A weekend of sport, well watching it on the television.
My days of running round after a ball are long over.
I can still enjoy the emotional ebb and flow as the game progresses,
And admire the skill on display.
The art inside me starts to chip at my shell.
But whether a soaring bird of beauty or an ugly flightless dodo the cracks do not yet reveal
[Martyn Cooper c.1985]
Living life vicariously,
And in the memories of times past.
Hearing the rails of others at their over-activity,
While struggling with how long my days last.
I would often pontificate,
Avowing “being” over “doing”.
Now, I see how those two are never easy to separate.
I am found in my undertaking.
Being from many parts is cut;
Life has formed mine in its procession.
What am I looking for? Not praise, power, or glory, but,
For that being to find expression.
[Martyn Cooper, December 2016]