One year here writing.
Thank you to those who read my words, and to those who enjoy my words.
I hope you are of a fairly similar number.
In times past we could not capture our nows for the future
They fell away to morph into far fetched storied culture
The monsters are getting smaller in our fishing trips
Wonder walked away when the cameras took grip.
The world is sewing snow
where there should be petals
winter sits in spring’s place
cold has a ticket to the past
Hold on tight throughout the ride
And when infinity ends, I’ll be with you still.
Each soul is a previously unknown colour of light.
There are folks out there who would walk coals for you, just for being you.
Keep believing they are there, they could rescue you at any moment.
Life is wonderful, then you transform.
When I complain of our present time, it is not the past I long for, it is the future. Time taken shape into wisdom, the wisdom into peace. Perhaps some selfishness, as the world changes in generations, not in years. I wish for the world of our future generations. But I will be long gone while Shangri La blooms. I shall tend my escape, blinkered to my own Eden.
We have been told of choice’s importance to freedom so much that we actually believe we need so much choice. We are consuming ever more to create choice, to create market competition, to further our production of stuff. I looked at the Argos website the other day, there are over two hundred different vacuum cleaners. Do we really need over two hundred different vacuum cleaners? And this goes for everything, choice is more destructive than progressive.
Sure I have seen trees before, thousands and thousands of them, but this one took my attention, she seeming to strut in place. I looked up the trunk and was suddenly in awe how this magnificence came from such tiny beginnings.
At the end of a warm spring day, we picked the perfect day’s ending
We sat on the beach, watching the sun quenched into the ocean
The pristine clear blue evening sky turned copper and cobalt
We watched till the last light’s flicker, the sun’s last flourish,
to give the ocean’s prancing horses silver manes.
The most important thing to learn, is to love.
Some get so hung up on the complexities
They forget to learn the basics.
He has a furrow between his brow you could lose your keys in. A buttery complexion and a stiffness to every joint. He is held together by bitterness and fear. His cast iron constitution continues to bless us with his presence. Neither heaven or hell wish to take him. He may tell us of all humanities faults forever. I sit in his living room in a tacky chair. Both tacky in design and due to the film of scum on the arms that stick and pull at the hairs on my arms. The old man lets out a wheezing sigh and starts to creak, his bones slowly rise from his chair. As he passes near there is a stench so strong I can feel it against my eyes. I go to stir my tea, pushing the spoon through a film that wraps around the stem as I twist it. I leave it standing in the curdling tea. He returns and tosses a parcel onto my lap. Wrapped in brown paper, tied up with string. He looms over me and says “Open it”. I pull at the string’s bow, the paper opens revealing a book. Yet another bible stares up at me.
There is much isolation to introverted singledom. One that can stay for a long while, it requires much will to overcome. If overcoming it is sought at all, for some seek only isolation. I feel I need some company, it is so easy to lose touch with all, to become a hermit, avoiding the hassle of people, but missing the interesting and the love.
Walking in a crowded street, the introvert can feel more isolated than if sitting alone in their room. When I venture into the throng, nervous energy drains me with every group of souls who come near. Within an hour I am looking for escape, to find a deserted street or get back to the solitude of my car or home.
When I return to my car, I get the feeling of increased confidence, a literal and figurative shell of protection. I enjoy the confidence this tin shell provides. Before I have to shed the armour and face the world naked again.
Lately there is loneliness everywhere, little joy in the outdoors, little comfort in being home alone. As uncomfortable as I am with crowds, I need another soul to be with, to help me breath in the massing shoal of men. The bubble surrounding me is so fragile, I can almost feel it cracking as the hustle and bustle brushes against it. Yet with another I know and love, the bubble is strengthened ten fold, I can survive longer in the crowd.
Blame Autumn for Winter
the golden leaf’s doom
Thank Spring for Summer
bursting back into bloom.
The honey bee she floated right by me
heading beyond the sycamore tree
she returns to her busy hive
to keep her honey dream alive.
Do not fret when you see the bee
she will not stick her barb in thee
she wishes to chill and to bee free
her barb is just for emergency.
Listen to the tone of a buzzing bee
mellowness should be clear to thee
agitation changes a buzz musically
high and fast could make you flee.
I heard her thrum before I saw her struggle
the bumble bee could use some help from me
a drop of honey and my heart takes flight with her.
A dull ache in my left arm, from shoulder to wrist. A trapped or aggravated nerve I think. Now my hand and neck start to ache too, into my chest and to my head. How far will it spread? My Father had tightness across his shoulders, and cold sweats, he had a stent fitted. I worry that I am having a heart attack too, I manifest the second symptoms, my heart begins to race, I sweat. A panic attack. I take an aspirin and calm, attempt to convince my heart to slow. In the morning the aching has abated, yet I still wonder.
We are winning every day,
Death only wins once.
Though he wins last..
We return and play again.
The bird scowled at the world. It did not bother to flap it’s wings. It was fed so fully, that it’s legs could not even help it stand. It sat in it’s fine feathered nest, “Feed me!” it squawked all day and night. The more it was fed, the louder it squawked. One day a thought occurred. No food came to the bird. Peace came. First a terrible smell, then peace.
