One day, we’ll choose to not retaliate. As if we grew up.
a talent to make you resent learning,
In the time when you wished to learn.
Every star I encounter, someone tried to squeeze them into a jar
To keep them in their closet. To quash their glorious corona
Let her shine, be grateful you are in her orbit.
You hoard and keep all to yourself, not one thing you wish to share
You lack all dignity, you have no means to care
When you fall, as you surely will, you’ll need the world’s helping hand
It will be given to you, as this is our lesson’s plan.
Silverfish swimming in my retina
I may have pushed too hard
Streaking with my dizziness
Porcelain forever scarred.
Sat in the coffee house. The nerds, the jocks and the hipsters, sitting comfortably. All the discomfort of school days differences a distant memory. Well nearly. Shrunk to a shrug and a tut.
I do not know how it got on the mat
It was not me that did all that
I am just your innocent cat.
The illusion of free will is the keystone to the trick.
All the engines have stopped and all the tweeting beaks have gone to their nest. The neighbours have put down their hammers and the apes are all howled out. I put my head to the pillow to pretend that there is silence. The once mute swan feathers creak with every tiny twitch of my skull. What sounds like a rhythmical tin tray band, plays with every pulse in my ear way. My heart beats my ribs against the mattress, reverberating through it’s springs. My guts churn and creak like much haunted plumbing. I wonder how I ever sleep over my own cacophony.
Reviewing my feelings. A dip in mood, not really, emotional? Perhaps. Explaining would make me cry out there walking. I see your care, it hits me every time, as I see the man in need, the other side, the side where there is nothing given, but the kindness of beautiful people like you. Such sadness meets such kindness.
Nature and nurture battle it out. How much does what we experience change us? How much is in-built, our birth code reacting to what we have to deal with. When I saw injustice, all my life I have been appalled, yet stayed clear in fear. I was painfully shy, the unknown and the scary, never enough inquisitiveness to overcome my cowardly soul. I am told I am different now, yet I feel it is just experience gauged against my rules. Edging into virtual friendship has given me experience. The fact that there are wonderful people in the world, ‘them’ are a figment of a paranoid and fearful mind. I am part of us. Though don’t bother inviting me to a party.
Pessimism laughs at optimism’s happily ever after.
The jock basks in the violence of the sound
Ignorant to the content of the lyrics
dancing to the wishes of his demise.
Two pebbles washed up on the beach. They miss admiring the beautifully coloured fish swimming by. One pebble is tall and round, on occasion he can see the fish jump. The other is low and flat, he can see nothing of the beautiful fish, just the cloud above. Each time the tall pebble caught glimpse of a fish jumping, he would boast of his height and how undeserving the flat stone was of this view, the flat one fumed, yet what could he do?
Weeks and months pass of flats fishless view, listening to the boasts of tall. Till one day a child spots the pair laying in the sand. Round pebble sits proud, while flat just lays feeling all his misfortune. Yet the child disregards the big round pebble and takes the flat one between his fingers and walks towards the shore. With a flick of his wrist flat skips four times then sinks to the bed, to watch the wonderful glimmering fish some more.
It’s a myth that lemmings are suicidal, and other so called suicide attempts by animals, are merely twists of truth or altruistic drones.
We alone have the unique brain to imagine so vividly, both joy and doom.
Generational frequencies are not allowing me to enjoy today’s music.
My frequency is long gone and only available in the historic tapes.
I cannot hear the purpose of today’s music due to our frequencies being off kilter. Not because it’s crap or anything.
It goes without saying,
that unsaid words are left
to fester in the ether
while ears that wish to hear them
wonder why they are withheld.
It has been hard,
it will be hard tomorrow.
Even playing a man with a licence to kill, you carried enormous heart and wit, and the tiniest of guns, which you flinched to fire in fanciful yarns. Your warmth shone out, throughout your life and your work. The world will miss your love.
Rest well Roger Moore.
Time’s ribbon sheds another life
continues it’s mission forward
the life stained the ribbon
Vulnerable as a hermit crab between homes
Naked trotting with a bag under my arm
How many miles to my new shell?
I was not high enough to see the pouting buds
not prepared for the new opening flowers
arrived in time for the perfume
before the petals fall.
A malevolent force is present in the forest, the prince travels with five guards. Soon they discover a stranger, he joins them. The stranger alerts the prince to a distant noise through the forest, one guard goes to investigate. Diamond glitter falls through the forests canopy. The stranger alerts the prince that he sees something move on a distant ridge, another guard goes to investigate. The breeze breathes gently through the branches, the stranger tells of distant danger, this time two guards leave to attend to the suspicion. The prince and one guard remain with the stranger, cordially they continue. One more noise is heard by the stranger, the guard tips his hat to the stranger and goes to see. Now alone. The prince buries his dagger in the stranger’s neck.
Good intentions met ineptitude. Good intentions hits the floor.
Good intentions learns to gives a kick. Ineptitude is no more.
