This page contains thoughts which have already appeared in "Think on"

Do not stand by her grave and weep
She is not there, she does not sleep.
She is a thousand winds that blow
She is the diamond glints in snow.
She is a bird in circled flight
She is the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at her grave and cry,
She is not there, she did not die.

Remember This: An Elegy On The Death Of HM Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother by Andrew Motion

Think of the failing body now awake in its final hours although the fizz and scythe of city wheels, the pigeon-purrs, the way light steals across a bedroom wall then goes, are not the things this body knows, held in a trance of fading light before that dies, and gives the sight of what it means to be set free from self, from sense, from history. In the swirl of its pool And home-coming salmon has no intuition of anything changed, just that the silver cord of its current is clear water running, the lid of its sky light soaking through light, without any shadows of faces or lines to splinter its path, and pull out of true the course of its mind. Think of the flower-lit coffin set in vaulted public space, in state, so we who never knew you, but all half-suspect we knew you, wait, and delve inside our heads, and find the harsh insistence in our mind which says we're honouring a time that simply as a fact of time could only end, as also must our own lives turn from dust to dust. In the grip of their season the sky-scraping trees continue their business of plumping up buds without an idea of what it might mean so long as leaves shoot in the polishing breeze, so long as leaves fall, so long as the burden of sunlight and dark rolls round its 0 without changing its plan or resting its weight.

Think of the standard and its blaze the tightened focus of our gaze, as now the coffin glides away through London's traffic-parted day and we who estimate our loss in ways particular to us, can start to understand that here we see our future coming clear - our selves the same yet also changed and questioning, and re~arranged. On the crest of their Downs with galloping sunlight the horses in training know in their bones nothing but racing, so all they can manage today is the beauty of sprinting and spurting mud-moons behind them, the draggle of mufti wind-burning to silk, the unbuttoned gasp of pleasure and longing at what might be won. Think of the buried body laid inside its final earthly shade, in darkness like a solid cloud where weight and nothing coincide, in silence which will never break unless real angels really speak, while we who wait our turn live on re~calculating what has gone time-tested dignity and pride and finished work personified. In the eyes of our minds when the country and cities turn back to themselves this history stays; the four generations which linked with your life re-winding their span to childhood again, and seeing you stand at the edge of their days, where if they so wished you helped give a shape to slipstreaming time with a wave of your hand.

Build for yourself a strong-box,
Fashion each part with care;
When it's strong as your hands can make it,
Put all your troubles in there;
Hide there all thought of your failures
And each bitter cup that you quaff;
Lock all your heartaches within it,
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

Middle age is that time when a broad mind and a narrow waist change places.

And there they were, all the things that he thought he had forgotten.
And he ran laughing through a field full of memories.

If the bad guys don't get you, then the good guys will!

All great events and personalities in world history reappear....the second time as farce.

Karl Marx

Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle.
The sky is round and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball and so are the stars.
The wind in its greatest power, whirls.
Birds make their nests in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours.
The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle.
The moon does the same and both are round.
Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing and always come back again to where they were.
The life of a man is a circle from childhood to chilhood.
And so it is in everything where power moves.

Black Elk, Oglala Sioux (1863-1950)

It is not the critic who counts, nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who knows great enthusiasm, great devotion and the triumph of achievement and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while doing greatly - so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat . . .

We never cease from exploration. And at the end of all this exploring we end up where we started, so that we will know it for the first time.

"Every morning in Africa, a Gazelle wakes up. It knows that it must run faster than the fastest Lion or it will be killed...
Every morning, a Lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest Gazelle or it will starve to death...
So, it doesn't matter whether you're a Lion or a Gazelle...
“WHEN THE SUN COMES UP, YOU HAD BETTER BE RUNNING"...
(Now THAT'S called "Motivation!")

Knowledge is gained by learning, trust comes from doubt, skill is aquired by practise, but love can only come from loving.

What the world needs now is more love and less paperwork.

Why is it that the lowest handicap golfers always need the most practise? Think about it!

A journey of a thousand miles, starts with just one step.

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