September 16, 2018 | Ian Bland | Leave a comment The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Alive“. After last weeks choice of “Living” Jon obviously had ideas he wanted to explore and so the week the choice was “Alive”. From my point of view, an excellent choice as the poem below will show. A memory from an age ago pushed its way into my forebrain and before I knew it I had the shell of a poem. I like this one. I think it has to go straight into the next book. Let me know what you think Ed Bates provided the guitar backing, have a listen to how it went below… To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below: https://ianbland.com.au/audio/JVG_Poem20180916.mp3 Alive The steps, St Pauls, seventy something; a fine Spring day, mid week The throng surged south down Swanston, peak hour still short its peak I sat with a woman triple my age sipping whisky from a flask Her name, the years have buried; or perhaps I didn’t ask “Like spawning salmon” she marvelled, at the daily mass migration As the horde swept over Flinders Street, to vanish into the station An analogy bathed in irony, though at the time unseen For it soon became apparent it was she who swam upstream Spoken by one with little, yet whose needs and wants were few Not down on her luck, not marginalised; living as she chose to do Without a home, not homeless; a distinction keenly stressed A nomad, not a drifter; liberated not dispossessed No daughter of Aquarius; no tied dyed, flower powered view A woman who questioned the way we live; with the guts to follow it through The ways of the world concerned her not; as long as the wind kept blowing Not a cloud, not a star, not the faintest breeze, passed without her knowing No interest in fashion or politics or the mores of the status quo The sun still rose, the seasons changed, the tide would ebb and flow Placed little weight on possessions; found little reason to save “Why waste your days?” she smiled without humour “for all is lost to the grave” I nodded in total agreement; with no concept of what she had said For I could afford to drink in the gutter then flee to my middle class bed We drained the last of the whisky; she gathered her things, without rush Buttoned her coat, positioned her cap and prepared to step into the crush She offered a parting pearl as the hands on the clock passed five “Sometimes we’re so busy living we forget that we’re alive” © Copyright 2018 Ian Bland Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing” <a href=”http://music.ianbland.com.au/album/everything-and-nothing”>Everything And Nothing by Ian Bland</a> Share this:TweetEmailMoreTelegram