Are we defined by what we do, or by what is done to us
if we are whole people surely it is at least partly both
so again we come to this matter of balance, of re-alignment
if everything truly has an equal and opposite reaction
there should be an equality in the effect of things done.
So we return to the thorny issue of abuse, and of surviving
of kicking back against what was done, but only to the point
where further kicking achieves little, diminishing returns
and somehow this time has come round and I'm not ready yet
which seems a funny thing to say after nearly forty years.
Having spent less than a year finally facing up to these things
of actually trying to find some form of resolution to all this
to then have the monster up and die on me has left things open
hanging there in a way I've yet to find some way to figure out
how to bring some closure, what kind of a word is that anyway?
And what does it represent? Is closure acceptance, quiescence
since nothing can be done ... nothing can be undone in any way
so should I quiesce? Bow to the inevitable, accept my fate
accept that as damaged goods I must carry this damage within me
I keep hearing these phrases... work around it, live with it.
So waking with a feeling of him on me, inside me, is that OK?
feeling his hands pushing me this way and that, forcing me
forming me, creating his fantasy, destroying me, is that also OK?
and feeling this when my husband has love in mind, wants intimacy
to feel a connection with only me ... not me and my memories.
I know I should stay grounded in the present, breathe in and out
for fucks sake ... haven't I have been breathing my whole life
but not like this ... out with the dread ... in with cleansing hope
I try to suspend my cynicism, I do ... I so want this to be true
that peace can be gained even now, and so I practise my breathing.
Well, and thinking, I really wouldn't be me if I didn't think some
I can almost hear you groaning, but even so, we're nearly done
I read what you wrote about breathing, about cleansing breaths
learning to live in a monster free zone, healing my inner child
it's a big ask. I want to ... far more than you can ever, ever know.
Your faith
You have such a gentle humour it passes me by sometimes
but then other times it niggles through the outer morass
to tickle me for days at a time, the way you see life
the way you can separate the essentials from the rest
your insistence that you're probably talking rubbish.
But you know you aren't, there's no real uncertainty
perhaps a slight lack of confidence a peculiar diffidence
it all adds to the gentleness with which you say things
compels me to listen in a way I seldom find myself doing
peeling back the layers of meaning to discover the core.
Can you imagine having The Givers power? ... a deep well
and trawling the depths of such questions can't be rushed
so you sit quietly, your head to one side, looking at me
I can see by your smile that you think I'll have no answer
and whilst answers are not at all what I have I still reply.
The Giver features quite a lot in my thoughts, always has
since those long ago days when I called out for help
but none arrived, repetitions, petitions, promises to be good
there was no end to those early negotiations and pleadings
I concluded that The Giver must be deaf because I wasn't good.
It never occurred to me that the lack of any response
was due to the absence of The Giver, I was so very sure
that if I could only find the right promise and keep it
could find the right way to be good then I'd be answered
that The Giver would then come and whisk the monster man away.
So I have come to realise that the rage runs both ways
towards The Giver for leaving me to deal with monsters alone
towards myself for not being good enough to elicit help
... how else to explain to such a young mind that absence
the allowance of unutterable deeds done far from prying eyes.
If I had that over-arching power? I'd use it to re-shape
to go inside the minds of monsters of all kinds to re-wire
to make whole all those fractured tortured twisted parts
I'd go inside the bodies of those inflicted with illness
reclaiming all the damaged cells, making right what's wrong.
I can feel the possibilities spinning through my mind
an endless list of needs ... an endless list of neediness
would I feel overwhelmed, would I balance needs differently
if The Giver is also The Creator does her heart not bleed
does she not despair at the sight of such bitter desolation.
You smile your pensive smile, your faith shines even now
I would never presume to question something of such value
faith is an intrinsic part of what makes you so unique
in my experience you don't just believe it, you live it
if all believers were like you, would I, could I believe?
I just might you know, might find it somewhere in my heart
to forgive a Giver who can bear to allow the unallowable
balancing the present against the vastness of all eternity
throwing the present to one side, disregarding it altogether
forgiveness in exchange for the forgiveness of my many sins.
What you want for me is what you have, I know that too
I do not mistake your generous spirit despite how we differ
you are an ambassador of a faith I may never subscribe to
but I would never shut that door though, not completely
faith may yet one of these days steal into this old soul.
but then other times it niggles through the outer morass
to tickle me for days at a time, the way you see life
the way you can separate the essentials from the rest
your insistence that you're probably talking rubbish.
But you know you aren't, there's no real uncertainty
perhaps a slight lack of confidence a peculiar diffidence
it all adds to the gentleness with which you say things
compels me to listen in a way I seldom find myself doing
peeling back the layers of meaning to discover the core.
Can you imagine having The Givers power? ... a deep well
and trawling the depths of such questions can't be rushed
so you sit quietly, your head to one side, looking at me
I can see by your smile that you think I'll have no answer
and whilst answers are not at all what I have I still reply.
The Giver features quite a lot in my thoughts, always has
since those long ago days when I called out for help
but none arrived, repetitions, petitions, promises to be good
there was no end to those early negotiations and pleadings
I concluded that The Giver must be deaf because I wasn't good.
It never occurred to me that the lack of any response
was due to the absence of The Giver, I was so very sure
that if I could only find the right promise and keep it
could find the right way to be good then I'd be answered
that The Giver would then come and whisk the monster man away.
So I have come to realise that the rage runs both ways
towards The Giver for leaving me to deal with monsters alone
towards myself for not being good enough to elicit help
... how else to explain to such a young mind that absence
the allowance of unutterable deeds done far from prying eyes.
If I had that over-arching power? I'd use it to re-shape
to go inside the minds of monsters of all kinds to re-wire
to make whole all those fractured tortured twisted parts
I'd go inside the bodies of those inflicted with illness
reclaiming all the damaged cells, making right what's wrong.
I can feel the possibilities spinning through my mind
an endless list of needs ... an endless list of neediness
would I feel overwhelmed, would I balance needs differently
if The Giver is also The Creator does her heart not bleed
does she not despair at the sight of such bitter desolation.
You smile your pensive smile, your faith shines even now
I would never presume to question something of such value
faith is an intrinsic part of what makes you so unique
in my experience you don't just believe it, you live it
if all believers were like you, would I, could I believe?
I just might you know, might find it somewhere in my heart
to forgive a Giver who can bear to allow the unallowable
balancing the present against the vastness of all eternity
throwing the present to one side, disregarding it altogether
forgiveness in exchange for the forgiveness of my many sins.
What you want for me is what you have, I know that too
I do not mistake your generous spirit despite how we differ
you are an ambassador of a faith I may never subscribe to
but I would never shut that door though, not completely
faith may yet one of these days steal into this old soul.
dark clouds
That's the problem with feeling like a waste of space
these feelings of worthlessness follow no rationale
they are not easily confronted in such a weakened state
and of course weakness comes from far too much drowning
too much dulling of the present so as to avoid the past.
It does seem an endless loop of making a little progress
only to slip back, feeling the strength of the undertow
giving in to the tidal force, being swept out of my depth
and even seeing the shore receding doesn't matter enough
to make me want to ... even try to swim. I want to be lost.
I want to disappear and become the nothing I feel I am
and the strength of this wanting is quite scary in a way
the handholds I rely on seem less certain at times like this
the things I've learnt about positive thinking seem puerile
the dark clouds gather and some part of me welcomes them.
For this is familiar territory to me, a known landscape
of featureless days followed by stretches of sleeplessness
where my minor concerns grow to huge, massive proportions
in those long lonely hours between the darkness and light
where sleep descends but too late, a new day must be borne.
The gradual weakening escalates further with the continuance
of what-he-did dreams making nightmares seem like child's play
and which leave me shaking in damp sheets come the cool dawn
when I try to gather some semblance of the normal facade
something to hide the distress, attempt to keep it all at bay.
Where the dark clouds come from I can't really say for sure
but even seeing them building I haven't yet found a way
to run away towards the sunshine, I can't sense the direction
I can't turn the right way, when turning I see only clouds
anyway I don't have the energy to run so I lie down and wait.
In the background is this relentless feeling of not rightness
and even on the sunny days there is an element of it there
but in the darker days and nights it feels an inevitability
that this pattern will never really be broken regardless of me
so hopelessness descends to keep company with worthlessness.
All seems dark and bleak, if I trust my feelings here I'll stay
and this is where feelings are not to be given free reign
this is when choice becomes such a potent weapon against despair
if only one can work up the tiniest spark of the energy needed
to light that small flame of hope, of patience, of perseverance.
The dark clouds can be pushed back, they do not have to engulf me
or if they do, I don't have to do nothing, I needn't submit
despite the lure of slipping once more into that inky black water
I do have choices, there are things I can and must try to do
and there it is .. that spark .. the very essence of my struggle.
these feelings of worthlessness follow no rationale
they are not easily confronted in such a weakened state
and of course weakness comes from far too much drowning
too much dulling of the present so as to avoid the past.
It does seem an endless loop of making a little progress
only to slip back, feeling the strength of the undertow
giving in to the tidal force, being swept out of my depth
and even seeing the shore receding doesn't matter enough
to make me want to ... even try to swim. I want to be lost.
I want to disappear and become the nothing I feel I am
and the strength of this wanting is quite scary in a way
the handholds I rely on seem less certain at times like this
the things I've learnt about positive thinking seem puerile
the dark clouds gather and some part of me welcomes them.
For this is familiar territory to me, a known landscape
of featureless days followed by stretches of sleeplessness
where my minor concerns grow to huge, massive proportions
in those long lonely hours between the darkness and light
where sleep descends but too late, a new day must be borne.
The gradual weakening escalates further with the continuance
of what-he-did dreams making nightmares seem like child's play
and which leave me shaking in damp sheets come the cool dawn
when I try to gather some semblance of the normal facade
something to hide the distress, attempt to keep it all at bay.
Where the dark clouds come from I can't really say for sure
but even seeing them building I haven't yet found a way
to run away towards the sunshine, I can't sense the direction
I can't turn the right way, when turning I see only clouds
anyway I don't have the energy to run so I lie down and wait.
In the background is this relentless feeling of not rightness
and even on the sunny days there is an element of it there
but in the darker days and nights it feels an inevitability
that this pattern will never really be broken regardless of me
so hopelessness descends to keep company with worthlessness.
All seems dark and bleak, if I trust my feelings here I'll stay
and this is where feelings are not to be given free reign
this is when choice becomes such a potent weapon against despair
if only one can work up the tiniest spark of the energy needed
to light that small flame of hope, of patience, of perseverance.
The dark clouds can be pushed back, they do not have to engulf me
or if they do, I don't have to do nothing, I needn't submit
despite the lure of slipping once more into that inky black water
I do have choices, there are things I can and must try to do
and there it is .. that spark .. the very essence of my struggle.
kissing you
I didn't know that being kissed could feel like that
or that kissing you back would feel even more so
I didn't know I had such intense feelings within me
and yet I did wonder at times what you had in mind
but this deep fear of intimacy takes all its forms in me
I would never have dared to without a drink drunk
I would never have dared at all if you hadn't first
You are the brave one, the thrill seeker of us two
I am the plodder, the thinker, the boring slow one.
I often wonder at your patient forbearance with me
why stick with a friendship you get so little out of
you are not fooling me with the "my life is so dull"
nothing is duller than someone who takes without giving
how did we get to a place where you are the giver anyway
is it safer for you if the trust runs more one way
does it allow you the grace of not thinking too much
I know you get fed up with me thinking the whole time
you want me to break free, be me, whoever that might be.
I'm not brave, I'm not really a grown up at all you see
I can put up a decent show of it at work, with these men
where pretending is so easy to do, everyone is complicit
in the everything's fine thank you game, we play it daily
but however fine I feel in this moment that can change
suddenly and with almost no warning signs I'll be gone
triggered by the turn of a head, a suggestion of a smile
a flick of a hand, an adjustment of position, so many things
staying grounded here now is a constant challenge you see.
What has this to do with kissing ... I see I have meandered
from the delicious memory of you, your face, your sighs
never in my life have I been the cause of another's sighs
it awoke in me a response I didn't know was even possible
and left me feeling a conflicting sense of wonder and woe
for I know that this can not be repeated, it must be lost
packed away in the cloud room where only daydreams go
where only I can know of the broken promises lying therein
I can feel you still, the softness of your skin, the glow.
It scares me because it calls into question my nature
in my inexperience this has an altogether different feel
despite my fear of being close I want to be close to you
and because I tremble you pause take time to re-assure
yet in the next second you astonish me with new sensations
a feeling that all things are possible in these moments
if I can just stay here ... in these moments with you
holding back my fear I give in to this, this sweetest embrace
I would again if the situation arose, should you so desire.
or that kissing you back would feel even more so
I didn't know I had such intense feelings within me
and yet I did wonder at times what you had in mind
but this deep fear of intimacy takes all its forms in me
I would never have dared to without a drink drunk
I would never have dared at all if you hadn't first
You are the brave one, the thrill seeker of us two
I am the plodder, the thinker, the boring slow one.
I often wonder at your patient forbearance with me
why stick with a friendship you get so little out of
you are not fooling me with the "my life is so dull"
nothing is duller than someone who takes without giving
how did we get to a place where you are the giver anyway
is it safer for you if the trust runs more one way
does it allow you the grace of not thinking too much
I know you get fed up with me thinking the whole time
you want me to break free, be me, whoever that might be.
I'm not brave, I'm not really a grown up at all you see
I can put up a decent show of it at work, with these men
where pretending is so easy to do, everyone is complicit
in the everything's fine thank you game, we play it daily
but however fine I feel in this moment that can change
suddenly and with almost no warning signs I'll be gone
triggered by the turn of a head, a suggestion of a smile
a flick of a hand, an adjustment of position, so many things
staying grounded here now is a constant challenge you see.
