Stones roll inwards;
Passing fiercely;
Slamming down violently;
Smashing all in its pathway;
Tossing and turning;
Without discrimination;
Rupturing creation.
Turning solid shapes to shards;
Presenting passage;
From life to the beyond;
Savage and cleansing constructs.
An end.
emotions
This land: home.
Vikings raided, settled, and persuaded;
Flags waved, distances faded.
Outliers passed over seas – islanders no more;
Old words and legends floated on seas of time.
Joy and separation folded together;
Historic sights of sites recalled;
Steps go up, and up, and up;
These dots of green on rock feed our souls.
This land: home.
Test.
It’s like there is nothing left. I’m drained.
Between the breeze and the wind, upended.
Struggling against the tide as it drifts away.
Pushing on, step by step, yet sinking and never gaining ground.
The sapped life comes and goes. A moment’s joy evaporates.
I could have been better. It could have been better.
But, it’s not. It isn’t. It could be. I know it could be.
It could also have been far worse. It Feels this way.
Nothing worth doing is easy, right? So they say.
It hurts. It really bloody hurts. Like loss. Yet there’s no loss. Just hurdles.
The sky glows under a bright moon as lanterns drift upwards.
A glimmer. Just a flicker. That hope.
That energy I see in their faces. I can do this. I must. I will.
Just as faiths test their masses, I must believe. I have too much to lose.
For this, I am lucky.
A seed of hope.
A Muslim hand could hold a Jewish hand.
White van man, Audi driver, and all around us should be survivors.
Creation and creatives devour words and art, feeding us new days and ways.
A Palestinian should be born under safe skies.
No guns, no knives, no fear: just lives.
The Scottish, English, or Welsh must walk together.
Whatever you believe, be able to show it. Be able to grow it.
Let the music of Bob Marley show one love.
Switch of the division. Let videos and lies fly away like fireflies.
Their dreams and plagues will no longer taunt and haunt us.
Together is always better. A community of unity.
Failure to success; pain to redress; broken to fixed. Live forever.
Some day we’ll find a brighter way.
It starts now: I give you a seed of hope.
At the other end.
Poor.
Struggle.
Underdeveloped.
Difficulty.
Issues.
We need to do summat.
RIGHTLY SO.
Does that make sense?
Does that sound right?
Why did you stop?
Shall we try that again?
What else could we do?
What else could you do?
Does it look right?
Does it make any sense?
Do we really understand?
Really?!
I’m not so sure.
Maybe it isn’t right, right?
Something wasn’t quite right.
Vision.
Through their eyes:
I see something new.
A vision so different:
It makes mine askew.
Tomorrow’s Hope.
Lovingly made by Mother,
for Son and Father,
the dedicated signs of a future shared,
and each image is an inspiration for the days ahead.
April 26th.
Icy morning, no wind blowing.
Bright sunlight, calm delight.
Dew under leaves, sparrows foraging.
Sky pure blue, clouds ever so slight.
Radiant colours, tall grasses.
Young soft flowers, joy reflective.
Branches reach out, squirrel passes.
Spring to summer, natural selective.
Hand in hand
I want to walk hand in hand with you
towards the storms.
I want to ride the roads with you
higher and further.
I want to sing and dance only with you
with no worries.
I want to share and show and tell and know
anything and everything.
Just with you.
Dream/Nightmare
What are dreams?
Broken shards of unfulfilled hope?
A dealer with an empty bag of dope?
Remnants of longed for lifestyles?
The gap along unwanted aisles?
What exactly are dreams?
A blur of shattered imagination?
A squiggle of smudged reflection?
The wings of a squashed mosquito once fit for flight?
Between day and day is there no longer night?
Where are my dreams?
So, if a dream is supposed to be positive, why does a nightmare grow from good news?
Will joyous elation ready for skews?
Is good news a mask for darkness?
Are all answers but a wild guess?
What makes dreams?
Is the craved mountain peak eternally too far to reach?
Is the hourglass open like that of a beach?
Do dawn and dusk merge as one?
Which silent bell tolls for the gone?
So, what are dreams?
STRONG(ER)
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Really?
Overused and overly spoken dross.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Parodied aphorism!
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Resilience and affirmation for overcoming adversity?
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
“Out of life’s school of war…“
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Twilight of the Idols, an unread book on the shelf I’ve yet to install.
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, I don’t believe you.
Take suffering as an opportunity to build strength.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Kelly Clarkson sang about standing “a little taller.”
“Aus der Kriegsschule des Lebens.—Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich starker”
It never feels that way.
Shadow.
I feel the ache.
It’s like a shadow inside of me.
My mind questions.
It’s as if an enigma wrapped around my soul.
The nervous worry.
It’s an endless shadowing movement walking beside me.
Wobbling legs beneath me.
I feel I’m sliding uphill on ice facing downhill.
Not quite right inside.
As if I am a carpet grip with no carpet.
Every doubt exaggerated.
There’s a shadow, and I feel it’ll claim me.
Immigration.
You can’t ever imagine how it feels.
You really can’t.
The worry that shakes the ground beneath your feet;
the storm brewing and paperwork left unfilled.
