Ephemerality

The cherry tree's . . .

. . . flowerage . . .

here does it end.

Rhapsody in Green

. . . while waiting for a train.

Friday is Skyday

Stairs to . . . ?

On the road

Green green trees of home.
Or so.

Mayday

There's a humming and buzzing,
a droning and whirring in and around Seanhenge*,
and a blaze of colours that would fill anyone
who has ears to hear, eyes to see and a nose to smell,
with joy and happiness.

* Thankfully, Seanhenge happens to be not situated
in . . . and . . . and . . . and . . . and . . .
oh well, you get the picture.
I am grateful.

Monochrome Monday. . .

. . .

Waiting for train

Waiting . . .

very relaxed . . .

... ah, there it comes.

Chimneys (again)

19:26

19:27

19:28

The inner clock

When he'd kissed her goodbye the old woman had smiled:
"Enjoy sleeping through, life-whisperer."

Leaving the hospital,
approaching his car
reflecting the past he was.
This was going to be the first night since October
there would no phone ring
at almost exactly 3:00 a.m.
He would sleep through.

He did not see his inner clock smiling.

Monochrome Monday

On the road.

Friday is Skyday

A heart full of love
arrowplane penetrating
emotionless sky

Cold comfort

Instead of a very long and detailed obituary.

 

 Oh well, after all this evil character might by now be re-united with her 'dear friend Augusto' – in hell.

Thanks for being, Jams

Words of sorrow and solace (from strangers) – however deep from the bottom of one's heart they may come – often, if not mostly, do sound shallow (for those who 'lost' a beloved one).

That is why I do rather wish that soon the moment may come when the memory of this and that episode, of a glance, a touch, a certain little gesture or quirk will conjure a smile on the lips of those who love [sic! present tense] him dearly ...  so that they may gain new strength ... for life.

I am glad that amongst many tears I shed during the past week, while re-reading this and that I found myself smiling, chuckling and sometimes even laughing. 

'The Poor Mouth' and 'Omnium', both blog names reminiscence of and homage to Flann O'Brien, met in 2007, and since we ... but I don't want to bore you.

To cut it short: Jams – I never called him Shaun – became a friend; intelligent, witty, generous, multi-talented and blessed with an honesty that would let him call a spade a spade whenever he'd feel the wish and the necessity.


I do like thinking of my friend Jams having a pint of plain with Flann O'Brien [and perhaps a second with Father Jack whilst Ted (not Father Ted, obviously) is reciting an episode of 'The Master and Margarita']; discussing with Sergeant Pluck the advantages and disadvantages of becoming a bicycle, whilst feeding Mimi with cheese; taking phantastic photos while strolling around in his new surroundings without feeling any pain in his knees, let alone longing for Garra rufa to nibble skin of his feet; organising a weekly poetry contest the winner of which will be rewarded with a bicycle-esque looking William Topaz McGonagall-statue and ... ah ... oh well ... enjoying his new alltemporaries with what he uses to call drivel, and now and then sending love to his not-wife Shirl, a smile to his Mum and Dad, a twinkle of his eyes to Tim, Li, Elahe and amongst others ... well ... to you and to me.

Today (March 29, 2013), seven days after he died, is Jams's 50th birthday.

All I know is that Jams O'Donnell Esq. will always be part of Omnium.

Thanks for being, Jams. Sláinte .

PS: To give but one example of the fun we often had, follow the link to Rich Poetry at The Poor Mouth's and from there to The Tayside Tragedian on the Bard and 73 comments.

Enjoy!