What has this to do with kissing ... I see I have meandered
from the delicious memory of you, your face, your sighs
never in my life have I been the cause of another's sighs
it awoke in me a response I didn't know was even possible
and left me feeling a conflicting sense of wonder and woe
for I know that this can not be repeated, it must be lost
packed away in the cloud room where only daydreams go
where only I can know of the broken promises lying therein
I can feel you still, the softness of your skin, the glow.
It scares me because it calls into question my nature
in my inexperience this has an altogether different feel
despite my fear of being close I want to be close to you
and because I tremble you pause take time to re-assure
yet in the next second you astonish me with new sensations
a feeling that all things are possible in these moments
if I can just stay here ... in these moments with you
holding back my fear I give in to this, this sweetest embrace
I would again if the situation arose, should you so desire.
disagreement
You tell me that my approach is too academic, too intellectual
what? ... me? are you having a laugh here at my expense maybe?
I look over our exchanges of ideas and I can see your view
where you are direct and to the point I try to draw analogies
trying to find a way of agreeing to disagree, avoiding conflict.
Then accusations are thrown, not from my side, not intentionally
but there's a misunderstanding of our fundamentals, our differences
I strongly abhor the results of intolerance, you see no danger
you think you are right and have confidence, arrogance in a way
your attack stings .. gives me pause for thought, am I so wrong?
You say you speak from the heart from the wealth of your experience
I say there are dangers in using solely our own world view
that we paint our own mental pictures to validate such views
but that doesn't make them true, is that so hard to understand
that truth is not in every single situation an absolute thing.
You say that I speak not from the heart but from dusty books
that my insistence on using such knowledge gained is unfeeling
that by not trusting my instincts I am missing the vital core
and I do agree that there is that risk, I believe it's true
but collective knowledge and experience must count too surely.
Where I believe that tolerance patience forbearance are the key
you tell me that straight talking does a hell of a lot more
you say my approach allows, almost advocates self indulgence
and I see your point, I do, but I have to disagree to some degree
however much you think I'm just being stubborn let me just say.
Respecting an individual involves respecting their right to choose
allowing for this requires us to give space, patience and tolerance
whilst the process of respect involves allowing for other choices
choices we would never have made for ourselves in such situations
but our journeys may yet still at some point coalesce in resolution.
I hate confrontation I really do, but I won't be bullied by you
I will stand up for what I believe is true, I will be counted
alongside people who are being subjected to such intolerance
but how to do this without causing massive offence again to you
is it really beyond us to work towards a compromise understanding?
what? ... me? are you having a laugh here at my expense maybe?
I look over our exchanges of ideas and I can see your view
where you are direct and to the point I try to draw analogies
trying to find a way of agreeing to disagree, avoiding conflict.
Then accusations are thrown, not from my side, not intentionally
but there's a misunderstanding of our fundamentals, our differences
I strongly abhor the results of intolerance, you see no danger
you think you are right and have confidence, arrogance in a way
your attack stings .. gives me pause for thought, am I so wrong?
You say you speak from the heart from the wealth of your experience
I say there are dangers in using solely our own world view
that we paint our own mental pictures to validate such views
but that doesn't make them true, is that so hard to understand
that truth is not in every single situation an absolute thing.
You say that I speak not from the heart but from dusty books
that my insistence on using such knowledge gained is unfeeling
that by not trusting my instincts I am missing the vital core
and I do agree that there is that risk, I believe it's true
but collective knowledge and experience must count too surely.
Where I believe that tolerance patience forbearance are the key
you tell me that straight talking does a hell of a lot more
you say my approach allows, almost advocates self indulgence
and I see your point, I do, but I have to disagree to some degree
however much you think I'm just being stubborn let me just say.
Respecting an individual involves respecting their right to choose
allowing for this requires us to give space, patience and tolerance
whilst the process of respect involves allowing for other choices
choices we would never have made for ourselves in such situations
but our journeys may yet still at some point coalesce in resolution.
I hate confrontation I really do, but I won't be bullied by you
I will stand up for what I believe is true, I will be counted
alongside people who are being subjected to such intolerance
but how to do this without causing massive offence again to you
is it really beyond us to work towards a compromise understanding?
same old same old
I've been visiting that hard dark old place again
you know the one .. the muddled fuzzled one
the place that too much drowning takes you to
and once there, shutting the door softly you sit
gazing inwards and backwards, same old same old.
Holding on to the glass, watching the level drop
and with it your own spirits plummet lower still
you know you are doing again what you shouldn't
but the web of dependance is such that some days
it translates through warped thinking into wanting.
The wanting builds as the days of giving in pass
they start piling up as the mind and body weaken
as progressive drownings take their inevitable toll
and yet despite the bleakness, the deepening gloom
there's such familiarity here so the way out is clear.
It's right there in front of me, just a step away
and part of that first step is this ... this writing
acknowledging once again that there are things I can do
decisions made in bleak times can kick-start resolve
resolve leads to action, leads in turn to redemption.
All too easy to say in the cold light of a new day
hours until the time that siren call will be heard
but a start must be made even so, and so I choose now
no drowning for today, today is for swimming, floating
taking back the reins, closing that old familiar door.
you know the one .. the muddled fuzzled one
the place that too much drowning takes you to
and once there, shutting the door softly you sit
gazing inwards and backwards, same old same old.
Holding on to the glass, watching the level drop
and with it your own spirits plummet lower still
you know you are doing again what you shouldn't
but the web of dependance is such that some days
it translates through warped thinking into wanting.
The wanting builds as the days of giving in pass
they start piling up as the mind and body weaken
as progressive drownings take their inevitable toll
and yet despite the bleakness, the deepening gloom
there's such familiarity here so the way out is clear.
It's right there in front of me, just a step away
and part of that first step is this ... this writing
acknowledging once again that there are things I can do
decisions made in bleak times can kick-start resolve
resolve leads to action, leads in turn to redemption.
All too easy to say in the cold light of a new day
hours until the time that siren call will be heard
but a start must be made even so, and so I choose now
no drowning for today, today is for swimming, floating
taking back the reins, closing that old familiar door.
A weekend breakfast
When you crawled into bed beside me early this morning
you were about as surreptitious as a gigantic elephant
it made me laugh that you were so surprised when I woke up
to tickle you and make you squeal, hopping down again
I whisper, go and get your brother let's all have a play
since I'm awake anyway and it's just about getting light.
I can hear my brother-in-law snoring when the door opens
and two wide grins appear, and so a new day begins here
with laughter and hugs, squishing three to a single bed
which is perfectly possible as long as everyone holds on
or rather if I hold on to these two small squirming bodies
which is not that easy when we are all laughing like hyenas.
Tumbling onto the floor totally out of breath to be found
in a heap by a very sleepy and not overly pleased parent
so I make shame faced .. well kind of shame faced excuses
but my semi, not quite straight face is not to be trusted
to be fair poker is not my game and joy will not be held in
so I agree that we'll go downstairs now and play quietly.
So off we go down the stairs with much smothered giggling
when breakfast is suggested by hopeful young appetites
into the kitchen we stroll, shutting the door very softly
a quick look in the larder yields the makings of pancakes
with over an hour til "real" breakfast we have time to kill
and cooking really is just the perfect activity for three.
One person for reading from the Big Cook Little Cook book
one person getting stuff out and measuring to instructions
and one mixing and stirring, making a humongous big mess
which we will have to clear up before the grown ups appear
oh, and I'm in charge of removing egg shell fragments too
that takes a special skill only given to those over the hill.
Then there's heating until smoking and flipping which I do
aided and abetted by a lively cheering, clearing up squad
who do far more cheering than clearing up, which is fair
as it's another thing specifically suited to my set of skills
once the pile of pancakes are safely stacked in the microwave
when we've de-floured, de-egged, de-milkified the cheery boys.
A thumping can then be heard overhead so number two dashes up
taking orders for tea in bed, the clearing up isn't done yet
a massive amount of headless chicken-like rushing about ensues
with flour being suddenly accidentally tipped over everywhere
queue mum coming to have a quiet word about quietening down
I can't hear you I yell as we pale ghosts fall about laughing.
you were about as surreptitious as a gigantic elephant
it made me laugh that you were so surprised when I woke up
to tickle you and make you squeal, hopping down again
I whisper, go and get your brother let's all have a play
since I'm awake anyway and it's just about getting light.
I can hear my brother-in-law snoring when the door opens
and two wide grins appear, and so a new day begins here
with laughter and hugs, squishing three to a single bed
which is perfectly possible as long as everyone holds on
or rather if I hold on to these two small squirming bodies
which is not that easy when we are all laughing like hyenas.
Tumbling onto the floor totally out of breath to be found
in a heap by a very sleepy and not overly pleased parent
so I make shame faced .. well kind of shame faced excuses
but my semi, not quite straight face is not to be trusted
to be fair poker is not my game and joy will not be held in
so I agree that we'll go downstairs now and play quietly.
So off we go down the stairs with much smothered giggling
when breakfast is suggested by hopeful young appetites
into the kitchen we stroll, shutting the door very softly
a quick look in the larder yields the makings of pancakes
with over an hour til "real" breakfast we have time to kill
and cooking really is just the perfect activity for three.
One person for reading from the Big Cook Little Cook book
one person getting stuff out and measuring to instructions
and one mixing and stirring, making a humongous big mess
which we will have to clear up before the grown ups appear
oh, and I'm in charge of removing egg shell fragments too
that takes a special skill only given to those over the hill.
Then there's heating until smoking and flipping which I do
aided and abetted by a lively cheering, clearing up squad
who do far more cheering than clearing up, which is fair
as it's another thing specifically suited to my set of skills
once the pile of pancakes are safely stacked in the microwave
when we've de-floured, de-egged, de-milkified the cheery boys.
A thumping can then be heard overhead so number two dashes up
taking orders for tea in bed, the clearing up isn't done yet
a massive amount of headless chicken-like rushing about ensues
with flour being suddenly accidentally tipped over everywhere
queue mum coming to have a quiet word about quietening down
I can't hear you I yell as we pale ghosts fall about laughing.
my step father
I have a wonderful father whose name is not Dad
I didn't meet him until my late teenage years
when he met, then dated and finally married my mother
joining two different families to become almost one.
I gained a new little brother, a big brother too
and a new sister making quite a crowd in the new house
I was stonked by all this, it was really such good news
seeing love at home, their home for I had left already.
But coming home on weekends and holidays still
and getting to know this man who had won mum's heart
over late night chats with the others gone to bed
I found unexpected friendship in the midst of change.
Years have passed since those long late night chats
and yet we ocassionally still indulge when we can
you tell me of dreams that you've never fulfilled
and how empty old age is with all its aches and pains.
And the feeling that everyone has no time for you now
to just sit and look out at the garden drinking tea
and the sad truth is that I don't have much time
to fill the empty hours you are faced with each day.
But I will make more effort to be here more often
taking time to spend with you has never been a burden
perhaps I haven't made my feelings plain enough to see
but you are much more than just a step father to me.
Who was it taught me to mend old ripped oil paintings
to use plaster and gold leaf on sculptured gilt frames
to build a wall with studwork and beams, to lay carpet
to hang signs, to re-upholster a sagging old chair.
Who was it who sat for hours on the river bank with me
talking through how to create water flow onto canvas
who taught me to write poetry, who was that then
did you think that I would or that I could ever forget.
You taught me to look at paintings with my heart
to use feelings in a new way to gain an understanding
that what rages in others hearts can be expressed there
in short strokes, in vibrant colour, in dark rolling skies.
Trips to galleries that's what we must find time to do
for sitting here in your old arm chair isn't much fun
I don't mind walking slow, I can help with the stairs
I'm sure you have much to teach me from the old masters.
Yes I know about the need to plan carefully for trips out
ensuring level ground, close parking, trips to the loo
a nearby pub with decent real ale, a secret to be kept
shall we set off then, are you ready to have an adventure.
I didn't meet him until my late teenage years
when he met, then dated and finally married my mother
joining two different families to become almost one.
I gained a new little brother, a big brother too
and a new sister making quite a crowd in the new house
I was stonked by all this, it was really such good news
seeing love at home, their home for I had left already.
But coming home on weekends and holidays still
and getting to know this man who had won mum's heart
over late night chats with the others gone to bed
I found unexpected friendship in the midst of change.
Years have passed since those long late night chats
and yet we ocassionally still indulge when we can
you tell me of dreams that you've never fulfilled
and how empty old age is with all its aches and pains.
And the feeling that everyone has no time for you now
to just sit and look out at the garden drinking tea
and the sad truth is that I don't have much time
to fill the empty hours you are faced with each day.
But I will make more effort to be here more often
taking time to spend with you has never been a burden
perhaps I haven't made my feelings plain enough to see
but you are much more than just a step father to me.
Who was it taught me to mend old ripped oil paintings
to use plaster and gold leaf on sculptured gilt frames
to build a wall with studwork and beams, to lay carpet
to hang signs, to re-upholster a sagging old chair.
Who was it who sat for hours on the river bank with me
talking through how to create water flow onto canvas
who taught me to write poetry, who was that then
did you think that I would or that I could ever forget.
You taught me to look at paintings with my heart
to use feelings in a new way to gain an understanding
that what rages in others hearts can be expressed there
in short strokes, in vibrant colour, in dark rolling skies.
Trips to galleries that's what we must find time to do
for sitting here in your old arm chair isn't much fun
I don't mind walking slow, I can help with the stairs
I'm sure you have much to teach me from the old masters.
