This canvas captures my heart’s breath;
Stronger as remains blanket the grief.
Acts of kindness, love, and selflessness.
Portions of souls shared.
The best yet made.
Endure and carry on.
feelings
Farewell friend.
I want to thank you.
Thank you for opening my eyes.
Opening my eyes to a new lens.
A new lens capturing moments of time.
Moments of time caressing tender memories.
Caressing tender memories that led to this day.
Led to this day when we said farewell.
Said farewell to you and thank you.
Thank you for being here.
Harmony
Cruel hand deals twisted fate
Not seeking solace nor peace
Dealing a weighted deck of chaos
Shoving detritus unto the face
Only time heals the irate
Self-discovery lens.
We each have bad habits, and it isn’t my place to judge.
I ain’t ever smoked a cigarette, although I’ve breathed in far too many.
My not trying drugs is an issue I won’t ever budge.
Sometimes, my focus loses its antennae.
I am not an alcoholic although I do enjoy an odd drink.
I wouldn’t say I look to fight, even if I feel ready for a hit.
I like to avoid conflict, passing on kicking up a stink.
I can not tell a good joke or come across as full of wit.
I try to give more than I take. Whatever it may cost.
I prize friendship over profits.
I treasure memories but worry about opportunities lost.
I get frustrated at times. Throwing all kinds of fits.
“I’m not a racist but…” No. Not all all. I hate racism.
I’d like to protest but found my hands tied up.
I question capitalist ways, leaning my ears to socialism.
A bully bullies because they’re bullied and hold no club.
I am, however, a disappointment.
I am a disappointment.
I am.
Drawers.
At the bottom of the unit lies a spring-loaded drawer with all my deepest and darkest utterings and thoughts.
Above that, another drawer, less-sealed, more-opened to tuck away memories warm and cold.
On top of the metaphorically wooden system, a drawer for the here and now. It has future dreams, brewing, and stewing.
One drawer shut tightly contains a world of marvellous thoughts.
Above it is an open shelf of optimism. A sliding glass door keeps in contained. Often, it is open just a tiny sliver.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I can keep everything, but what I need closed.
Mostly, however, my drawers are left open with socks and underpants spilling all over the floor.
If I were Napoleon, I’d shut the drawers and nod off.
I’m not Napoleon.
Immigration.
Wouldn’t mind more migration and less borders.
Wouldn’t mind a little less bombing interventions overseas.
Wouldn’t mind peaceful values and ideals before responses get dished out.
Wouldn’t mind capitalism paying more taxes and seeking less havens.
Wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on.
Wouldn’t mind a living wage and more opportunities.
Wouldn’t mind fewer inequalities and a smidgen of hope.
Wouldn’t mind a hand of help reaching out to those who need it.
Wouldn’t mind thoughts before actions.
Wouldn’t mind understanding before judgement.
Wouldn’t mind smiles over frowns.
Wouldn’t mind less wealthy controlling corporations.
Wouldn’t mind a boom in small traders.
Wouldn’t mind dreams and dreamers discussing ideals and progress.
Wouldn’t mind more and more and more and more trees.
Wouldn’t mind water so clean you can paddle and drink in the freshness.
Wouldn’t mind the words and wisdom of the deceased generation that loved us all.
Wouldn’t mind no babies in hospitals, displaced by bombs, disease, and warmongering criminality.
Wouldn’t mind translators and cultural exchange bringing people closer.
Wouldn’t mind change.
How about you?
Christmas Eve
They’re sharing family Christmas photos;
Wishing you all well and greetings for the seasons.
Yet, here, without you, I’m incomplete.
My family’s come is shattered beyond reasons.
The glimmer of hope like the slim chance of snow on a warm winter’s evening;
The last bus approaches on a pathway surrounded by emptiness.
A lone blackbird sings beneath a damp lamppost;
Touched in the heart, I am not in all fairness.
I envy and feel bitter to those who have it all;
I feel happy for each and everyone enveloped in family.
Yet, here, without you, I’m still incomplete.
For too long now, I suffocate in calamity.
Wreaths hug doors and trees sparkle in light;
Hearing carols on the street, my stomach flutters.
Yet, there and here, I cannot find a way out;
I feel bleakness, struggling to rise from the gutters.
To be found.
I used to smile.
Instead, my face creases like contours from a map.
I used to laugh.
Now jokes pass over me like Arctic winds on the tundra.
I used to chuckle and gleam.
It’s all replaced by a seemingly eternal cold emptiness.
I used to preach hope.
But for all its worth, I let go of that dream.
Before today, I was strong.
I slink down beneath a door frame, unable to open the handle, and let myself in.
Before today, I sought new songs.
Yet now most seem overplayed and all the same: repeat after repeat after repeat.
Before today, I had ambitions.
They slipped away, leaving an endless string of survival day by day.
Before today, I loved the rain.
Now, I greet umbrellas and raincoats and wellies as sanctuary.
Where is the old me?
Lost, maybe.
To be found.
An end.
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.
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.
Drip, drop, drip.
Drip, drop, drip, rain begins to fall,
A soggy blanket over us all.
Pitter-patter, drop, drop, plop, it’s quite absurd,
Each raindrop whispers a moistened quiet word.
