An End of Week Lament

Oh, weariness, thy Friday's trudge at hand,
Waging against the workings of my head;
Your aged rages 'gainst me must not stand.
I'll beat thee soon, but first I must to bed.

© Jack Blackburn, 18th January 2013

Mount Caburn

O, to be here on the clearest day

And see as far as eye can see
For haze does bar my vision’s wanted way

So limiting this grand infinity.

For what I see defies the scope of men:

All sky, all blue, all heights, all earth, all green.

This vista, inspiration to my pen,

Calls forth the life of things unseen.

Dig into the verdant earth.

Exhume the history below.

We stand on memories of utter worth,

On what is lost that we do wish to know.

© Jack Blackburn 12th January 2013

New Sonnet

I

This glorious sunrise is our reward,
Coldly blazing across Jan’ry sky.
Its light pierces as t’were a silver sword
But, in reflection, cheers and warms the eye.
The canopy above is burnt from grey
Red flames awake and colour the morning.
The heart is quicken’d by this break of day
Both tremulous and stirred by its dawning.
Come the end, when sun and fire diminish,
We sigh, and bid the ember’d orb farewell;
For, out of light, our hopes travails must finish
And in out rest their burg’ning bloom must dwell.
But new days sparked under that greatest fire
Rekindle us so that we ne’er may tire.

© Jack Blackburn, 12th January 2013

Upon the Bow

A breath of wind on the air,

Caressing canvas and cooling sun.

Beautiful peace, tremulous on the edge of the horizon.

That light of total, unmarked clarity.

A young man’s eyes, piercing blue mirrors of the sky,

Gaze upon a beautiful nothing –

A nothing that holds everything in its emptiness.

For one day he shall see the clear void break.

And before that, all that is still and rhythmic

Will change and, in torrent and gale and thunder,

Youth will discover itself anew,

In fear and fascination; in sadness and serenity.

Even in that manchild there –

Whose goal is an undiscovered fear –

Even with eyes fixed on the horizon,

He silently says “Don’t look back”.

© Jack Blackburn, 2^nd January 2013

Past Pain Made Murray Find his Farah Factor

It was the agony not the ecstasy that made Murray a champion

He looked almost numb. Later, he said he was shocked, and his post-final interview on the court of major was in stark contrast to his previous one, at Wimbledon two months ago. Whereas there he had been unable to hold all of the emotion in, here he kept it together. Was he still in match mode, keeping everything under control, or was it that he simply could not believe that he had the trophy in his hands?

The Olympic summer – the golden summer – has been bookended by Andy Murray. As a nation moved from pessimism to optimism, so Andy moved from tears to joy. He wept on Centre Court, but Britain and he have not shed a despairing tear since then.

One Glorious Summer

The fireworks over the Thames last night

The Games are over, but what it has created can live on

And so it is over. London’s greatest summer ended last night with a festival of flame. As the Paralympic Cauldron was extinguished, the Thames exploded with a breathtakingly beautiful cacophony of noise and light, and the night sky turned to fire. Beneath this were a people who were in bittersweet mood: sad to see it go, but jubilant at the glory of these few months and utterly inspired.