Yes I know about the need to plan carefully for trips out
ensuring level ground, close parking, trips to the loo
a nearby pub with decent real ale, a secret to be kept
shall we set off then, are you ready to have an adventure.
nothing
I didn't recognise myself in the photos you sent
I've never seen quite that expression on my own face
it was the same on the face of my bother, same eyes wide
same vacantness, same grim forebearance of pain
I look at the girl who was me holding his hand
with absolutely no understanding of that hurtful desire
which was inside people who should not look so normal
it was my undoing, a part of me is stuck there
Stuck in the never ending loop of their doing
it makes me not want to ... well not want to be here
what was done long ago makes me want to be nothing
and I am really, in the overall scheme of things
Except I'm not, for I am a loved person now
and since that's true there's something worth it here
worth pushing on through the treacle of the dark days
to enjoy once again the sunshine when it comes
Sending those photos was a low thing to do
I was wondering, trying to anticpate your next move
and seeing your writing there on the letter you sent me
I knew I shouldn't have opened it, I was right
I put them in the fire burning up, making smoke
no-one here which is a good thing as I need solitude
time to shed yet more tears over a parent who sends hurt
creating children out of adults and the other way
A father, it should be such a simple thing to be
an easy relationship involving laughter, love, safety
a port of call to be sought out when life seems harsh
not you though, always were quite the individual.
I've never seen quite that expression on my own face
it was the same on the face of my bother, same eyes wide
same vacantness, same grim forebearance of pain
I look at the girl who was me holding his hand
with absolutely no understanding of that hurtful desire
which was inside people who should not look so normal
it was my undoing, a part of me is stuck there
Stuck in the never ending loop of their doing
it makes me not want to ... well not want to be here
what was done long ago makes me want to be nothing
and I am really, in the overall scheme of things
Except I'm not, for I am a loved person now
and since that's true there's something worth it here
worth pushing on through the treacle of the dark days
to enjoy once again the sunshine when it comes
Sending those photos was a low thing to do
I was wondering, trying to anticpate your next move
and seeing your writing there on the letter you sent me
I knew I shouldn't have opened it, I was right
I put them in the fire burning up, making smoke
no-one here which is a good thing as I need solitude
time to shed yet more tears over a parent who sends hurt
creating children out of adults and the other way
A father, it should be such a simple thing to be
an easy relationship involving laughter, love, safety
a port of call to be sought out when life seems harsh
not you though, always were quite the individual.
missing her
You miss her because she is gone
she won't be coming back ever
and the finality is just brutal
for your love didn't just stop
when she did, when she died
you love her still I can tell
and telling you that you're OK
that these things take some time
when you say it's now three years.
It doesn't seem that long ago
since holding that frail hand
talking of hopeful things as if
but she went along with it too
easing us into the idea of it
of a time ahead without her here
and here we are still missing her
holding back tears until later
sparing each other that sight
Or we would've except we didn't
seeing the fullness in your eyes
and taking your hand we leave
to walk under the trees nearby
a few minutes away from everyone
moments to honour her memory
a much loved friend, a dead wife
a wonderful remarkable woman
who did the impossible it seems.
She it was took your broken heart
and made it completely whole again
healed a wound so deep inside you
that few were trusted to know of it
her kindness was really your undoing
for there was such fire in her too
she was the real deal that one
a mender, a giver, a taker too
until she herself was taken away.
Leaving you with such emptiness
with plodding through dull days
in turn marking time, waiting
without really knowing in any sense
what it is you're waiting for
you can't readily describe it
the daily realisation of absense
of others togetherness all around
where now even hand holding hurts.
If I could impart healing I would
I would recall her from death
re-instate her into all our lives
but especially yours, I miss her
but my heart doesn't break
at each awakening, each new day
this grief is hard to express
when people keep inferring somehow
you should've gotten over it by now.
Some people move on quicker I guess
but surely it's individual
reliant on so many factors
to have waited so long to trust
never believing it would happen
not trusting at first even then
even with her standing there
putting her heart on the line
yes of course you still miss her.
she won't be coming back ever
and the finality is just brutal
for your love didn't just stop
when she did, when she died
you love her still I can tell
and telling you that you're OK
that these things take some time
when you say it's now three years.
It doesn't seem that long ago
since holding that frail hand
talking of hopeful things as if
but she went along with it too
easing us into the idea of it
of a time ahead without her here
and here we are still missing her
holding back tears until later
sparing each other that sight
Or we would've except we didn't
seeing the fullness in your eyes
and taking your hand we leave
to walk under the trees nearby
a few minutes away from everyone
moments to honour her memory
a much loved friend, a dead wife
a wonderful remarkable woman
who did the impossible it seems.
She it was took your broken heart
and made it completely whole again
healed a wound so deep inside you
that few were trusted to know of it
her kindness was really your undoing
for there was such fire in her too
she was the real deal that one
a mender, a giver, a taker too
until she herself was taken away.
Leaving you with such emptiness
with plodding through dull days
in turn marking time, waiting
without really knowing in any sense
what it is you're waiting for
you can't readily describe it
the daily realisation of absense
of others togetherness all around
where now even hand holding hurts.
If I could impart healing I would
I would recall her from death
re-instate her into all our lives
but especially yours, I miss her
but my heart doesn't break
at each awakening, each new day
this grief is hard to express
when people keep inferring somehow
you should've gotten over it by now.
Some people move on quicker I guess
but surely it's individual
reliant on so many factors
to have waited so long to trust
never believing it would happen
not trusting at first even then
even with her standing there
putting her heart on the line
yes of course you still miss her.
a nap
So what is going on right now then
thoughts are whirring through my head
rock's blaring from the sound system
the wine is open, husband's passed out
looking like an old man lying there
on our very ancient faded blue sofa.
I'm looking at a video of The Band
they're looking very young, very fit
if you know what I mean by that
thin scarf jauntily hung from his neck
cigarette hanging from his lip
he talks of stealing food of starving.
Of strolling on into a Wallmart somewhere
and stuffing sausages into his pocket
and walking back out with bread rolls
to make an impromptu picnic there
in the back of some rickety old bus
in an anonymous car park in the USA.
Touring might seem quite glamorous
until you've been starving out there
far from home, living on the dream
trying to break into the industry
making a big name for yourselves
becoming the famous ones some day.
But don't you sense the emptiness
the lack of a true grounding
like something has passed them by
a meaning that remains elusive
a feeling there's something missing
the core of what this is all about.
It's a circular argument, a recursion
a dream within a dream, a wish perhaps
a hope to hang on to in bleak times
an acknowledgement of the void
but hope springs eternal, and youth
which seems everlasting at the time.
But which is in fact so ephemeral
temporarily granted to the almost mature
until wisdom can overtake us with age
it tells us what exactly, that we're old
a glance in the mirror is sufficient
a look at my gentle man confirms it.
And that's what makes me smile again
the lines on his face speaking to me
of our history, of our shared past
for these lines are something we share
they came upon us whilst we were together
binding us in a shared remembering.
When you wake eventually you look for me
I am your anchor in life's stormy seas
and you are too, well you are for me
I say hello my love don't worry I'm here
and smiling into your face so familiar
my kind gentle man who's still young to me.
thoughts are whirring through my head
rock's blaring from the sound system
the wine is open, husband's passed out
looking like an old man lying there
on our very ancient faded blue sofa.
I'm looking at a video of The Band
they're looking very young, very fit
if you know what I mean by that
thin scarf jauntily hung from his neck
cigarette hanging from his lip
he talks of stealing food of starving.
Of strolling on into a Wallmart somewhere
and stuffing sausages into his pocket
and walking back out with bread rolls
to make an impromptu picnic there
in the back of some rickety old bus
in an anonymous car park in the USA.
Touring might seem quite glamorous
until you've been starving out there
far from home, living on the dream
trying to break into the industry
making a big name for yourselves
becoming the famous ones some day.
But don't you sense the emptiness
the lack of a true grounding
like something has passed them by
a meaning that remains elusive
a feeling there's something missing
the core of what this is all about.
It's a circular argument, a recursion
a dream within a dream, a wish perhaps
a hope to hang on to in bleak times
an acknowledgement of the void
but hope springs eternal, and youth
which seems everlasting at the time.
But which is in fact so ephemeral
temporarily granted to the almost mature
until wisdom can overtake us with age
it tells us what exactly, that we're old
a glance in the mirror is sufficient
a look at my gentle man confirms it.
And that's what makes me smile again
the lines on his face speaking to me
of our history, of our shared past
for these lines are something we share
they came upon us whilst we were together
binding us in a shared remembering.
When you wake eventually you look for me
I am your anchor in life's stormy seas
and you are too, well you are for me
I say hello my love don't worry I'm here
and smiling into your face so familiar
my kind gentle man who's still young to me.
time off
I'm looking at four days off
four days to fill with what
with waking in silence again
walking through each day alone
finding things to do without you.
Four days is enough time isn't it
enough to do something useful
must try to decide now though
before I'm totally overtaken
by all the gloom at home with you.
It's been a while since I played
well anything at all really
might try that beautiful Satie piece
fill the void with melodies
talk to myself through the notes.
I should be glad of the time off
all around me are happy people
anticipating their own festivities
I'll be coming home to silence
a slipping back again from you.
But not this afternoon at least
for I've eggs to dip in chocolate
boys who would happily dip in there too
smearing fingerprints everywhere
licking, laughing, kind of helping.
No not kind of, actually helping
really and truly keeping me sane
offering solace without even knowing it
accepting that I'm here again
so let's have some fun then auntie.
I have sources of joy in my life
it's just I keep on forgetting
getting caught up in the negative spiral
when all the turning I need to do
is just away from myself for a bit.
four days to fill with what
with waking in silence again
walking through each day alone
finding things to do without you.
Four days is enough time isn't it
enough to do something useful
must try to decide now though
before I'm totally overtaken
by all the gloom at home with you.
It's been a while since I played
well anything at all really
might try that beautiful Satie piece
fill the void with melodies
talk to myself through the notes.
I should be glad of the time off
all around me are happy people
anticipating their own festivities
I'll be coming home to silence
a slipping back again from you.
But not this afternoon at least
for I've eggs to dip in chocolate
boys who would happily dip in there too
smearing fingerprints everywhere
licking, laughing, kind of helping.
No not kind of, actually helping
really and truly keeping me sane
offering solace without even knowing it
accepting that I'm here again
so let's have some fun then auntie.
I have sources of joy in my life
it's just I keep on forgetting
getting caught up in the negative spiral
when all the turning I need to do
is just away from myself for a bit.
a call
And then like a bolt out of the blue you call me
as if everything wasn't finished that last time
I'm pretty sure I made myself abundantly clear
are there so many ways to understand a word
a word as simple as no, not in a million years.
Your voice on the phone betrays that you know
that this is not what we agreed, nothing like it
and yet you think you can persuade me now
that the passage of time will have softened me
how little you know, and how much you took.
You took someone I love better than own my life
then over years you belittled and betrayed her
took the shining optimism, the strength, the joy
and snuffed it out through your need to control
and giving her a daughter wasn't fair exchange.
Although by extension as I love the mother so too
do I love the daughter, she who holds the spirit
of the mother I once knew, and will once again
for the damage is not as deep as first it seemed
she has an unquenchable light, a fighters heart.
I listen to your voice as you attempt to find words
that will break down the wall of silence I put up
But I'm not my sister, I feel no compulsion to reply
to waste breath, to waste emotional energy on you
your threats have no impact, little meaning to me.
For I haven't been subject to many years of you
leaning on me, dragging me down, pulling me under
you have this insistence that you are the victim
that this is all a misinterpretation of your needs
don't you get it? Your needs mean nothing to me.
Let me make it plain. I have no time for you
I have no intention of ever meeting with you
the day you left our lives was a happy one for me
the only sadness was on the face of your girl
who is very much her own person now, not yours.
You throw her well-being at me like a weapon
knowing that my commitment to her lasts
remember when you failed her I stepped in
for love and stability are far more important
than any rights you demanded in exchange.
I'm not interested in helping you re-establish
a foothold in their lives, not despite you, no
but because the potential for harm is so real
so very present still, I can hear it in your voice
that edge of command, of violence, good-bye.
as if everything wasn't finished that last time
I'm pretty sure I made myself abundantly clear
are there so many ways to understand a word
a word as simple as no, not in a million years.
Your voice on the phone betrays that you know
that this is not what we agreed, nothing like it
and yet you think you can persuade me now
that the passage of time will have softened me
how little you know, and how much you took.
You took someone I love better than own my life
then over years you belittled and betrayed her
took the shining optimism, the strength, the joy
and snuffed it out through your need to control
and giving her a daughter wasn't fair exchange.
Although by extension as I love the mother so too
do I love the daughter, she who holds the spirit
of the mother I once knew, and will once again
for the damage is not as deep as first it seemed
she has an unquenchable light, a fighters heart.
I listen to your voice as you attempt to find words
that will break down the wall of silence I put up
But I'm not my sister, I feel no compulsion to reply
to waste breath, to waste emotional energy on you
your threats have no impact, little meaning to me.
For I haven't been subject to many years of you
leaning on me, dragging me down, pulling me under
you have this insistence that you are the victim
that this is all a misinterpretation of your needs
don't you get it? Your needs mean nothing to me.
Let me make it plain. I have no time for you
I have no intention of ever meeting with you
the day you left our lives was a happy one for me
the only sadness was on the face of your girl
who is very much her own person now, not yours.
You throw her well-being at me like a weapon
knowing that my commitment to her lasts
remember when you failed her I stepped in
for love and stability are far more important
than any rights you demanded in exchange.