You have been settled, untroubled by these challenges, unaware of the steps we have yet taken.
You sigh and carry on regardless.
Dreams
“You are never too old to set another goal or dream another dream” – C.S. Lewis
More sleep. More mentoring. More books. More sharing. More new foods. More daring. More paths, yet to be walked. More caring. More cycle rides. More riding. More hugs. More talking. More cuddles. More sliding. More cups of tea. More creating. More cosiness. More time writing. More sunsets. More bearing. More starry skies. More drawing. More laughter. More reassuring. More dog walks. More cooking. More dreams. More learning. More trips away. More cleaning. More togetherness. More feeling. More fun. More dreaming. More devotion. More gleaming. More love. More, more, more.
More than this.
Master
How do we master the theory and put it to practice? Can’t let the search for answers distract us.
Those educated guesses, insights accumulated; control learned to halt ourselves frustrated.
Who will believe in our ways forward?
Guide from the sea, our lost raft, shoreward.
Life (For Living)
It’s the pull and the push;
The sprinted finish rush.
The days are moving, the days with halts;
The bolt and jolt as nerves send volts.
The twists and turns as drama unfolds;
The seconds of voices delivering their scolds.
The wrestle of conscience whilst conscious;
The admitting of behaviours found stupendous.
The alterations of mindsets and the picking at nits;
The nagging, scriking, and getting on someone’s tits.
The feelings that flow like rivers so strong;
The knowing that we’ll get on fine, get along.
The possibility of possibilities that bubble up and fizz;
The rush, the speed of it, and that wanting to whiz;
The secondhand ticking as the stomach metabolises.
Nerves that swerve and give little of what is deserved;
Results dished out and served.
Only then will we know, which way it shall flow;
But, why oh why, does it feel so slow?
Be Thankful: Merry Christmas
Still here. Others aren’t.
Abused and unloved. Yet I’m not.
Lost souls. With someone, even if apart.
Some have no family. I’m lucky that I do.
Battling cancer and mental health. I’m supporting a few, and there in spirit.
Working and keeping services on point. A holiday from work.
Toxicity surrounding family. Tough at times, but love abounds.
Negative balances and mounting debts. With you all the way.
No hunger to celebrate. Spread love, not hate.
There is no passion for religion and belief. Take a moment to recuperate.
Lost hope, faith, and feelings. Give to others.
There’s only one way of life: Lift your spirits.
Stay positive.
Unseen Variable
It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
It’s the shadow across broad daylight, revealed in radiant rays of newness
It’s the stillness of the pond on a windy day and what lies beneath.
It’s the calm skies ahead of a mighty mammoth of a storm.
It’s the drumming of Earth’s heart, rattling along lines far below the surface.
It’s the invisible rays passing from great solar storms passing through unknown to all.
It’s the grit under tyres and the silt beneath that spins the wheels above to new angles.
It’s the push of the wind against the flow of traffic slowing down the morning commute.
It’s sounds unheard yet given to the air, triggering an avalanche of unlocked actions.
It’s the soliloquy spoken softly to an absent audience ahead of silent auditions.
It’s an array of unseen variables that tangle hairs and twist cotton threads.
It’s not the thing you see and know. It’s the thing they see and know.
R(age)
Bouncing fists off walls.
Endless unappreciated failed triumphs.
Hurdles leaped, barriers removed, all in vain.
Boxes ticked, copies spoiled, followed by new processes.
Old processes retracted, money subtracted, and added, again and again and again.
No longer stopping, looking, and listening.
Hoping for a fight to be put my way.
Not sharing or caring.
Turning milk sour. With a stare.
Deleted. No longer there. Unsent messages.
No worries. No thoughts.
Switched to off.
Void.
Black.
Brother.
What’s done is done. Don’t waste time waiting to be carried on. Get out and join the run. Find that cloud that moves away for sun.
What isn’t done isn’t a dream turned to reality. More is the pity. Witty as you are, zitty as you may be. Cheer on City, sing a ditty. Don’t feel life is shitty.
Live it. Seek it. Find it. Whatever it is. Get out more. See more. Do more. It is what it is. Time flies in a whizz.
Spend it. Spend it wisely. It can be scary and lary or live it fully and happily. Get up early, even on a Saturday.
It’s how you spend it. Like comedy? Choose wit. Like music? Find your hit. Get out of your pit. Grab your true grit.
Choose to live. This life. Now. Friends will come and go. Some live long, and some live slow. You will love some, and some may know.
What are you waiting for?
Weather the storm.
I don’t want to talk about someone in the past tense;
The here and now will do.
Hearing, lustening, feeling across the range of sense;
Being around people presently through and through.
Seeing memorials, farewells, and gatherings of goodbye;
Flowers lay, horse and cart pulling away.
Knelt down by stone, looking up at the grey sky;
Unspoken words not ever able to say.
Wretched dreams unlived and walks unwalked;
Guidance and advice, unable to be dispensed.
Nattering and talks left silent, untalked;
Unable to place arms, no hugs against.
Worry and fear of you no longer near;
Push it aside and stand tall together.
Until the time comes, we must live out every year.