We watch the mountains emerge from the mist, as if they are brand new, the energy is certainly brand new. It emanates from the rock vibrating our very being, like they have only just arrived. We climb into them in twists and turns, as intruders in their realm, we watch their work with water. We observe the mountain’s vertical forests feeding clouds to the sky, we see them build and march into the blue. Higher we see water cascading high above us from the rock. As we approach the peak we find water’s final form hiding in the mist, snow bringing a sparkling chill. Before we descend, zig zagging down the other side of the mountain. To the lush valley receiving the mountain’s gifts.
As I sit in the Italian castle, I enjoy the cool breeze blowing through the open window, fresh blossom tantalises the senses. The afternoon light hits the ancient rafters lighting them in rusty hues. Through one window, the green hills roll elegantly, scattered in villas and cyprus trees. Through the right window I see Siena’s Torre Del Mangia in the distant haze. In the next room a lady sings beautifully as she cleans. A nice day.
They have peppered their peaks with holes, as if they were beetles with new wood. Every cove sprouts concrete warts. The tarmac arteries are clogged with mechanical cholesterol. The bay’s beauty long ago smothered. I can feel her heavy heart through the ether.
The ground gathered into a mountain, to prick the sky’s ego.
We are all an ocean, temporarily residing in our own bucket, the only thing preventing us being one, is this bucket. Perhaps dear Lisa we get a hole in our bucket, or sometimes look a little pale. When we finally spill from our bucket, our bucket is kicked. We merely return to the ocean.
I remember when I was first put in this box, the stench. Now just a subtle burning in my nostrils, but I remember that first moment well, the acrid smell that went with last light. Though there is a little light, a slim dagger crease where the lid does not quite seal. So I can tell when day and night turns. But I lost count of the days. Now I just cling to my mind, try to keep it tethered to me. My stomach is in a constant cramp, I can feel every single one of my joints throbbing. I thought determination could conquer all, I could heave the lid open, yet here I remain. This box is stronger than I. Stronger than all those before me.
Religion, the bane of peace for many minds. The religious pointing out the differences in us, declaring the differences illegal and to be snuffed.
Yet at school, in our mini societies I remember the same, yet no religion was referenced in my school when the red haired kid was bullied, nor was scripture quoted when I was bullied for simply being shy and fey. Just the offence at difference. In a religionless world there would still be them, there would still be us. We would still have those whose ancient tribal mentality bubbled high in their psyche. The ones who see their own circle as us, to be defended against them. This is not religion, this is our own tribal nature. Perhaps even, the peaceful are missing their fighting instinct.. are faulty for being awash with empathy. Even devils advocate would call that folly. We strive for better, for peace. Regardless if it is a flaw in our fighting soul..
I looked for joy in possessions, but found joy only in the splinter between buying and bought. In sex joy resides, yet after the chemicals subside joy falls gently away. In drugs of all kinds the joy is sought, yet the ride is short and fraught, with barbs of poisonous effect.
So I paused and watched within. I found my life’s electricity my most reliable joy, with me till my end.
Should this page bear colour as recommended, or should it remain sparsely splendid?
“Well, aren’t you adorable”, she says to me, emphasising the you (as if she needs to say that “this is not me time, this is someone else, but I’ll be damned if I’m spending time pronouncing the adorable for some irksome underdeveloped crotch spawn that just cramps the vibe at parties”). Then she gives me a tight cold hug that impales me on her earring.
Disdainfully she turns away from me, to scan the cabinets for alcohol. She is offered white wine or beer. She grudgingly settles for Baileys found at the back of a cupboard behind some vintage Babycham glasses. I can feel that my presence is stifling the adult conversation. So I retreat to my room and listen to the mumblings through the wall as I tip the lego from my bucket.
The nostalgia show. There they are on the stage, the songs you remember from your youth. The faces have changed, the drummer is someone’s son. The original singer is there, yet the mane has long gone and his face is ashen. Looking around, time has taken it’s toll on the audience too, they sway and swoon with eyes to the moon. Trying to capture those yesteryears through sound and image. Dust of the past passing through the fingers.
C’était Un Rendezvous
A movie by Claude Lelouch, a favourite of mine for many years. Claude they say, drives his Ferrari 275 through Paris early in the morning, no preparation, just goes for it full on, like a cop at a protester. It’s a silly adrenaline fuelled piece dear to the keen driver’s heart. A few years back a learn’t that he was not driving his Ferrari at all, but just a Mercedes saloon, with a dubbed soundtrack. It lost it’s gonzo nature right there, and turned into fiction. Yet the other day I thought, well, I still love the X-wing scenes through the Deathstar trenches in Star Wars. Though I’m pretty sure they are not real X-wings.. maybe it is the fact I am sore I was fooled.
Clean shaven, for all his heroes are the same. Chin as clean as his conscience. Not from lack of sin, from lack of care. No tears are shed.
He has things, collects things, cars, jewellery. Nature is just things too. Lives to strut and Intimidate. His girlfriend is another thing, to be seen and used.
He has no concept of empathy. I do not know how or why he acts this way.
I just know he is the most destructive force on this earth.
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.