I'm not interested in helping you re-establish
a foothold in their lives, not despite you, no
but because the potential for harm is so real
so very present still, I can hear it in your voice
that edge of command, of violence, good-bye.
a work day episode
People are looking puzzled when speaking to me
and I know what it is, I sense my withdrawal
from my sense of then re-connecting with now
but I feel this crushing anxiety building up
awful shaking, images start gearing up so I leave
and rushing down the corridor I get to the Ladies.
I lock myself into a cubicle shaking, weeping
hoping that I am alone for I forget to check
in my rush for privacy how stupid that was of me
but he's here inside my head doing those things
I can feel it happening even whilst I wrestle
to get back to the present, back to right now.
I remember what I was taught so I try to breathe
I try to keep the breath coming in and out, and in
calming, quietening my panic, the shaking subsides
and as I quieten and listen I realise I'm alone
it's OK no-one is there, so few women here anyway
I wonder how to go back to the meeting after this.
As it's all men I could says it's ladies problems
a handy excuse I have never yet found a use for
but the teasing would be unbearable after that
it's the same for anything making them uncomfortable
bloody women I hear them mutter, silly, stupid cow
all lads together then, it's to be expected I suppose.
It's the least of my worries really but offers focus
a distraction from the aftermath of another episode
Breathing, must remember breathing, start that earlier
I can feel the tension lessening the fear receding
time to get a grip, to face the music once again
smiling is so hard to do some days don't you find?
and I know what it is, I sense my withdrawal
from my sense of then re-connecting with now
but I feel this crushing anxiety building up
awful shaking, images start gearing up so I leave
and rushing down the corridor I get to the Ladies.
I lock myself into a cubicle shaking, weeping
hoping that I am alone for I forget to check
in my rush for privacy how stupid that was of me
but he's here inside my head doing those things
I can feel it happening even whilst I wrestle
to get back to the present, back to right now.
I remember what I was taught so I try to breathe
I try to keep the breath coming in and out, and in
calming, quietening my panic, the shaking subsides
and as I quieten and listen I realise I'm alone
it's OK no-one is there, so few women here anyway
I wonder how to go back to the meeting after this.
As it's all men I could says it's ladies problems
a handy excuse I have never yet found a use for
but the teasing would be unbearable after that
it's the same for anything making them uncomfortable
bloody women I hear them mutter, silly, stupid cow
all lads together then, it's to be expected I suppose.
It's the least of my worries really but offers focus
a distraction from the aftermath of another episode
Breathing, must remember breathing, start that earlier
I can feel the tension lessening the fear receding
time to get a grip, to face the music once again
smiling is so hard to do some days don't you find?
hurt
Do you think one can really heal from deep hurt
in which case what form does true healing take
is it possible to make whole what was broken,
because when a person breaks it's on the inside
although there are sometimes outward signs too
if you know where to look ... or rather how to.
Talking to you about this some time ago now
I remember thinking that you would turn away
that such pain is too difficult to respond to
and yet you used such simple language
knew the word hurt would be easier to cope with
much gentler and yet still contains the core of it.
Hurt is exactly the word a child uses, I used it
and looking back I see that it was too gentle
"he hurt me" could be anything from a scratch
to what it was instead, which was so much more
and that hurt was planted deep into my soul
so deep that trying now to dig it out hurts too.
If I leave it instead, will it eventually heal over
is this digging perhaps the wrong thing to do
let sleeping dogs lie, forget, put it behind me
except I keep turning around and there it is
it doesn't go away through simply ignoring it
it roars back into my dreams day and night.
It robs me of a sense of myself here and now
drags me back there over and over again
and breathing can only do so much to help
it calms me, it gives me space to hold myself
reminding me that I am here and not there
which sounds stupid until you've been there.
Sleep, oh god elusive rest free from all this
but sleep brings tossing and thrashing about
upsetting my gentle man who doesn't understand
that nightmares are not only for children
but for people re-visiting long ago haunts
where monsters lurk and do such dark deeds.
This won't last of course, it will ease again
the intensity and frequency will gradually fade
it will once again form the background hum
like white noise machines found in some places
where normally you can just ignore them except
once you notice, the hum seems like a roar.
And mostly that has been what it's like
an ever present hum in the back of my mind
a knowledge that this isn't going away ever
so an accomodation must somehow be made
a way of living and knowing but still living
a way of knowing and yet it being OK to know.
You ask why I can't just forget about all this
why cling to the past with such determination
and it shocks me to think that you might be right
that this is my doing, or perhaps my undoing
that I am actually causing this hurt to myself
by not disciplining myself to focus elsewhere.
And you know, you may just have a point there
there may be an element of self inflicted harm
of failing to do more to heal myself and move on
yes that might indeed be true and I'll take time
to think about that, see if I can bear to believe it
see if it holds the key to some final resolution.
in which case what form does true healing take
is it possible to make whole what was broken,
because when a person breaks it's on the inside
although there are sometimes outward signs too
if you know where to look ... or rather how to.
Talking to you about this some time ago now
I remember thinking that you would turn away
that such pain is too difficult to respond to
and yet you used such simple language
knew the word hurt would be easier to cope with
much gentler and yet still contains the core of it.
Hurt is exactly the word a child uses, I used it
and looking back I see that it was too gentle
"he hurt me" could be anything from a scratch
to what it was instead, which was so much more
and that hurt was planted deep into my soul
so deep that trying now to dig it out hurts too.
If I leave it instead, will it eventually heal over
is this digging perhaps the wrong thing to do
let sleeping dogs lie, forget, put it behind me
except I keep turning around and there it is
it doesn't go away through simply ignoring it
it roars back into my dreams day and night.
It robs me of a sense of myself here and now
drags me back there over and over again
and breathing can only do so much to help
it calms me, it gives me space to hold myself
reminding me that I am here and not there
which sounds stupid until you've been there.
Sleep, oh god elusive rest free from all this
but sleep brings tossing and thrashing about
upsetting my gentle man who doesn't understand
that nightmares are not only for children
but for people re-visiting long ago haunts
where monsters lurk and do such dark deeds.
This won't last of course, it will ease again
the intensity and frequency will gradually fade
it will once again form the background hum
like white noise machines found in some places
where normally you can just ignore them except
once you notice, the hum seems like a roar.
And mostly that has been what it's like
an ever present hum in the back of my mind
a knowledge that this isn't going away ever
so an accomodation must somehow be made
a way of living and knowing but still living
a way of knowing and yet it being OK to know.
You ask why I can't just forget about all this
why cling to the past with such determination
and it shocks me to think that you might be right
that this is my doing, or perhaps my undoing
that I am actually causing this hurt to myself
by not disciplining myself to focus elsewhere.
And you know, you may just have a point there
there may be an element of self inflicted harm
of failing to do more to heal myself and move on
yes that might indeed be true and I'll take time
to think about that, see if I can bear to believe it
see if it holds the key to some final resolution.
The dollhouse maker
I like what you said ... about peering into my soul
it brings us even closer in a way don't you think?
the fact that there are many things only we know
trust between us is absolute, a thing I depend upon.
I remember you saying about being a listening angel
and about wanting to be the same thing for me too.
Do you not still trust in the depth of that feeling
do you think the distance makes so much difference
was it not that very distance that helped us at first
to open our hearts, to take such incredible risks
and who could have ever foreseen the consequences
the discovery of such compassion, a kindred spirit.
Which brings me to your most recent letter my friend
and those first few lines, which spoke from your heart
well they tore at me, woke me up, made me think of you
and of our abiding trust, our willingness to say truths
that might be hard to do with anyone else, but not you
for you are brave enough to make yourself vulnerable.
You showed me how to do this, you pointed out the way
and I love you for it, as I do for so many other things
and I feel the same as I did all along, nothing's changed
you are still someone I'd trust with my deepest fears
you are still someone I escape to too, my dear friend
a friend in the midst of all this faceless internet age.
I read our early outpourings too. I see your heart there
I see the person you were and are and still yet will be
and I see how friendships based on such knowledge
can never fade, despite the lengthening intervals
between our letters. Never fear, should you need me
I'll always strive to be here. A listening angel again.
I don't know how set a value on what we share
I don't think there is a scale to which I can compare
and the beauty is that this carries on through life
I know you are there, know too that I am always here
and that one of these days, I might even be there
to have a good look at that new dollhouse of yours.
it brings us even closer in a way don't you think?
the fact that there are many things only we know
trust between us is absolute, a thing I depend upon.
I remember you saying about being a listening angel
and about wanting to be the same thing for me too.
Do you not still trust in the depth of that feeling
do you think the distance makes so much difference
was it not that very distance that helped us at first
to open our hearts, to take such incredible risks
and who could have ever foreseen the consequences
the discovery of such compassion, a kindred spirit.
Which brings me to your most recent letter my friend
and those first few lines, which spoke from your heart
well they tore at me, woke me up, made me think of you
and of our abiding trust, our willingness to say truths
that might be hard to do with anyone else, but not you
for you are brave enough to make yourself vulnerable.
You showed me how to do this, you pointed out the way
and I love you for it, as I do for so many other things
and I feel the same as I did all along, nothing's changed
you are still someone I'd trust with my deepest fears
you are still someone I escape to too, my dear friend
a friend in the midst of all this faceless internet age.
I read our early outpourings too. I see your heart there
I see the person you were and are and still yet will be
and I see how friendships based on such knowledge
can never fade, despite the lengthening intervals
between our letters. Never fear, should you need me
I'll always strive to be here. A listening angel again.
I don't know how set a value on what we share
I don't think there is a scale to which I can compare
and the beauty is that this carries on through life
I know you are there, know too that I am always here
and that one of these days, I might even be there
to have a good look at that new dollhouse of yours.
you know
The words you wrote are just perfect
they say as much as any gift, more
for you send your thoughts and wishes
and you put yourself inside my head
seeing the strange mixture of emotions
feeling the fleeting elation, the dark edge.
Your words are there when I wake up
right there when dark thoughts descend
reminding me of the value of friendship
of your kind thoughtfulness and care
filling myself with breath like you said
and out with the darkness, until it's gone.
And you know, I think there will be
a time coming when the dark thoughts
recede and are put back in that box
it will be just as you said, thank you
well for everything really, your time
your listening ear, your huge heart.
We laugh a lot we two and I love that
the freedom to giggle and to be silly
to lark about and still be comfortable
so sometimes I might forget to tell you
just how bloody marvelous you truly are
I'll shuffle, look at my feet, but you know.
they say as much as any gift, more
for you send your thoughts and wishes
and you put yourself inside my head
seeing the strange mixture of emotions
feeling the fleeting elation, the dark edge.
Your words are there when I wake up
right there when dark thoughts descend
reminding me of the value of friendship
of your kind thoughtfulness and care
filling myself with breath like you said
and out with the darkness, until it's gone.
And you know, I think there will be
a time coming when the dark thoughts
recede and are put back in that box
it will be just as you said, thank you
well for everything really, your time
your listening ear, your huge heart.
We laugh a lot we two and I love that
the freedom to giggle and to be silly
to lark about and still be comfortable
so sometimes I might forget to tell you
just how bloody marvelous you truly are
I'll shuffle, look at my feet, but you know.
making a start
April has just got to be my favourite month here in England
there is beauty everywhere you look, oh, and the coloursthere's the freshest, the most delicate green of new leaves
just bursting from the buds of the willow tree by the riverand the quince, my word have you ever see the like of it
it's blossom petals are a colour I've no descriptive word for.I went for a walk at lunchtime, time to get outside for a bit
time to breathe fresh air and walk thinking my thoughtsand looking, looking, there's so much to be seen by looking
and it helps when I'm trying to stay in the here and nowwhich besides anything else is a great way to spend a day
as spring time is when fresh starts abound all around me.I look at colour swatches here at work as it's Friday afternoon
and skiving seems the only thing to do, a way to kick backat the new Draconian regime of buzzers and clock watching
the colour nearest to it that I could find is called Carmine Redso I take this colour and spread it about all over my memory
and it totally matches the beautiful flowers on the quince tree.If I am not going to drown then I will have to learn to swim
I will have to learn to keep holding myself together regardlesswell regardless of anything really, for drowning is no answer
and too many years have been wasted to that pursuit alreadymaybe if I keep acting whole it will make it happen some day
and I will look back and remember that I started in this way.Well you never know do you I guess anything is worth a go
do you believe at all in the power of prayer, or is it chance
design, destiny, are deep truths contained in simple words
how simple is love, hope, faith ... as simple as fear, hurt, hate?
Somehow dark words resonate and that will have to change
If I have to choose one bright word, only one, it'll be HOPE.
stay here
Can I talk about this rage? Can I find some way?
can I speak with any kind of coherence on this?
that's where writing helps, you can't really shout
it's a safe way of emptying out, but it seems so slow
which is probably good for really what's the rush
it's not like we haven't been living with this forever.
I guess it might sound pretty stupid, well it does
but it is the unfairness which still really gets to me
the fact that someone without even a by your leave
can take something irreplaceable and just crush it
just stomp on it and tear up our precious innocence
which can't then be mended, can't be re-made whole.
I look over my brothers life and see destruction
I look over mine and see quite a lot of that too
and that's not right, that something that happened
so long ago should define much of the here and now
I can't let that be, well, I can't let it be for me
I'd like to help, but I must heal further first to see.
If I can heal further, start seeing a way through
then I can take steps by showing this way to you
and then maybe we'll both make some progress
both have a hope for the future without this stuff
it seems to me that we've spent time enough now
healing can start through acceptance I've heard.