Weather the storm whatever the weather.
The Embrace.
Feel. As much as it hurts.
Fear. For everything you dread.
Worry. About nothing and everything.
Carry. Wherever you go.
However much it hurts…
Lose yourself. But return right back.
Find yourself. Take time to bring love home.
Try yourself. Do it when you feel ready.
Love yourself. Without belief, hope can’t grow.
However much it hurts…
Be confused. Not everything features clarity.
Be afraid. The principles of life bind us.
Be connected. Separately, we feel weaknesses.
Be inspired. Endless possibilities rise with each new dawn.
However much it hurts…
Hear My Problems Only
If I could stop myself feeling, would I tear it out of me?
No, but I would cut this feeling from me.
Dig deeper for focus on possible positives.
If I could remove all the reminders, and the memories to make it hurt less, should I try to silence all?
I need to feel. I need to know. I need to hang onto hope.
No matter how little remains.
If I could wake up tomorrow energised, refreshed, no longer tired and raring to go, would I sleep peacefully now?
I know I can. Yet I can’t. I should. But, I won’t.
I try to release the anger. The pain. The worry.
Should I desperately reach out for hope and determination, clutching it to my heart?
Kick back the snapping, snarling, scrappy black dogs at the feet of my bed.
Today ends soon. Tomorrow starts immediately. Onwards.
Tree Fall.
Amongst the space of a lonely field,
Towering into winds never before perceived,
For many a century, the wood stood unpeeled,
History’s hardest winds never before conceived.
This night, your great winds blew, relentlessly,
Shaking all umbrellas as they wandered,
And sweeping side to side shattered panes carelessly,
Macintosh jackets thought as squandered.
Stood upright, resistant to gales,
Arose squelching sounds to tree roots,
Battered and blustery heaped on, it fails,
Tougher than a pair of old boots.
Creaking and leaning, sinking deep into,
The tree sought to stand hard on the land,
The air blew and grew as the storm did brew,
Tanned tree’s fanned roots sank into sand.
The turbulent gust gave more bursts of force,
Fierce furious and volcanic blasts slammed,
No longer the tree could hold its long course,
Rammed into it and cause it to be dammed.
Tempestuous savagery caused the tree to turn,
Leaves leapt into volatile and quarrelsome air,
Down went all branches as the trunk turned up fern,
Slumped down, did it all without but a prayer.
The ruinous remains of life situated across,
Soon, dies down the storm of the night,
New horizons lay out for its coating of moss,
Once upright, now fitted tight, susceptible to parasite.
The adaptive bole will adjust as best,
The sideways makeover, an alteration,
Its fruits shall bear once more upon its crest,
Should it steady in its newfound acclimation.
Some.
Sometimes, I feel backwards. Some hours, all I touch breaks. Some weeks last longer than others. Some days, a storm becomes an argument. Some moments fade to anger. Some challenges become impassable mountains. Some paths cut off. Some routes have new walls. Some connections tear apart. Some green turns to black. Some perfumes rot in sunlight. Some rainbows wash away. Somehow, I can’t walk away.
Like yesterday
Was it yesterday we last met? Or, the week before? What? Over four years?! Unbelievable! It feels just like yesterday.
A new place with a new arrangement? Feels homely and familiar. I’ve never been here, yet it fits like a glove. Incredible! It feels just like yesterday.
Older paws and fresh tails. New photos and shirts and books and electronics. Similar but different games. Same old, same old. It feels just like yesterday.
Same voices, different figures. Hearts and minds open or closed. Warmth, deeply felt friendship. Experiences gained through tales and moments unmatched. It feels just like yesterday.
Hugs, handshakes, and cheers. One for the road. A night cap. A natter. It all matters. It’s irrelevant until it’s relevant. A proud writer talking to a writer. Audiences growing. It feels just like yesterday.
Congratulations and commiserations. Job done. Here’s to another one. Not too many years away next time. Days instead. Open doors and invites. It feels like it will be tomorrow.
Too much pressure.
Too much pressure, I’m at boiling point. Crawling beneath, and within, hidden desperation. I know not, and no longer see what’s around me. I’m scared, so afraid, bring me down.
Too much pressure, bubbling over. I cannot taste this food you make. Isolated, solitary, remote, godforsaken, detached from you. There is no love about this town. The fury I feel is bringing me down. Curled up here, afraid to move.
Too much pressure, burning up. I cannot hear the sound of birds. Rile, irritable, aggravating, enraged – no smiles. All intrinsics, essentials, and instincts instantly lost. Insobriety, inebriated, intoxicated, disappearing. This night stayed. No reappearance nearing.
Too much pressure, feeling cold. I cannot feel your hand on mine. Unevenness, rough, changed, random protrusions throwing out delusions and illusions. Sleeping here in fear’s shadow, hiding away. Cold, clammering, coughing, spluttering, wheezing and sneezing. I struggle to breathe, numb and wheezing.
Too much pressure, reaching boiling point. Too much pressure, bubbling over. Too much pressure, burning up. Too much pressure, feeling cold. Pressure relieving as I slip away. Drifting and shifting. I’m out. Gone.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 