Posted in Rituals


Self managed,
self driven,
the contemporary model(s).
Our mathematics teacher would’ve had a fit
as would educationalists with him
from the ark they’d have said
almost, but not quite
the army actually –
an engineer
ended up teaching by accident –
coaching cadets struggling with trigonometry, calculus, algebra.

An easy switch –
army to Catholic boy’s school in the 1950s
stayed on
and on.
Relentlessly good exam grades
ruthlessly tough classroom management
spit and polish, even the small things
“ aaah….I think its just ….. just a point of inflection .. so find the 2nd derivative
well done –
the second derivative WHAT ?
the second derivative SIR.”

Even the other teachers joined in,
if a chancer claimed forgetfulness
the rejoinder was invariably –
“oh yeah … did you forget to do your maths homework?”
Hell no.






Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand. Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.