Accepting the things you can't change is the key
letting it go, I mean really letting it just rest and be
turning your mind and staying here in the present
where there is life, love, such rich fullness to be had
and if we ever feel that dark sadness creeping back
we can turn away, we can look at what is right here.
These pictures and sensations they aren't even real
they're memories, so if we keep telling ourselves that
and reminding ourselves just how safe we are now
our little me's can be protected by our adult selves
little me's need never again feel that old pain and fear
our adult selves can keep them safe, keep them here.
The present is a guard, a protection against the past
learning to stay grounded here will help us heal
and that's what I wanted to say to you, forget rage
forget trying to change what cannot be in any way
if I go first will you follow, will you allow me to be
finally someone who can be part of both of us healing.
can I speak with any kind of coherence on this?
that's where writing helps, you can't really shout
it's a safe way of emptying out, but it seems so slow
which is probably good for really what's the rush
it's not like we haven't been living with this forever.
I guess it might sound pretty stupid, well it does
but it is the unfairness which still really gets to me
the fact that someone without even a by your leave
can take something irreplaceable and just crush it
just stomp on it and tear up our precious innocence
which can't then be mended, can't be re-made whole.
I look over my brothers life and see destruction
I look over mine and see quite a lot of that too
and that's not right, that something that happened
so long ago should define much of the here and now
I can't let that be, well, I can't let it be for me
I'd like to help, but I must heal further first to see.
If I can heal further, start seeing a way through
then I can take steps by showing this way to you
and then maybe we'll both make some progress
both have a hope for the future without this stuff
it seems to me that we've spent time enough now
healing can start through acceptance I've heard.
Accepting the things you can't change is the key
letting it go, I mean really letting it just rest and be
turning your mind and staying here in the present
where there is life, love, such rich fullness to be had
and if we ever feel that dark sadness creeping back
we can turn away, we can look at what is right here.
These pictures and sensations they aren't even real
they're memories, so if we keep telling ourselves that
and reminding ourselves just how safe we are now
our little me's can be protected by our adult selves
little me's need never again feel that old pain and fear
our adult selves can keep them safe, keep them here.
The present is a guard, a protection against the past
learning to stay grounded here will help us heal
and that's what I wanted to say to you, forget rage
forget trying to change what cannot be in any way
if I go first will you follow, will you allow me to be
finally someone who can be part of both of us healing.
what was lost
It's something that's not supposed to ever be said isn't it
it's taboo but I am so glad that the bastard is finally dead
even so, so he is, and yet the finality of it hasn't really hit me
it's like I'm sitting here waiting for something more than it will be
I guess I'm still wishing, hoping for some way to truly break free
to leave behind what he did to us in the dust of old redundant memory.
There's something about living a life that's not quite complete
and I know there's loads and loads of people in the same boat as me
I'm forever coming across these souls in almost unbelievable pain
which sometimes makes me feel a bit like I've no right to feel this way
and yet the problem with pain is there's no measure of it and so anyway
even if my pain is really worse or not worse what difference does it make?
It makes a difference only if we compare, do we really want to go there
no me neither, I've been there already and it doesn't help either
it's tough to empty out this kind of thing, like bailing in a boat
to stop it from sinking and however frantic the effort, water rises
and feelings are so like that they wash over and they seep underneath
the guard we put up, the face we put on, the ready reply when we lie.
It's tiring too, it's exhausting to have this continual backdrop
this background movie running on through your mind, whirring whirring
waiting for your attention to swing in it's direction for when it does
the volume goes up the colours sharpen it's a smellivision feelathon
a trip down memory lane with full colour graphics, full on sensation
if you could sell this but without the experience, an instant fortune.
There's a shopping list of possible cures, some aren't that expensive
there's talking talking talking, there's shocks, there's drugs, time
there's always time isn't there? Except how much more will I need
for I'd like to have some left over, some left where I can just be me
whoever that might be, I wonder what sort of person I would be now
well I'll never find out, for the past is over with, it's gone anyhow.
I'm glad that he's dead, I wish it had been sooner, much much sooner
for now I can sense the wasted years in a way that I didn't before
too caught up in just getting by just trying to live some sort of life
not hoping for freedom, well that's not quite true for I was hoping
just never believing, never anticipating, which turns out to be good
because the person I turned out to be is fine, but I'd like to be free.
I'd like back what he took, and yet somehow I couldn't quite define it
until I read a story about a scary bad man who stole a boys childhood
and that's what happened, that's exactly how it was, what was taken
which can't now be given back, anyway what use is it now to an adult
or at least so I tell myself as there's really no point in wishing
for what can never be, I can't travel back and reclaim what was lost.
it's taboo but I am so glad that the bastard is finally dead
even so, so he is, and yet the finality of it hasn't really hit me
it's like I'm sitting here waiting for something more than it will be
I guess I'm still wishing, hoping for some way to truly break free
to leave behind what he did to us in the dust of old redundant memory.
There's something about living a life that's not quite complete
and I know there's loads and loads of people in the same boat as me
I'm forever coming across these souls in almost unbelievable pain
which sometimes makes me feel a bit like I've no right to feel this way
and yet the problem with pain is there's no measure of it and so anyway
even if my pain is really worse or not worse what difference does it make?
It makes a difference only if we compare, do we really want to go there
no me neither, I've been there already and it doesn't help either
it's tough to empty out this kind of thing, like bailing in a boat
to stop it from sinking and however frantic the effort, water rises
and feelings are so like that they wash over and they seep underneath
the guard we put up, the face we put on, the ready reply when we lie.
It's tiring too, it's exhausting to have this continual backdrop
this background movie running on through your mind, whirring whirring
waiting for your attention to swing in it's direction for when it does
the volume goes up the colours sharpen it's a smellivision feelathon
a trip down memory lane with full colour graphics, full on sensation
if you could sell this but without the experience, an instant fortune.
There's a shopping list of possible cures, some aren't that expensive
there's talking talking talking, there's shocks, there's drugs, time
there's always time isn't there? Except how much more will I need
for I'd like to have some left over, some left where I can just be me
whoever that might be, I wonder what sort of person I would be now
well I'll never find out, for the past is over with, it's gone anyhow.
I'm glad that he's dead, I wish it had been sooner, much much sooner
for now I can sense the wasted years in a way that I didn't before
too caught up in just getting by just trying to live some sort of life
not hoping for freedom, well that's not quite true for I was hoping
just never believing, never anticipating, which turns out to be good
because the person I turned out to be is fine, but I'd like to be free.
I'd like back what he took, and yet somehow I couldn't quite define it
until I read a story about a scary bad man who stole a boys childhood
and that's what happened, that's exactly how it was, what was taken
which can't now be given back, anyway what use is it now to an adult
or at least so I tell myself as there's really no point in wishing
for what can never be, I can't travel back and reclaim what was lost.
Gone
The monster man breathed his last and now he is gone
he had a nice long life, a mostly peaceful time in death
but he is still gone, he is no more, so, now am I free
can I find a way to break down what he did and rebuild
but without what he did, no of course I can't do that
nothing at all about the past can be changed as such
only the way I look at it, only in the way I look away.
It doesn't matter how bloody unfair any of this is really
it doesn't change the facts, nor any of the damage done
it doesn't alter the memories, the pain, the fear, the hurt
it changes nothing except he is no more now he's gone
so can I now laugh and sing that the monster man's dead
shall I twirl madly with exhuberant joy, howl at the moon
if I do will it make any difference, no, I don't think so.
See the monster man was already dead a long time ago
he just lived in my memory, and not even the monster I knew
because I am no longer the little girl I was way back then
my memory was faulty, although I didn't realise this was so
he seemed big because I was looking at him with her eyes
I was too little to feel anything but the hurt, fear and pain
and if I looked at the monster man right now what would I see?
I'd see a small dead man, shrivelled and grey. A tiny man
dressed in his sunday best surrounded by shiny blue satin
with cracked shoes, neck tie, would he still have his teeth in
and would they still hurt ... see that is the problem right there
thinking about the monster man brings pictures and flashes
of being there all over again, of feeling him and seeing him
of wanting to run away, but wanting too to stay for my brother.
Anger, rage and grief, how to explain these powerful emotions
it feels like inky black darkness, with strobe lightening strikes
like sinking into a nothingness, a faded separate foggy place
feeling weak, alone, helpless, frightened, yet muted, dull
and trying to forget doesn't work, these images, sensations
they ambush you and drag you off at barely a moments notice
to where the back catalogue of re-runs are continually looped.
I want to go and dance there on top of your monster man grave
I want to dig you up, to open the lid and spit on your familiar face
I want to show you what real men look like, they look like mine
real men do not take very small children for their own pleasure
only monster men do things like that, only inadequate men like you
but you're gone now aren't you, you've escaped through death
and on the other side is a darkness to match your own dark soul.
he had a nice long life, a mostly peaceful time in death
but he is still gone, he is no more, so, now am I free
can I find a way to break down what he did and rebuild
but without what he did, no of course I can't do that
nothing at all about the past can be changed as such
only the way I look at it, only in the way I look away.
It doesn't matter how bloody unfair any of this is really
it doesn't change the facts, nor any of the damage done
it doesn't alter the memories, the pain, the fear, the hurt
it changes nothing except he is no more now he's gone
so can I now laugh and sing that the monster man's dead
shall I twirl madly with exhuberant joy, howl at the moon
if I do will it make any difference, no, I don't think so.
See the monster man was already dead a long time ago
he just lived in my memory, and not even the monster I knew
because I am no longer the little girl I was way back then
my memory was faulty, although I didn't realise this was so
he seemed big because I was looking at him with her eyes
I was too little to feel anything but the hurt, fear and pain
and if I looked at the monster man right now what would I see?
I'd see a small dead man, shrivelled and grey. A tiny man
dressed in his sunday best surrounded by shiny blue satin
with cracked shoes, neck tie, would he still have his teeth in
and would they still hurt ... see that is the problem right there
thinking about the monster man brings pictures and flashes
of being there all over again, of feeling him and seeing him
of wanting to run away, but wanting too to stay for my brother.
Anger, rage and grief, how to explain these powerful emotions
it feels like inky black darkness, with strobe lightening strikes
like sinking into a nothingness, a faded separate foggy place
feeling weak, alone, helpless, frightened, yet muted, dull
and trying to forget doesn't work, these images, sensations
they ambush you and drag you off at barely a moments notice
to where the back catalogue of re-runs are continually looped.
I want to go and dance there on top of your monster man grave
I want to dig you up, to open the lid and spit on your familiar face
I want to show you what real men look like, they look like mine
real men do not take very small children for their own pleasure
only monster men do things like that, only inadequate men like you
but you're gone now aren't you, you've escaped through death
and on the other side is a darkness to match your own dark soul.
the deer, the spider and the robin
A deer was in the garden this morning, eating, browsing
completely unaware of me gazing out from the kitchen door
this isn't my garden but his .. hers ... his ... who knows
what I do know is that we don't own outdoor space at all
and even indoor space is shared much more than we imagine
as with the very large spider who lives behind my toilet
giving me the heebie jeebies when I get up nightly for a pee.
I have to stay very quiet on the subject of spiders round here
for if the existence were to be discovered death would follow
my secret spider is doing no harm at all, I quite like it there
except when I can't see it in the middle of the night
and sit there thinking it might creep up my leg any second
which just adds that frisson of tension to what is ordinary
and I thought about giving it a name but that's a step too far.
But I share my space willingly and happily for this is not mine
my castle remains on the inside where sharing is not required
but it adds to the richness of life if I do, so I do that too
but there remains the question of whose garden it truly is
and there I'd have to vote for the robin who lives on edge of it
and daily sometimes hourly makes the flight to perch by the door
to look at me standing there and to remind me that this is his.
completely unaware of me gazing out from the kitchen door
this isn't my garden but his .. hers ... his ... who knows
what I do know is that we don't own outdoor space at all
and even indoor space is shared much more than we imagine
as with the very large spider who lives behind my toilet
giving me the heebie jeebies when I get up nightly for a pee.
I have to stay very quiet on the subject of spiders round here
for if the existence were to be discovered death would follow
my secret spider is doing no harm at all, I quite like it there
except when I can't see it in the middle of the night
and sit there thinking it might creep up my leg any second
which just adds that frisson of tension to what is ordinary
and I thought about giving it a name but that's a step too far.
But I share my space willingly and happily for this is not mine
my castle remains on the inside where sharing is not required
but it adds to the richness of life if I do, so I do that too
but there remains the question of whose garden it truly is
and there I'd have to vote for the robin who lives on edge of it
and daily sometimes hourly makes the flight to perch by the door
to look at me standing there and to remind me that this is his.
thinking
I know it scares you this thinking bizzo
I know that you don't really want to know
and yet without thought only instinct prevails
are our guts so infallible do you think?
Do you think that we really don't need thought
that it's a pointless exercise in introspection
that we're better off not knowing the truth
which is what exactly, I feel your frustration
Which I share for I want to know too, I do
and yet even if you do suspect I somehow know
I won't let on in case I might be so very wrong
how disappointed will we both be should that be?
So I offer you yet more limpid platitudes
and wait here on the freezing sidelines to see
if you will take the plunge and let yourself be
a person who finally connects to their self within
Which I know is scary and not at all what you want
but healing takes so many forms that we don't expect
like learning we are who we are and yet we're still OK
and that we're lovable even though we're made that way
So although some resolution must yet still be made
we can take comfort in the knowledge that this will be
and even if it's not expected we can somehow yet find
a way to explore it and still arrive at peace of mind.
And isn't that really the point of all this wondering
to arrive at some conclusion however disconcerting
that we really are all right no matter how we appear
that we're OK as people despite how we aspire to be.
