tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post679271150531574895..comments2023-10-03T11:41:21.191+01:00Comments on The Truth About Lies: #636Jim Murdochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-11004507317228382072016-05-02T14:08:21.287+01:002016-05-02T14:08:21.287+01:00Oh, Kass, this poem just make me ache. And I can s...Oh, <b>Kass</b>, this poem just make me <i>ache</i>. And I can see a little of that ache’s been passed on to you. What use are arms if you’ve nothing to hold? I held B. in Greenock station even if only briefly but when she left I didn’t know what to do with my arms. My arms were still there but she wasn’t. Probably the last place I should’ve gone was down the harbour but I wanted to be alone and back then it was a good place. I never used to be a huggy person. F. taught me that and once I saw how easy it was I wanted to hug pretty much every woman I met. I haven’t hugged many blokes in my life but there have been a few.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-19966361873815837022016-04-30T16:35:58.355+01:002016-04-30T16:35:58.355+01:00This is a lovely poem with the symbolism of a port...This is a lovely poem with the symbolism of a port - RR station and the welcoming (hopeful) configuration of a hug. <br /><br />"Who will come into me?...<br />They're tearing me down<br />but my arms are still there."<br /><br />There is something so melancholic about these lines...and "watching the ebbing tide."Kasshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05233330248952156754noreply@blogger.com