Love and other old addictions…

I absolutely love this poem… it captures so beautifully possible struggles we may encounter travelling through life and that we are the keepers of our own memories. Thanks Pete!

If you like to read more of Pete’s wonderful poetry visit his site.

O… I AM in a philosophical mood today, probably thanks to several weeks of reading about identity construction and using reflection and reflection and MORE reflection to analyse my personal and also my teacher identity…and the connection between the two…all that in preparation of my research study on teacher identity change and motivation…haha…I even reflect in my dreams…okok…enough of that and in any case, soon it’ll be over as I’m on the final leg of this ‘educational’ journey … and I’m already sooo tempted to start thinking of what next, aaahm booking the long-overdue trip to see family and friends…a new job…a new project…hmm …a new country…hmm…change of career (again?!? appears in red flashing lights before my eyes )…yes, why not, now that I think about it, it has to be different, and nothing, absolutely nothing to do with what I’ve been doing  so far…typical…if a change, make it a proper one…hmmm….so perhaps a wine maker or taster, food taster or baker, gardener, paid walker… hmm, but aren’t those my passions I wish to get paid for?…oh no… nonono…stopstopstop…”Keep focused!”, urges that little voice in my head, “You can start planning as soon as you finish this final course work…so stay on course!” … Thanks God I’m a good listener…so…I better re-focus, and the getting-out-a pen-and-paper-to-start-planning is becoming a reward and another (!) motivational force to finish this final piece of course work.

Pete Scribes

image

Love and other old addictions

There is no glamour in the cigarettes
That I still struggle to resist
Just another longing tug
For a former addict

I hunger for a familiar taste
Like I hunger for your lips
But I can resist desire
I know my time, and place

It’s hard to be the past
It’s hard to be disgraced
To know I’ll never brush away your hair
As it falls across your face

But I have my memories
I cling to them each and every day
I can be the boy that never was
The one that ran away

© 2014 Peter Anstiss

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