This journey we're on may have so many stages and yet
I don't feel so lonely and I'm hoping you feel it too
that however difficult these revelations might yet be
that it's not a foreign land, this is still just you and me.
I know that you don't really want to know
and yet without thought only instinct prevails
are our guts so infallible do you think?
Do you think that we really don't need thought
that it's a pointless exercise in introspection
that we're better off not knowing the truth
which is what exactly, I feel your frustration
Which I share for I want to know too, I do
and yet even if you do suspect I somehow know
I won't let on in case I might be so very wrong
how disappointed will we both be should that be?
So I offer you yet more limpid platitudes
and wait here on the freezing sidelines to see
if you will take the plunge and let yourself be
a person who finally connects to their self within
Which I know is scary and not at all what you want
but healing takes so many forms that we don't expect
like learning we are who we are and yet we're still OK
and that we're lovable even though we're made that way
So although some resolution must yet still be made
we can take comfort in the knowledge that this will be
and even if it's not expected we can somehow yet find
a way to explore it and still arrive at peace of mind.
And isn't that really the point of all this wondering
to arrive at some conclusion however disconcerting
that we really are all right no matter how we appear
that we're OK as people despite how we aspire to be.
This journey we're on may have so many stages and yet
I don't feel so lonely and I'm hoping you feel it too
that however difficult these revelations might yet be
that it's not a foreign land, this is still just you and me.
a daydream
There must some way of truly drawing a picture with words
taking the person reading to a place they can actually see
and seeing, experiencing, almost finding themselves there
like how you get totally caught up in a movie sometimes
where you lose a part of yourself for just a short time
and take that part back at the end for it was only on loan.
It's the part of you that travels in daydreams perhaps
the wishing part, the whimsical, believing, searching part
the bit that wants things that can't be seen or touched
the piece of us that makes us more than who we seem to be
and that's the part of our heart we can take on this journey
so put aside your cynicism for a few moments if you can.
Sit with me in the gentle breeze and look out over the sea
the reef is close by to shore and so the breakers are clear
and near, and the sound is washing ebbing flowing crashing
overwhelmingly noisy and yet the power is in no way frightening
and there are no people here, just you and me, so there's no danger
and no risk of being over-run by our normal everyday concerns.
There is just breeze and sea, and you and me sitting on the shore
and all is calm to all intents ... but the clouds look ... see
the way they build and billow, bubbling up, storming the sky
the presence of the incoming storm need not alarm us though
you see we are here and not here all at the same time
this is the stuff of every day dreams and can take us any time.
taking the person reading to a place they can actually see
and seeing, experiencing, almost finding themselves there
like how you get totally caught up in a movie sometimes
where you lose a part of yourself for just a short time
and take that part back at the end for it was only on loan.
It's the part of you that travels in daydreams perhaps
the wishing part, the whimsical, believing, searching part
the bit that wants things that can't be seen or touched
the piece of us that makes us more than who we seem to be
and that's the part of our heart we can take on this journey
so put aside your cynicism for a few moments if you can.
Sit with me in the gentle breeze and look out over the sea
the reef is close by to shore and so the breakers are clear
and near, and the sound is washing ebbing flowing crashing
overwhelmingly noisy and yet the power is in no way frightening
and there are no people here, just you and me, so there's no danger
and no risk of being over-run by our normal everyday concerns.
There is just breeze and sea, and you and me sitting on the shore
and all is calm to all intents ... but the clouds look ... see
the way they build and billow, bubbling up, storming the sky
the presence of the incoming storm need not alarm us though
you see we are here and not here all at the same time
this is the stuff of every day dreams and can take us any time.
angels can be tall tales
I was reading the most beautiful poem earlier on today
It was about how angels fall which sounds about right
it seems that even angels might have feet made from clay
now that is something we don't often think about isn't it?
it reminded me of an incident from my irresponsible teens.
I travelled to a city 3 hours away to visit a good friend
but somehow we got our wires crossed and so he wasn't there
and having nowhere to sleep I headed out to a nearby farm
as I had some stupid notion that haystacks might be warm
They are damn prickly too, but still I lay down and I slept.
Waking in the morning I saw a man, obviously a traveller
who had arrived whilst I slept but who kept his distance
and who on seeing I was awake asked me if I had ever seen
my guardian angel who stood over me as tall as you like
and who warded me against the dangers of the dark night.
Which made me shiver and thank the man before I ran off
for he was not a small person and I was too scared to trust
but I remembered what he said, and told my friend about it
which almost made him crash the car, we skidded to a halt
and he turned and looked at me with a very odd expression.
He told me that he too had seen this strange apparition
some kind of shape, some ghostly presence nearby to me
and had always thought that it was just his imagination
which made me shiver all the more for I can't sense this
I can't see or feel it, I would love to catch a glimpse.
I wonder if we all have an angel in our lives, it may be
but what is it that allows some stranger and some friend
to see what I would so love to see but can't really believe
therein lies the problem maybe you have to believe to see
for an angel must have better things to do than to ward me.
There are people who believe, is it true only they can see
well seeing is believing, but believing without seeing ...
well that is the stuff of faith. And faith just isn't easy
believing on scant evidence might indeed be a fools game
after all one person's hallucination is anothers vision.
take a look ...http://slcpoems.blogspot.com/2009/03/angels-fall.html
It was about how angels fall which sounds about right
it seems that even angels might have feet made from clay
now that is something we don't often think about isn't it?
it reminded me of an incident from my irresponsible teens.
I travelled to a city 3 hours away to visit a good friend
but somehow we got our wires crossed and so he wasn't there
and having nowhere to sleep I headed out to a nearby farm
as I had some stupid notion that haystacks might be warm
They are damn prickly too, but still I lay down and I slept.
Waking in the morning I saw a man, obviously a traveller
who had arrived whilst I slept but who kept his distance
and who on seeing I was awake asked me if I had ever seen
my guardian angel who stood over me as tall as you like
and who warded me against the dangers of the dark night.
Which made me shiver and thank the man before I ran off
for he was not a small person and I was too scared to trust
but I remembered what he said, and told my friend about it
which almost made him crash the car, we skidded to a halt
and he turned and looked at me with a very odd expression.
He told me that he too had seen this strange apparition
some kind of shape, some ghostly presence nearby to me
and had always thought that it was just his imagination
which made me shiver all the more for I can't sense this
I can't see or feel it, I would love to catch a glimpse.
I wonder if we all have an angel in our lives, it may be
but what is it that allows some stranger and some friend
to see what I would so love to see but can't really believe
therein lies the problem maybe you have to believe to see
for an angel must have better things to do than to ward me.
There are people who believe, is it true only they can see
well seeing is believing, but believing without seeing ...
well that is the stuff of faith. And faith just isn't easy
believing on scant evidence might indeed be a fools game
after all one person's hallucination is anothers vision.
take a look ...http://slcpoems.blogspot.com/2009/03/angels-fall.html
a rock
I was thinking about you just now, pondering
remembering what we talked of last night
when the lights were low and the wine open
about how distant you sometimes feel from others
and particularly your family whom you so love
but yet somehow seem to keep yourself apart.
And I wondered about the fear the consumes us
that stops us from connecting with others
especially others we love and care about
maybe it's that care that stops us from venturing
into murky waters where hurt might be caused
so the fear perpetuates but someone must start.
I thought about the person who is most brave
in my family, the one who takes these hard risks
to connect and start conversations with meaning
and I realised that right now that person is me
which both suprised and depressed me in a way
for I have the least to give in so many ways.
You on the other hand have many gifts to share
although I suspect you're totally unaware of this
I ask about how it was that you were there
in the dark days with your father slowly fading
how you managed to convey to him through care
what you could never say out loud in words.
You see a separateness that may not in fact be
for the people around you may be totally aware
of your deep abiding commitment to them all
I suspect you are like a solid rock in their world
someone they always know they can rely on
so you are actually at the core of your family.
And this sense of separateness afflicts us all
although with some there is an even deeper despair
a longing to convey to those we love that we love
that we hold their hearts dear. Such simple words
such a simple message, can it be so difficult really
and you said no, not if you can bear to say it.
And what struck me then is how little you say
even after so many years of friendship between us
and it's always been OK that you don't say much
for when you do it makes for interesting conversation
and the fact is that what you do say has extra meaning
the ones you love love you too, I bet they listen.
remembering what we talked of last night
when the lights were low and the wine open
about how distant you sometimes feel from others
and particularly your family whom you so love
but yet somehow seem to keep yourself apart.
And I wondered about the fear the consumes us
that stops us from connecting with others
especially others we love and care about
maybe it's that care that stops us from venturing
into murky waters where hurt might be caused
so the fear perpetuates but someone must start.
I thought about the person who is most brave
in my family, the one who takes these hard risks
to connect and start conversations with meaning
and I realised that right now that person is me
which both suprised and depressed me in a way
for I have the least to give in so many ways.
You on the other hand have many gifts to share
although I suspect you're totally unaware of this
I ask about how it was that you were there
in the dark days with your father slowly fading
how you managed to convey to him through care
what you could never say out loud in words.
You see a separateness that may not in fact be
for the people around you may be totally aware
of your deep abiding commitment to them all
I suspect you are like a solid rock in their world
someone they always know they can rely on
so you are actually at the core of your family.
And this sense of separateness afflicts us all
although with some there is an even deeper despair
a longing to convey to those we love that we love
that we hold their hearts dear. Such simple words
such a simple message, can it be so difficult really
and you said no, not if you can bear to say it.
And what struck me then is how little you say
even after so many years of friendship between us
and it's always been OK that you don't say much
for when you do it makes for interesting conversation
and the fact is that what you do say has extra meaning
the ones you love love you too, I bet they listen.
light and shade
There's a duality in all of us to some degree isn't there
black and white, light and shade, laughter and tears
I've been thinking about the transition through grief
how to move on after all these years and lay to rest
things that happened to someone who is now no more
The person we were then is not the person we become
and learning to tell the two apart is part of this I hope
a separation and acceptance that the two are not the same
and a deeper realisation that nothing changes in our past
and no amount of willing or wishing can ever make it so
Closure I've heard it called and I guess it's what I'm after
just some peace from the general whirl something lasting
something to hold onto whenever these storms rage within
some way of just walking away into that tranquil place
where nothing hurts and where pain is just some word
Where time stands still and so there is no real transition
just a gentle dawning drawing me back from there to here
an acknowledgement that such feelings can be endured
and in the endurance comes a deeper understanding
that life may not be fair or good or sweet, but it is there
And being there it must be lived rather than just endured
for this gift is undervalued if we miss the important meaning
of the relationship we have with everything around us
we are part of a whole, and although we might not feel it
a speck in the universe we might be someone elses world.
Old grief is sometimes right bang square in front of us
it is stuff we should have dealt with a long long time ago
but without the tools, with too much drowning it wasn't so
preferring oblivion has meant that this has all been stored
and so back to the prospect of finally dealing with it all.
It's like being asked to grow up when I'm already grown
just not in every way well certainly not in this way anyway
I would rather retreat back into oblivion than grieving fully
completely, going through the stages, learning how to heal
learning to deal with reality rather than what I wish could be.
Being a grown up is not appealing when it means all this
why can't I stay in my oblivion, is drowning really so bad
compared to facing up to truths I've spent so long avoiding
there's no transition, no healing unless I take these steps
it needn't come in leaps and bounds, and I will get there yet.
black and white, light and shade, laughter and tears
I've been thinking about the transition through grief
how to move on after all these years and lay to rest
things that happened to someone who is now no more
The person we were then is not the person we become
and learning to tell the two apart is part of this I hope
a separation and acceptance that the two are not the same
and a deeper realisation that nothing changes in our past
and no amount of willing or wishing can ever make it so
Closure I've heard it called and I guess it's what I'm after
just some peace from the general whirl something lasting
something to hold onto whenever these storms rage within
some way of just walking away into that tranquil place
where nothing hurts and where pain is just some word
Where time stands still and so there is no real transition
just a gentle dawning drawing me back from there to here
an acknowledgement that such feelings can be endured
and in the endurance comes a deeper understanding
that life may not be fair or good or sweet, but it is there
And being there it must be lived rather than just endured
for this gift is undervalued if we miss the important meaning
of the relationship we have with everything around us
we are part of a whole, and although we might not feel it
a speck in the universe we might be someone elses world.
Old grief is sometimes right bang square in front of us
it is stuff we should have dealt with a long long time ago
but without the tools, with too much drowning it wasn't so
preferring oblivion has meant that this has all been stored
and so back to the prospect of finally dealing with it all.
It's like being asked to grow up when I'm already grown
just not in every way well certainly not in this way anyway
I would rather retreat back into oblivion than grieving fully
completely, going through the stages, learning how to heal
learning to deal with reality rather than what I wish could be.
Being a grown up is not appealing when it means all this
why can't I stay in my oblivion, is drowning really so bad
compared to facing up to truths I've spent so long avoiding
there's no transition, no healing unless I take these steps
it needn't come in leaps and bounds, and I will get there yet.
My luthier
I was watching earlier as you carved out new patterns
it's interesting seeing the deepening lines in the wood
the gradual refining as the edges sharpen and rise up
creating channels in which to lay down new colours
I can see how luthiers find such joy in their creations.
Wood and music, it's almost the stuff of a good marriage
for whilst one is solid, can be held and seen the other ...
well music is a balm against life storms, a safe harbour
but at other times an enhancement of the tempest within
an celebration of joy, a reflection of grief, a melodic stroke.
