Malcolm's Musings


To celebrate National Poetry Day on the 6th of October, I offer my own limited musing.


As a Geographer I sit at my desk,
The world within my grasp,
Little faces beam back at me,
Where do we go next?

Off to Dorset,
I shout in excitement,
Strange looks begin rise,
Up on the whiteboard,
Comes Old Harry,
To instant surprise.

Pencils, out I demand,
Let’s not lose the moment,
For time will tell,
Whether Old Harry’s well,
He looks amazing against the swell.

Field sketches, drawn with care,
Shading within the lines,
Labels annotated with accuracy,
Before long,
Time flies by.

The bell has rung
And time has gone,
We down our tools with much delight,
They see their images come to life.

Off they go, my mighty crew, onto knowledge new,
For me it’s time to decide,
Whether to move to pastures new.

Little faces fill the seats,
I remember hard to smile,
Every lesson is new to them,
It should be like a nice surprise.

Opening the wrapping,
I begin to sing,
About air masses, warm and dry,
Little sparks being to ignite,
Maybe, I’ve got them this time.

Sometimes it’s simple,
To start that twinkle,
Within their eye,
Looking at a map,
We stare, as though trapped,
Within grid reference 2255,
Because, time will tell,
If the river will swell,
And envelop the town,
Beside it’s meandering spine.

Of course, it’s not all good news,
It’s a long drawn out fight,
The World is my weapon,
But sometimes apathy is hard to deny.

Urban models, what a pain,
Fossilised knowledge, at best plain,
Working hard I try to convince,
The reasoning behind the refrain.

Empathy plays best,
An inner city test,
City living, something good, or to detest,
Swords drawn, they begin to compete,
A heated rant,
Beyond my reach.

Rural living seems best,
Until the city makes a request,
Social circles, buzz and lights,
Conquer the dullness of rural life.

As the argument fizzles to an end,
I sit back down and give a sigh of relief,
The mornings is over,
It seemed so brief.

On the desk, lands some data,
CAT, SATS and league tables,
All seem dull in comparison,
To the morning’s offerings.

Remembering the reasons for my choice,
Many years ago,
I throw them to the side.
No statistic can prove my worth,
Only my conscious,
Will defend me till the end,
Have I done my best?
And to end this cheerily,
I can state,
A big,
Categorical,

Yes!

© "Malcom"