Many flowers giggle, the trees all prance and dance,
Worms pop up, taking their chance.
A puddle forms, a tiny sparkling sea –
A stranded haven for boats made of leaves, yippee, yippee!
Splash, splosh, splish, what a watery flowing treat,
Raindrops tip-tap-dancing over the street.
Forget not your brolly, dear old chap,
Or just you might drown in your very own lap!
The rain it mocks, it rattles, it laughs, it jeers,
Sneaking down necks, alongside strands of hair, tickling ears.
But oh, dear rain, you do as you must,
For without you, we’ll be dry and towels trust.
So drop, drip, drop, and have some fun,
For when you’re gone and done, out comes the red hot sun.
But until then, I’ll wear a joyful grin –
And a very large bucket hat to keep you from getting in!
Compassion for all?
Is it possible to argue with some Conservatives? Or near-to-far right fascists? I can’t explain to them, without their true listening and understanding, about why they should care about people other than themselves. I can’t explain that people are people, and getting along is something a communal species should do.
I can’t explain that the “what-ho”, “pip-pip” and “down with this sort of thing” attitude of those who fought wars against oppressive regimes, invasive war machines, and Nazi overlords was for good purpose and to allow us as people to grow freely and fairly.
Stories from the bible, the Koran, and other holy books, alongside children’s tales, often educate and inform us about looking after one another. I don’t know how to tell someone that they should have learned how to be nice. Respect is given, not just earned. Britishness, national pride, and flag-waving has its place. There’s room for it. The problem is: are you proud to wave the Union Flag and St George’s cross when it’s claimed as a symbol of “us versus them”? I was brought up by parents, with input by grandparents, to accept people and respect all. It isn’t difficult. I can even respect Man Utd fans.
Yes, there are differences and clashes of belief. Hence, conflict. Conflicts by world powers playing Team America World Police have knock-on effects. The most visible being refugees. If you bomb for oil or to control an uncontrollable region, in an already divided place, creating a vacuum for absolute bastards to take over with unforgivable and inhumane laws, expect a few thousands of people to leg it.
Where do refugees go? The most appealing and tolerant places must appeal more. Off they pop. Through risks. Through high seas. In the back of trucks. Legal routes. Illegal routes. Whatever it takes. Along the way, lives are shed. Lost. Gone. Babies and children die. Ships sink. Boats fail. Lives are torn apart. And then the lucky ones arrive somewhere welcoming. The really lucky ones get support and they contribute.
Yet, a country that fought the Axis of Evil has its own right wing of hatred, xenophobic distrust, and insecurities. Fear spreads. The participants are sometimes unaware of their manipulation by power and money. And it hurts. It divides. It conquers people who want to get on with life – and live. Life is for living. Why can’t we understand that this way is not the way?
Peace and love. 🐝
Frustration.
Sometimes, it is easy to want to kick back. To give up. To give in. Buckle under pressure. To push it all away and walk off. Head away from everything. The problem is that it matters. And, when it matters, it really matters.
You can’t switch off from it. There is no miraculous light switch, with an option to plunge away that which matters. Nor would you want it to be that simple. Although, a spot of simplification may make a huge difference. Frustrating as it is, burying your head in the sand just wastes time and brings about a tumbling cascade of further frustration.
No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, or a decorator, or a trip away. The only certainty in life is death. Everything else is hung on tiny, easily disturbed strings. These variables throw up challenges, barriers, and realisations. They shape expectations and twist the optimistic to the realistic. Deep down the cinders of pessimism, ebb, and flow, waiting for their time to shine. The advice is almost always: don’t let it.
That exclusive advice may seem out of reach. That’s the beauty of pain and the distorted view of solutions: we feel it. Frustration can be overcome. It may not seem that way. Finding your channel out of a stormy ocean is key. Believe. A spot of resilience goes a long way.
Vision.
Through their eyes:
I see something new.
A vision so different:
It makes mine askew.
Through The Leaves
Through the leaves, voices call out loud;
Beyond the tufted grasses wraps ivy thickly.
Through the greenery trees stand proud;
Along the jagged walls, bramble juts out prickly.
The murky Lancaster canal flows towards the sea;
A summer’s gentle breeze casts along its top.
Tits, swifts, and sparrow fly alongside bee;
Blackbirds hop along the mud and crop.
Feet slapping in the mud sinking slightly;
A fragrance of wild garlic hangs in the air.
Through the gaps and spaces, sun rays beam brightly;
Galloping dogs along the path they share.
Chattering and nattering creaks as trunks rub one another;
Regal flowers attract buzzing and zipping flight.
A ripple waves outwards from cygnets’ mother;
From Lancaster to Glasson Flight, a path wrapped in sights of delight.
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.
Daring do.
Daring do.
Boldness brought about by fate;
The chutzpah of the moment, raging inflate.
Determination by the bucketload;
Jaw strutting out, standing proud and bold.
Destiny unknown, holding your nerve;
Fearlessness to catch the serve at every swerve.
With courage and dauntlessness;
Batting away fear with dabs of recklessness.
Petty safe ground abound and found;
Hopes and dreams sound around yet downed.
Compliance of darkness swept aside, under a mound;
Chasing away gloomy twilight, each and every black hound.
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.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 