I am someone who is easily lost in the rages of crescendo
whose heart responds to the whisper of a softly played tune
who conjures vivid images from the melodies in my minds eye
who cries hearing the soaring beauty of Faurés requiem mass
there is something about music that speaks to our very soul.
It's a common bond between us two this love of music making
of losing ourselves in the sounds ... in the crashing intensity
and then lightly gently softening to a whisper on the last note
and coming to to find ourselves where we were before we started
and in the sudden silence that ensues we find peacefulness.
So I'm looking forward to seeing this guitar when it's made
will it have that sweetness of tone, the mellowest bass notes
the warmth in the mid range that carries through the scale
and when we play it will it somehow have that extra meaning
because it's the instrument of your heart, of your own making.
it's interesting seeing the deepening lines in the wood
the gradual refining as the edges sharpen and rise up
creating channels in which to lay down new colours
I can see how luthiers find such joy in their creations.
Wood and music, it's almost the stuff of a good marriage
for whilst one is solid, can be held and seen the other ...
well music is a balm against life storms, a safe harbour
but at other times an enhancement of the tempest within
an celebration of joy, a reflection of grief, a melodic stroke.
I am someone who is easily lost in the rages of crescendo
whose heart responds to the whisper of a softly played tune
who conjures vivid images from the melodies in my minds eye
who cries hearing the soaring beauty of Faurés requiem mass
there is something about music that speaks to our very soul.
It's a common bond between us two this love of music making
of losing ourselves in the sounds ... in the crashing intensity
and then lightly gently softening to a whisper on the last note
and coming to to find ourselves where we were before we started
and in the sudden silence that ensues we find peacefulness.
So I'm looking forward to seeing this guitar when it's made
will it have that sweetness of tone, the mellowest bass notes
the warmth in the mid range that carries through the scale
and when we play it will it somehow have that extra meaning
because it's the instrument of your heart, of your own making.
a safe haven
I guess I didn't realise that heartache physically hurts
I always figured it was just something people said
but I was wrong, as in so many things of late it seems
for this is a feeling like no other I have experienced
despite having had a share of grief and loss over time.
Coming up to the anniversaries of two very special deaths
and I'm wondering how it is that I feel one way about that
and yet quite another way about this, which makes me realise
that I have totally lost a sense of perspective which helps
for that's something else about heartache they don't tell you.
That it's a form of madness that spins out in your mind
taking you on flights to places you didn't know existed
and robbing you of the sense you were born with, which is why
you have to sit tight with these feelings ... wait and see
what perspective time brings when madness eventually recedes.
So I'll turn my mind to memories that it's coming time to honour
as the anniversaries approach, this year will I hope be different
for in years gone past I've made this time one of immoderation
found in this season a reason to drown myself night after night
to avoid feeling what should be felt, for grief is also healing.
So to honour a memory is quite a different thing from using it
and that realisation is part of the transition towards wholeness
I read somewhere recently that feelings are just feelings, how true
but what struck me was also what a complete misunderstanding
are we not driven by our hearts response to almost everything?
And yet rationality remains and can quickly become a safe haven
when the storms seem to rage and the waves crash in on our minds
we can turn and look ... step outside the feelings and see it clear
catch a glimpse of what has until now been hidden from our thoughts
part of life is death, as is learning to live with some heartache.
I always figured it was just something people said
but I was wrong, as in so many things of late it seems
for this is a feeling like no other I have experienced
despite having had a share of grief and loss over time.
Coming up to the anniversaries of two very special deaths
and I'm wondering how it is that I feel one way about that
and yet quite another way about this, which makes me realise
that I have totally lost a sense of perspective which helps
for that's something else about heartache they don't tell you.
That it's a form of madness that spins out in your mind
taking you on flights to places you didn't know existed
and robbing you of the sense you were born with, which is why
you have to sit tight with these feelings ... wait and see
what perspective time brings when madness eventually recedes.
So I'll turn my mind to memories that it's coming time to honour
as the anniversaries approach, this year will I hope be different
for in years gone past I've made this time one of immoderation
found in this season a reason to drown myself night after night
to avoid feeling what should be felt, for grief is also healing.
So to honour a memory is quite a different thing from using it
and that realisation is part of the transition towards wholeness
I read somewhere recently that feelings are just feelings, how true
but what struck me was also what a complete misunderstanding
are we not driven by our hearts response to almost everything?
And yet rationality remains and can quickly become a safe haven
when the storms seem to rage and the waves crash in on our minds
we can turn and look ... step outside the feelings and see it clear
catch a glimpse of what has until now been hidden from our thoughts
part of life is death, as is learning to live with some heartache.
A dream stone
As I hold this smooth round stone resting gently in my hand
I can feel a sense of timelessness and history long gone
A stream of thoughts through ages past reaching out to me
A girl with golden hair whose dreams I can almost see
for fragments of those dreams are still warm upon the stone
I can see her dancing, skipping, whirling on the beach
I smile now as I hold the stone and think of that young girl
who asked that it might be given to one who truly understands
that giving honours the giver .. someone who just might know
that dreams are dreamt with determination and concentration
so in a way dreams need not come true to be experienced
thus maybe dreaming and living can intermingle in our minds
There are such risks involved in opening our hearts it's true
but by not doing so we shrivel within and a part of us dies
so that as time passes it gets increasingly hard to resurrect
that part of ourselves that makes us us, that very unique soul
and in losing that we lose much more than we perhaps imagine
for it's that part which has the makings of re-creating the whole.
Sometimes you receive a gift of almost incomparable value
something you can carry in your heart as well as your hand
the knowledge that there are people out there who really know
and whilst knowing understand .. and it's in that understanding
lies the essence of the gift .. the saying of one soul to another
this stone has helped ease someone so might it also help you?
I can feel a sense of timelessness and history long gone
A stream of thoughts through ages past reaching out to me
A girl with golden hair whose dreams I can almost see
for fragments of those dreams are still warm upon the stone
I can see her dancing, skipping, whirling on the beach
I smile now as I hold the stone and think of that young girl
who asked that it might be given to one who truly understands
that giving honours the giver .. someone who just might know
that dreams are dreamt with determination and concentration
so in a way dreams need not come true to be experienced
thus maybe dreaming and living can intermingle in our minds
There are such risks involved in opening our hearts it's true
but by not doing so we shrivel within and a part of us dies
so that as time passes it gets increasingly hard to resurrect
that part of ourselves that makes us us, that very unique soul
and in losing that we lose much more than we perhaps imagine
for it's that part which has the makings of re-creating the whole.
Sometimes you receive a gift of almost incomparable value
something you can carry in your heart as well as your hand
the knowledge that there are people out there who really know
and whilst knowing understand .. and it's in that understanding
lies the essence of the gift .. the saying of one soul to another
this stone has helped ease someone so might it also help you?
a recurrence
I dreamt of you which was different yet the same
I have been having a hard time of late with dreams
so it was nice to find your cheery self in my sleep
smiling and laughing ... shuffling yourself about
in that funny way you have when you get talking.
I love to sit and watch when you talk you know
your voice sings and your eyes almost dance
you have this endless stream of things to say
so with little prompting from me you're off and away
and words upon words, your talk washes over me.
I do listen as well you know, it's not just sounds
it's not just that I enjoy watching your face either
there's something so compelling about enthusiasm
it's in the flow and rythm, the cadence somehow
making me smile knowing how you usually are.
It's this way you have of intensifying a thought
of putting some new idea under the magnification
of your mind and creating something altogether new
like an explosion from the tiniest firework rocket
your ideas burn bright and stay long in my mind.
We talked about the Giver, you know who I mean
that all powerful being who despite whatever I say
looms large in your mind, and just won't go away
although we both know that no Giver worth their salt
would ever have allowed to happen what did even so.
It's here that we almost part ways for you won't give up
you assert that the Giver is real and within our hearts
but I can't reconcile that idea with what we've seen
and with where we've been, which just can't be said
so this once I hold my peace and let you win.
Which is how I came to know it was just a dream
for the reality is you don't normally talk that much
which is fine by me for I like some kinds of silence
But when I wake up and remember you in my dream
I feel sorry I didn't take this one chance to say more.
I think of you often and wonder how you are
especially since the palace of white coats
where they tried again to use electrical wires
to wipe out things that should never have been
Maybe the Giver could step in, wipe the slate clean.
I have been having a hard time of late with dreams
so it was nice to find your cheery self in my sleep
smiling and laughing ... shuffling yourself about
in that funny way you have when you get talking.
I love to sit and watch when you talk you know
your voice sings and your eyes almost dance
you have this endless stream of things to say
so with little prompting from me you're off and away
and words upon words, your talk washes over me.
I do listen as well you know, it's not just sounds
it's not just that I enjoy watching your face either
there's something so compelling about enthusiasm
it's in the flow and rythm, the cadence somehow
making me smile knowing how you usually are.
It's this way you have of intensifying a thought
of putting some new idea under the magnification
of your mind and creating something altogether new
like an explosion from the tiniest firework rocket
your ideas burn bright and stay long in my mind.
We talked about the Giver, you know who I mean
that all powerful being who despite whatever I say
looms large in your mind, and just won't go away
although we both know that no Giver worth their salt
would ever have allowed to happen what did even so.
It's here that we almost part ways for you won't give up
you assert that the Giver is real and within our hearts
but I can't reconcile that idea with what we've seen
and with where we've been, which just can't be said
so this once I hold my peace and let you win.
Which is how I came to know it was just a dream
for the reality is you don't normally talk that much
which is fine by me for I like some kinds of silence
But when I wake up and remember you in my dream
I feel sorry I didn't take this one chance to say more.
I think of you often and wonder how you are
especially since the palace of white coats
where they tried again to use electrical wires
to wipe out things that should never have been
Maybe the Giver could step in, wipe the slate clean.
an exciting prospect
There's something so elusive about contentment
why is it that we feel we have the right to be happy
is it not in the contrast that appreciation grows
so that when contentment does steal upon us
will we only know it's presence through an absense
Is it to be found in the lack of any sense of crisis
a feeling that nothing sinister is looming ahead
if so it's not dramatic and could be easily missed
something unrecognisable if not consciously sought
maybe it's something we can cultivate from within
If it's a whisper we might have to listen carefully
learn to hush our minds and softly quieten to stillness
perhaps in the stillness we might discern at last
that fragile temporary state we so long for ... and yet
might there also be too little excitement there for us
An understanding must be reached if both are desired
for whilst contentment and peace are easy bedfellows
excitement is perhaps something that robs us of both
do we crave exhilaration knowing it comes at such cost
or is it in blissful ignorance that we pursue our thrills
Can we develop a fuller appreciation of contentment
even if we can attain such a state can we retain it
is it as ephemeral as it is elusive, this whispering
and if so then the capturing and holding of this feeling
does seem to be an altogether exciting prospect
Perhaps it's in a circle of meaning as described here
that truths might finally be teased out of the morass
and it may well be that we must come to finally accept
that contentment shouldn't be an absolute aim in itself
although it has an alluring element difficult to ignore
I guess I'm saying that it seems entirely selfish
to pursue something as if it's our over-riding right
when those we profess to love need something from us
and yet I can't help hoping that somehow sometime
I'll learn to listen carefully and hear that whisper too
why is it that we feel we have the right to be happy
is it not in the contrast that appreciation grows
so that when contentment does steal upon us
will we only know it's presence through an absense
Is it to be found in the lack of any sense of crisis
a feeling that nothing sinister is looming ahead
if so it's not dramatic and could be easily missed
something unrecognisable if not consciously sought
maybe it's something we can cultivate from within
If it's a whisper we might have to listen carefully
learn to hush our minds and softly quieten to stillness
perhaps in the stillness we might discern at last
that fragile temporary state we so long for ... and yet
might there also be too little excitement there for us
An understanding must be reached if both are desired
for whilst contentment and peace are easy bedfellows
excitement is perhaps something that robs us of both
do we crave exhilaration knowing it comes at such cost
or is it in blissful ignorance that we pursue our thrills
Can we develop a fuller appreciation of contentment
even if we can attain such a state can we retain it
is it as ephemeral as it is elusive, this whispering
and if so then the capturing and holding of this feeling
does seem to be an altogether exciting prospect
Perhaps it's in a circle of meaning as described here
that truths might finally be teased out of the morass
and it may well be that we must come to finally accept
that contentment shouldn't be an absolute aim in itself
although it has an alluring element difficult to ignore
I guess I'm saying that it seems entirely selfish
to pursue something as if it's our over-riding right
when those we profess to love need something from us
and yet I can't help hoping that somehow sometime
I'll learn to listen carefully and hear that whisper too
On reflection
On reading back today I can see how dark some of this writing is.
It can be so hard to articulate the relentlessness of despair,
so when we do it does have a rather desperate feel to it.
What can be so useful about writing is it's a way of emptying,
of facing the worst excesses of those darker feelings.
Learning to feel without necessarily responding.
And so it is a form of learning what should already be known
that feelings pass and the edge recedes when we turn our minds.
Thus learning to turn our minds becomes the crux of it I suppose,
a part of what distinguishes genuine maturity from the immature,
an understanding that in reacting as we do to the general whirl,
we are choosing and in effect abandoning rationality altogether.
I wonder how it would be if we were able to taste the bitterness
of the troubles we can’t even begin to see in the lives of others.
What perspective would it grant us in a fundamental understanding
that life is ferociously hard on many of us in one way or another
and what feels like a very individual struggle is actually universal.
So perhaps the reason we respond as we do is that pain calls to us.
Where then is the role of healing in all this bleak despondency.
How do we learn to travel a new road through the mire of despair.
How can we acquire the necessary discipline so foreign to us,
after so many years of increasingly self indulgent tinkering.
