Friday and a grim nights sleep. I get up late and get my breakfast and take my morning meds. I spend time downloading new poems for tomorrows poetry stanza and reading them through. At some point I convert my eldest daughters PhD thesis from Word to a PDF file for it to be sent off. With that done I head for the garden and finally get the new plant tubs filed with compost ready to plant on the Domeflowers that my partner has grown from seed. With the tubs filled and placed around the garden there is time to tidy away the garden before the evening meal and an evening of TV. I managed to watch all of I Jack Wright. SIx episodes of reasonable stuff which ends up with no conclusion and a bland “to be continued” banner at the end. There is obviously going to be a second series so I need not have bothered until it is out. I go to bed having set the dishwasher going and taken my night meds.

Saturday and I am up early to download my poetry stanza poems and to watch one of the new international rugby while I eat breakfast and take my morning meds. While Ireland get crushed by New Zealand I begin the draft of the blog. I decide on which poem I submit to the Stanza. It is my poetry version of Terry Pratchett’s Dark Morris.

527
Its a wood at night
the dark is spider cold
and blinding. 
Trees form the boundary,
and at its centre a seat.
A fallen trunk, heavy on the ground.
Its inky, threateningly moving
in slow waves around me.
There are no intruding stars,
no moonlight beams
to give hope of sight
or sight of hope.
Wrapped hard in moleskin,
confined by bible binding
stillness it is fixed in body
and in the space. 
This is a living coffin,
velvet  lined and waiting for 
the final submission. 
Nothing moves or intrudes,
only the sense of dense 
darkness is present.
Here I sit and recite 
dark poetry,
silent verses,
soundless words,
nothing to disturb 
the woods blindness. 
The poetry flows
thick and opaque,
moving like a snake 
soundlessly. 
Strain your ears,
focus on the air,
but there is no disturbance,
not a hint of sound 
or vibration. 
This is dark poetry,
spoken silently, heard profoundly
and felt in every fibre
of soul and being.
In this forest depth
is where I reside,
the place of despair
where being is mute
but everything is jet clear.
I sit and silently 
recite here 
in the dead black.
This is dark poetry,
silent, undeniable 
and final. 							527 10-05-2026 

By 9:30 I am organised and look forward to The rest of the day which will include the third place world cup match between France and England in the evening. It promises to be another disappointment for England if they do not improve markedly.

The poetry stanza goes well and I enjoy my afternoon alongside other writers and poets. Once done I watch England rugby team beat Argentina before watching England football team beat France 6-4 to win third place in the world cup. I take my knight meds and go to bed looking forward to free day until the world cup final.