hepworth Iron Company, or that I rode on their shunting engine with my grandad, from his terraced house with tin bath and outdoor cazi.


Ten minutes of a tea break
Time to write a quick one
Instead of a puff on a cigarette
Or a fattening buttered scone

It comes to us all, someone said
Start living, for livings sake, then
Forgetting what we’ve read

But you’re only a young man, lad
You’ll live till you’re eighty
Unless you quicken up, going mad

That old railroad shunter
Puffing up and down the track
Pullets, outdoor lav’s,
Your old dad getting the sack

Maybe it didn’t happen like that at all
But no time for a reference book
It’s what I remember
Without a longer look

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Nostalgia, You’re A Hard One To Keep at Bay

Please allow this indulgence. Our trip to Pittenween Arts Festival in 2010 was sublime, for many reasons. In particular, meeting old friends, and making new friends; it is a trip I would certainly recommend:

Be I

I have
Or given the choice, I would have
Perhaps to start here again
Start all over with these words

I wish
Given that I could give you a wish
I would wish
That you might show generosity

Be generous to yourself
In the morning – the early morning
Bathe in your generosity
Let it pour over and from you

Throughout the day let your gentle wealth escape

Be served from your store
Be recovered from your loft
Be loaded from your barn

Be sung from your cloisters
Be gathered from your fields
Be removed from yourself

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Almost The Same Poem, Yet This Time More Attuned To The Image

Yesterday the imagery came first. The poem needed little or no adaption to work. But it wasn’t the truth, the synchronicity was missing. So today I revert to the originals. I hope that you can see that there is a difference.


Sat on driftwood
Beside an ocean
Happy to splash
With the faintest restraint
Happy for waves to rise
Dwell, subside
Effortless, free of effort

I read a short essay, a story
Centred on the Metropolitan
A museum on the East Side
I guess of Manhattan

The writer describes a painting
Painted by a Flemish artist
The writer writes about a still life
A still life that he brings to life

The tiniest of insects
Settles on the book
Its champagne pink
Skeletal frame holds
Salmon tinted wings
There is then a sense
Of belonging

I draw breath
To facilitate
To give, to ease
The airborne escape

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