A Bridge Too Far

I cry out for the love of art
that warms my heart and makes me
a part of the universe

how I yearn to earn the name
of poet or painter though my way
of approaching both is quainter
and therefore fainter than
any other poet or painter

some days I feel the world spirit
stepping its cautious way
through my fingers without
ever reaching heart or soul
without which no artist is whole

I long for some creative wind
to blow deep crevasses in my heart
to make it an open wound
with blood that flows like ink or paint
and stains page or painted panel
then lodges in other people’s
minds and hopefully their hearts

Comment

An old friend dropped in today, quite unexpectedly. Six years ago he left. So much has happened since then. I needn’t tell you about everything from Covid onwards. You will be well aware of the state that the world is in. He lives in Alberta now and assured me that Albertans had no desire to separate from Canada. That is good news. But we stayed away from politics.

We talked about the joys of ageing. Heart conditions – stents on the one side, A Fibs on the other, blood thinners for both. The gradual loss of mobility and flexibility. The gradual loss of strength. Our kitchen sounded like the consultation room of a third rate doctor who didn’t understand exactly what was the nature of the patients’ complaints.

We shared green Matcha tea, laced with honey, and he discovered the mystical magic of KTJ’s PNBs. We talked about setting up a supply line, from east to west, to bind Canada with PNB appreciation.

As old friends do, we changed the world, rebuilding it in much less time than the biblical seven days in which it was created. Not only that, we changed the laws of rugby – we are both former players – lamenting the size and weight of the current playing generation. Then we changed the rules of soccer, rued the latest version of the world cup, with its extent, fake gamesmanship, and some blatant corruption.

Then we went into sports injuries, especially the exploitation of the Head Injury Assessment laws in rugby. And then we were back to our own war wounds, like two old soldiers, returning from a campaign.

It was all such fun. Then, alas, it was “Time, gentlemen, please.” The bell rang, the kitchen emptied. I saw him to the garage door, which he kindly shut for me, and peace returned to the house. Now I rejoice in the joys of a friendship restored, and lament the loss of a former team member soon to be absent once more.