We’re asking writers we admire to write for us, and we’ll be releasing their posts monthly throughout 2021.
We asked Brendan Hawthorne, a poet, playwright and songwriter from the Black Country to write the October blog entry.
October has become a signpost month in many ways for me. New directions and opportunities have presented themselves. New challenges to keep the old mind alert and the heart full.
Creatively I have had the script of a play published, a new collection of work readied for publication and signed new commission contracts. I am also recording songs with Kerry, my musical partner, for our new CD. Written pre-lockdown, it’s only now being given performance form and life. A photographer friend has offered to take a series of Autumnal photographic portraits of me for promotional use and I’ve bought Lynn, my wife’s, Christmas present.
All good I hear you say, but, as October signals a seasonal change …
I realise the world has changed
from the world I once knew
Changed into one that appears
to be more guarded and tentative
mindful of the tragic consequences in retaining
liberty, democracy and relative freedom
Many things are now ‘considered’
The atlas shrinks again
through traffic light travel changes
to a greater global awareness
I personally love to feel the chill in the night air of the country of my birth. The way …
our homeward journey is streetlight lit
by autumnal sunsets directing
us to log burner warmth
Witness the magic of flickering shadows
that tell different stories
each time planet saving briquettes are ignited
Smokiness taints the air with comfort
atmospherically blending
with the smell of tomato soup
heated on a dancing gas ring
accompanied by warm crusty bread
fresh from the oven
Then I wonder if the cost of gas will become more than the cost of tinned soup, but for now the concept is too great to stem the flow of intoxicating relaxation.
My mom is 87 this month…
She was 27 when she brought me into the world
with the help of the NHS
A system of healthcare
that has cradled many since birth
but I wonder for how much longer?
Stories of elderly people falling
and having to wait for 6 to 10 hours
for ambulances to attend because
there aren’t enough vehicles freed up
by corridor queues in overcrowded A & E’s
With all these cuts, I wonder why queues aren’t included?
I spoke to a young police officer yesterday who told me he had thought he’d found his dream job by helping people feel ‘safe and secure’. He told me of attending drunken injuries taking 6 hours out of his shift to sit with someone waiting for medical attention. I felt his pain, his frustration and career dislocation.
I do, however, laugh at the things I’ve said to myself, expecting answers that never come. With age, does the skill of asking yourself questions become more important? I’ll let you know.
On the news today I saw a
polar bear clinging for dear life
to a tiny ice flow berg
Hugging the chill to its bones
it appeared to cry out in anguish
at its predicament
They know the importance of existence
I thought
Why don’t we?