I often wonder yes I do
why rhymes can feel immature to you
and me both, I think traditionally
they were used remembering nursery
stories, making them easy to retain
and young people readily join words in chain
of their own, for childhood fun and game
but adult rhymes are not the same
I’m sure they can be serious too
it’s just about your point of view
[my response to a poem by the ever-rhyming word-divining Pooky]
I read your words
they propelled me along
there is no full stop
I don’t want this to stop
there is no resolution
no finality
it will just keep going on
always moving along
pushing
running
away from behind me
scared of what was there at the start
how can I catch my breath when I’m always running
running away with you
[Oh Natalie, you have shone light on that which was hidden and once again sparked my inspiration]
Some things,
We aren’t supposed to say.
Some problems,
We hope just go away,
Things too big to talk about,
And mention of them
Makes folk doubt,
Whether we are capable,
Or suitable,
Reliable…
This thing that eats me
Every day,
Is one of those
So I don’t say…
I can’t not say it,
Anymore;
Now I love you
More and more.
I’ve thought about it,
Every day,
Since you found
Your special way,
Into our lives
With your sweet smile,
I keep on thinking
That with time, I’ll
Come to terms
With how things are,
With you,
My sweet and shining star.
But here’s the truth,
I hate to face,
Which makes me feel
Such a disgrace,
I wish that I
Had carried you,
Within my womb,
And nurtured you
With my own blood,
And sweat,
And tears.
That yearning
Never disappears.
I don’t love you any less,
It’s…
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doubt
crept up on me
whispering almost silently
over my shoulder
subtly
attacking my energy
creating anxiety
I would cry out for help
If I thought I was heard
If I thought I mattered enough
For anyone to care.
For I don’t understand any of this
How could another possibly comprehend
the torment, confusion,
the nothingness
And the all pervasive incompleteness
of my existence.
The words in my head are that no-one listens
No-one even reads what I write
So none of it matters.
Except the battle
Stop fighting and I will truly crumble
into nothingness
So the war itself has meaning
A purpose I don’t understand
like any soldier.
I am the conflict
Both sides of the fray
I am winner and loser
I am casualties and victories
When I win, will I lose too?
If I lose, will I celebrate victory?
Or like all wars
will there be no real victor
just widespread collateral damage?
Time to take the moral high ground
Conscientious objector
to all this destruction
Make peace
Be the change you want to see
Find who I truly am
Quietly and determinedly
Make love not war.
[Artwork by David Rosen]
Sometimes being productive means doing nothing at all.
It’s all a joke
Without a punch line
We made up the words
Others don’t get
And now we wonder
What was so funny
in the first place
Trying to make sense of it all
No, trying to survive
for it all seems
A world of confusion
mixed with
Hate, Anger, Despair
At those I think
should be able to help me
but stand, stunned
offering small platitudes
vacuous to me,
And at myself for
failing
at seemingly everything
Everything –
happens for a reason
What have I learnt then?
What am I becoming
that needs this pain,
This self loathing
that seeps through my pores
Pawing at my sanity
Clawing at my flesh
Like a nightmare
where
everything is not quite right
where you will never
ever be comfortable
Because if you did
relax for just a moment
the demons would catch you
and
painfully shredded
you would cease
to have ever existed
You would simply be
the nothingness
that fills the gaps
between everything
that ever really matters.
[ With thanks for the sparks that ignite the fire that melts the world into words that sit upon this page. Tonight my inspirational writing friends are theeverbrokenarrow and Natalie – tonight you made a difference. ]
faces in the street
all those people you’ll never meet
as they stride from place to place
stoic looks upon their face
but look around carefully
and some life you will see
shining through bright
not held in so tight
life in the eyes
or the look of face
you can smile and say “hi”
without disgrace
[inspired by the city photography (collaged above) of my friend Tim and also by a recent morning in the city, noticing the busy morning commuters moving with purpose albeit mostly lifelessly.]
42 Days Younger than Kylie 