Walking the street just a few miles from my home at around noon. It begins raining gently in the sunlight. That odd beautiful rain from nowhere. The ground is barely noticing as each drop turns back to vapour almost instantaneously.
I recall a few years back before the world managed to find common ground. Back then every difference aroused suspicion and fear bred anger and violence against our fellow man, what foolishness. Now each creed, colour and religion is open and welcoming to the other. The newspapers are full of stories of collaboration between nations to build a greater world.
Walking past the Johnson’s place, a reminder. As it starts to rain a little harder, water washes down the face of the alien creature’s head as it stares resolutely from a spike in the front yard. In years, perhaps we will make peace with these folks too.
I watch the skateboarder,
their elegant form gliding.
I stand on the board,
I declare it witchcraft.
The crow sat a top a telegraph pole
sedately just like Eckhart Tolle
he was admiring a sticky bun
just a little frivolous fun.
Sometimes I get the feeling that politicians don’t see the needs of the many.
Just the opportunity to manipulate their surrounding to their advantage.
Just subtle hints here and there..
Why feed the starving when you can fly to Mars,
Collect some more dust, pretend at progress
Give yourself a huge round of applause,
Plant a silly flag, knock yourself out.
I’m surprised I didn’t break my neck
As I looked back at the twisted wreck
I rolled the thing five or six times
That is my one and only crime.
Another atrocity seen
shove it down and away
deep into our psyche
another knot in our soul
what else to do
in our impotence.
But settle down, meditate in the happy place
all that mess is elsewhere, let your smile permeate.
Looking at my hands, I see that they have a sheen to them, like I observed on my grandparents hands. Closing my fist the matt skin returns for a moment, then laying my hand flat, the glistens on every crease of a million flexes return. In my many youthful worries, I never worried about this obvious outcome, of ageing. Yet now my body’s failure is suddenly inevitable. To many I am still young. To the kids I am ancient, I will most probably be dust when they see their hands start to shine.
Each day I wrestle with impermanence.
While he has me in a headlock I realise the stagnancy of permanence.
We shake hands and I walk away quite happy.
When you want for nothing,
when each breath is a joy,
what is ambition to you?
While sleeping, a dream arrives unwelcome. I am locked in a room alone, the door an ancient lump of solid oak with bars for a window. The walls are tall, grey and clammy, like the room is having night sweats. A metal bed sits against the wall, looking almost welcoming. There is barely any light left, all to do is to try to sleep. I lay on the bed facing the wall, immediately I get the feeling I am not alone, ice washes through me, my breath quickens, the visitor is right next to me, I can feel them yet not. Part of me wants to see who this is, the larger part is petrified, closer still then I feel a hand on my shoulder and wake up. My partner has woken me, “Are you ok? It looked like you were having a nightmare”. You added one hell of a chilling climax.
As age comes to tell you to slow down.
Cawing the break of winter
the Crow moon shines for spring
buds bask in twinkling splinters
more than summer can bring.
Leave all to grow and bloom
dandelions kept for the spring bee
nests to hide in bushes full
let all go wild from flower to tree.
Faith is just imagined good result
not a stale belief in the invisible
the bulb believes in the dirt
no wishing for the risible.
One day I admire the wonderful shapes in a building’s architecture
Swoon at the sweeping lines on a beautiful sports car
Another day, it is all superfluous
An utter waste of our time.
A subtle grey tint to the sky, just enough to induce despair.
Still, it may not rain, I may not be soaked through.
But it’s too late, I already imagined it. 🙂
Moon dancing in orbit
flirting with the Sun
an eclipse kiss.
Fallen into your bucket
to be carried till I’m spilt.
The Monster fell. The blubbery carcass bounced once then settled to permanence. No one approached it, no one wiped the spittle from it’s mouth, no one even closed it’s lifeless eyes. They just left it where it fled, far into the wilds. It was far enough away to not smell the decay.
In time the flesh softened and slid from the bone, feeding all manor of wild creature, the indescribable mushy remains soaked into the soil. It’s bones turned powdery and scattering to the wind. To feed one day a sprouting tree. At last a use for it.
Jack and Julie are just married. They approach their new home together. Jack ever the romantic wishes to carry Julie across the threshold. Jack is a very slight man of wire limb. Julie is not so slight, yet Jack is determined. He raises her into his arms and immediately wishes he lifted her slightly nearer the door. She whispers sweet nothings in his ear, but Jack cannot respond, he is concentrating on only one thing. Do not buckle.
Several feet to go and his focused effort even prevents breath, each foot step a study in concentration as his face darkens, then purples. Upon reaching the doorstep he has little more to give, his treacherous toe catches the step and the couple tip forward, in one last effort Jack launches Julie towards the door opening, alas, knocking her unconscious against the frame. Jack takes a big gasp of air into his lungs as he crumbles across his prone bride. At this moment his stomach’s contents wish for liberty. The reception’s hors d’oeuvres lay across his unconscious bride’s wedding dress. ‘What a horrible thing’ he thinks. ‘At least Julie will not remember it’.
Inside I keep a garden, tended carefully and hidden
one name mentioned the historic path revealed
unsettling the architect of my new garden
I feel I must turn over the earth.
A crow can go with the flow
but a duck