If you could go back in time and give your younger self advice, what would it be?
View all responses
The best advice is learn to tell the time your story at your own pace for your own purpose, at least whilst you have enough time left.
This is a verse blog, of which I’m not that proud, written, in order to have a blog to write really, after seeing the Lux Muralis light-show on the walls of Durham Cathedral on the evening of 9th October 2026
Monuments tell time-stories best, till they,
levelled by time, though not as soon as us.
Greying as a process not only, say,
of the hair but of stones' worn beauty. Plus
When prone on't ground, they're sadder by far
than we unseen in't ground - as ash of flesh
decayed more each decade. A kind of scar
through human life's the thought time ends with death.
Else why would 'tempus fugit'.
Time's away
for sure: that none see his grim face in clocks,
is not ''cos he wins the race, or each day
measures longer, chained in dreary works' stocks
like a thief of time that we'd want to be.
A cathedral nave's a passage that light
in motion projected can shake time free
of its slow feel in other spaces. This site
Is wont to feel like God's slow pace but now
Like Lucifer, light shows desire's not still
And will not to what is wont to be bow.
Like wanting more, it shoots past in beams, til
reflecting on itself it blurs and slows.
Then starts again to move from one still core
in centrifuge, out and around it grows.
Our thought sees life as if growth's the law
That governs time. Yet seas supports small lives
like hippocampi, whose surface defence eludes
need of inner bones, by which size survives
on land. Growth makes fossils an on them broods.
And though we boast that growth's the law of plants
Our green thoughts are shaded by truer art.
It shows our love's not growth. Design enchants
us more. Pattern's what set us well apart
from slavish desire for matters of size.
And, maybe, more than growth, time's really text.
No-one loves just size, actually tries
to set love at war with time, but unsexed
Turn their desire to words, their firm desire
Is to burnout in that eternal fire.
Bye for now
Steven xxxxxx