How appealing does the serious practise of discipline seem
in comparison to yet more rounds of the cycle of destruction.
It can be so hard to articulate the relentlessness of despair,
so when we do it does have a rather desperate feel to it.
What can be so useful about writing is it's a way of emptying,
of facing the worst excesses of those darker feelings.
Learning to feel without necessarily responding.
And so it is a form of learning what should already be known
that feelings pass and the edge recedes when we turn our minds.
Thus learning to turn our minds becomes the crux of it I suppose,
a part of what distinguishes genuine maturity from the immature,
an understanding that in reacting as we do to the general whirl,
we are choosing and in effect abandoning rationality altogether.
I wonder how it would be if we were able to taste the bitterness
of the troubles we can’t even begin to see in the lives of others.
What perspective would it grant us in a fundamental understanding
that life is ferociously hard on many of us in one way or another
and what feels like a very individual struggle is actually universal.
So perhaps the reason we respond as we do is that pain calls to us.
Where then is the role of healing in all this bleak despondency.
How do we learn to travel a new road through the mire of despair.
How can we acquire the necessary discipline so foreign to us,
after so many years of increasingly self indulgent tinkering.
How appealing does the serious practise of discipline seem
in comparison to yet more rounds of the cycle of destruction.
quiet hours
Two in the morning has again become my best friend
Well I say this in that perky tone but the reality is
We are old aquaintances of many years standing
And the only difference is that there are now church bells
Which in years gone by I might have enjoyed
But now only serve to mark the hours of wakefulness.
I could get up and wander about, make myself useful
Or even just sit and read a book, but no I do neither
I lie in the dark and look at the bright moon shining
I draw the curtains back to enjoy the magical quality
Of a light that in ages past was the object of worship
And you can see why as clouds race across the silvery face.
It’s a quiet time, perfect for reflection and for introspection
But what I’d like to do is to find a way to stop the tumult
I would like to slip into the sea of tranquillity and dive
Searching for a deeper peace that doesn’t just dissipate
In the harsh light of reality, or in the noise and bustle of the day
I’d like to find a way to be here and there at the same time.
As the church bells chime four I am still looking, still awake
And I wonder at how the time passes in such contemplation
It’s the lack of rush, the acceptance that thoughts will drift
That there is no need to constantly be of a practical mind
I would like to know how to switch this all off though
I’d like to find some peace in the quiet hours of the morning.
Well I say this in that perky tone but the reality is
We are old aquaintances of many years standing
And the only difference is that there are now church bells
Which in years gone by I might have enjoyed
But now only serve to mark the hours of wakefulness.
I could get up and wander about, make myself useful
Or even just sit and read a book, but no I do neither
I lie in the dark and look at the bright moon shining
I draw the curtains back to enjoy the magical quality
Of a light that in ages past was the object of worship
And you can see why as clouds race across the silvery face.
It’s a quiet time, perfect for reflection and for introspection
But what I’d like to do is to find a way to stop the tumult
I would like to slip into the sea of tranquillity and dive
Searching for a deeper peace that doesn’t just dissipate
In the harsh light of reality, or in the noise and bustle of the day
I’d like to find a way to be here and there at the same time.
As the church bells chime four I am still looking, still awake
And I wonder at how the time passes in such contemplation
It’s the lack of rush, the acceptance that thoughts will drift
That there is no need to constantly be of a practical mind
I would like to know how to switch this all off though
I’d like to find some peace in the quiet hours of the morning.
A walk to Stonehenge
How do you fall apart exactly, do you know
is it something obvious and quite dramatic
or more akin to a silent crumbling within
a gradual overshadowing of despondency
a cracking or perhaps a thinning of the facade
an overwhelming sense of can't-be-botheredness.
Is it in the unwillingness to face anything at all
the insistence that nothing matters anyway
does sitting hour upon hour in the darkness count
or should I look for more gravity in the signs
is there more to come, more doom and gloom
is falling apart even possible unless left alone.
And how tiny do the crumbs have to become
how wide should the cracks tear us apart
do we really need to tumble into the abyss
launch ourselves in complete surrender
can I do all this very quietly do you think
I'm not sure I want to be noticed like this.
What are these thoughts that crowd my mind
when I could be drawing comfort from the silence
as I walk slowly towards the ancient stones
standing tall on the summit of this gentle slope
I fight back the urge to surrender just yet
and walk on turning my mind to enjoyment.
In the face of these stark alternatives
I am still in a place where I can choose
where whatever I choose I'm not saying forever
I'm saying for now and that will be enough
oh god I hope so, for my strength is waning
and the prospect of the abyss is almost persuasive.
There's a way of playing inside your mind
toying with might be's that seem quite terrifying
but in playing such games there are hidden dangers
for thoughts precede action so we mustn't proceed
we must exercise caution and take extra care
to play these games away from prying eyes.
I wish I could lean against these ancient stones
drawing strength from the generations past
who've been witness to the endless stream
and whose solidity and unwavering presence
remind me that life really can stand still
and so the edge recedes into the blur once more.
Clarity is a gift I've heard it said and I agree
that in thinking things through it can be a boon
it's just that the flip side is this unstoppable flow
which whilst it helps also draws me away
from the very things I need to focus on
so I stop my rambling and head for home.
is it something obvious and quite dramatic
or more akin to a silent crumbling within
a gradual overshadowing of despondency
a cracking or perhaps a thinning of the facade
an overwhelming sense of can't-be-botheredness.
Is it in the unwillingness to face anything at all
the insistence that nothing matters anyway
does sitting hour upon hour in the darkness count
or should I look for more gravity in the signs
is there more to come, more doom and gloom
is falling apart even possible unless left alone.
And how tiny do the crumbs have to become
how wide should the cracks tear us apart
do we really need to tumble into the abyss
launch ourselves in complete surrender
can I do all this very quietly do you think
I'm not sure I want to be noticed like this.
What are these thoughts that crowd my mind
when I could be drawing comfort from the silence
as I walk slowly towards the ancient stones
standing tall on the summit of this gentle slope
I fight back the urge to surrender just yet
and walk on turning my mind to enjoyment.
In the face of these stark alternatives
I am still in a place where I can choose
where whatever I choose I'm not saying forever
I'm saying for now and that will be enough
oh god I hope so, for my strength is waning
and the prospect of the abyss is almost persuasive.
There's a way of playing inside your mind
toying with might be's that seem quite terrifying
but in playing such games there are hidden dangers
for thoughts precede action so we mustn't proceed
we must exercise caution and take extra care
to play these games away from prying eyes.
I wish I could lean against these ancient stones
drawing strength from the generations past
who've been witness to the endless stream
and whose solidity and unwavering presence
remind me that life really can stand still
and so the edge recedes into the blur once more.
Clarity is a gift I've heard it said and I agree
that in thinking things through it can be a boon
it's just that the flip side is this unstoppable flow
which whilst it helps also draws me away
from the very things I need to focus on
so I stop my rambling and head for home.
Sounds
I am trying to capture a meaning
Trying to make some sense of it all
I am watching your mouth move
And I'm hearing the words falling
clanging hard and sharp, jarring
It's almost at the edge of my vision
Do you ever see or feel sounds?
I do, and I know that seems strange
I can't think how else to describe it
Except to say that sounds have shape
Well not just shape now I think on it
but texture too, smooth, prickly, undulating
and so listening is more than it seems
and works on different levels for me
But that won't help me now, as I crash
Jarred back to the present I'm caught
by the silence of you awaiting my reply
can I re-wind and listen to what I've heard
or must I admit that my thoughts just then
completely crowded out what you were shouting
It's the harshness of your tone maybe
perhaps the volume too, the abandon
the very real risk that this will escalate
into one of those ... you know what I mean
yet another time of saying the unsayable.
So I turn inwards and walk away inside
to a place where the sounds are muffled
the edges taken off and wrapped in light
so I can carry the weight of meaning
when it finally does emerge into my mind.
Because when you're done we look away
for we both know that this shouldn't be
It really can't be allowed to happen again
the fallout last time was almost enough
to see us walking through the door of no return.
When I finally capture your meaning
I swallow hard and looking at you now
I remember to smile, well almost smile
For such a simple gesture on my part
Speaks volumes of what is in my heart.
Trying to make some sense of it all
I am watching your mouth move
And I'm hearing the words falling
clanging hard and sharp, jarring
It's almost at the edge of my vision
Do you ever see or feel sounds?
I do, and I know that seems strange
I can't think how else to describe it
Except to say that sounds have shape
Well not just shape now I think on it
but texture too, smooth, prickly, undulating
and so listening is more than it seems
and works on different levels for me
But that won't help me now, as I crash
Jarred back to the present I'm caught
by the silence of you awaiting my reply
can I re-wind and listen to what I've heard
or must I admit that my thoughts just then
completely crowded out what you were shouting
It's the harshness of your tone maybe
perhaps the volume too, the abandon
the very real risk that this will escalate
into one of those ... you know what I mean
yet another time of saying the unsayable.
So I turn inwards and walk away inside
to a place where the sounds are muffled
the edges taken off and wrapped in light
so I can carry the weight of meaning
when it finally does emerge into my mind.
Because when you're done we look away
for we both know that this shouldn't be
It really can't be allowed to happen again
the fallout last time was almost enough
to see us walking through the door of no return.
When I finally capture your meaning
I swallow hard and looking at you now
I remember to smile, well almost smile
For such a simple gesture on my part
Speaks volumes of what is in my heart.
A bit of help
When you feel the darkness
seeping deep within you
When you feel like you are becoming
fainter to the point of being invisible
When you feel the essence of who you are
fading into nothingness
Sometimes it helps to stand up
Throw your shoulders back
Look upwards and outwards
See the blue sky and the bubbling clouds
Hear the whisper of the wind through the air
Sense the sweetness of being
When you feel like life can't get any better
than this moment right here and now
When you grin so much
that it's making your face hurt
When you can hardly walk straight
for the exuberant feeling inside
Sometimes it helps to freeze
Open yourself up
Store this feeling somewhere safe
Put it on a high shelf out of harms way
But more importantly ... most importantly
Open wide, enjoy, laugh out loud.
The present is so transitory isn't it
Gone in a flash and taking with it
The extremes of all life has to offer
Often leaving us with a dull sense of loss
For in so many ways this moment
Is also full of what might have beens.
seeping deep within you
When you feel like you are becoming
fainter to the point of being invisible
When you feel the essence of who you are
fading into nothingness
Sometimes it helps to stand up
Throw your shoulders back
Look upwards and outwards
See the blue sky and the bubbling clouds
Hear the whisper of the wind through the air
Sense the sweetness of being
When you feel like life can't get any better
than this moment right here and now
When you grin so much
that it's making your face hurt
When you can hardly walk straight
for the exuberant feeling inside
Sometimes it helps to freeze
Open yourself up
Store this feeling somewhere safe
Put it on a high shelf out of harms way
But more importantly ... most importantly
Open wide, enjoy, laugh out loud.
The present is so transitory isn't it
Gone in a flash and taking with it
The extremes of all life has to offer
Often leaving us with a dull sense of loss
For in so many ways this moment
Is also full of what might have beens.
An evening off
I got in last night and kicked off my shoes
wandered through the shambles to our kitchen
where I found a neatly written note on the table
dear you it said, I have borrowed your beloved
he will be safe with me for a few days
please come and join us when you can
Thoughts start to clamour in my mind.
how did she know, was it something I said?
for if it was then I shall be held accountable
for a breach of this kind is viewed dimly indeed
my beloved guards and values his privacy
to what I think is almost an obsessive degree
I stand by the back door looking at the garden
there is peace in just standing and looking
I let the trees soothe me with their solid presence
and consider what to do with my evening off
it seems like quite some time since the last one
and the thought of breaking loose appeals just now
The bottle is sitting on the draining board
cork sticking out of the top, just waiting it seems
I camp out by the back door, standing, battling
how will it help, well it won't but still ... I know
I know because I've learnt so often this lesson and yet
I take a glass through to the garden and walk
Drinking and thinking at these early stages
after a glass or two, there's a softening I guess
an easier acceptance of things I often find too harsh
the insulation and warmth are temporary at best
but I'm left with something, a lightness I suppose
so an evening off once in a while is no bad thing.
wandered through the shambles to our kitchen
where I found a neatly written note on the table
dear you it said, I have borrowed your beloved
he will be safe with me for a few days
please come and join us when you can
Thoughts start to clamour in my mind.
how did she know, was it something I said?
for if it was then I shall be held accountable
for a breach of this kind is viewed dimly indeed
my beloved guards and values his privacy
to what I think is almost an obsessive degree
I stand by the back door looking at the garden
there is peace in just standing and looking
I let the trees soothe me with their solid presence
and consider what to do with my evening off
it seems like quite some time since the last one
and the thought of breaking loose appeals just now
The bottle is sitting on the draining board
cork sticking out of the top, just waiting it seems
I camp out by the back door, standing, battling
how will it help, well it won't but still ... I know
I know because I've learnt so often this lesson and yet
I take a glass through to the garden and walk
Drinking and thinking at these early stages
after a glass or two, there's a softening I guess
an easier acceptance of things I often find too harsh
the insulation and warmth are temporary at best
but I'm left with something, a lightness I suppose
so an evening off once in a while is no bad thing.
The river
Sitting here in one of my favourite places
Watching as the river's waters flow past me
There's something so restful about flowing water
The sound, the currents visible on the surface
The swirling of debris caught in the eddies
Even the nearby road sounds fade as I watch
As I sit and look down almost without seeing
For this is one of my favourite thinking spots
And I come here for it's peace and solitude
Away from the worries and cares of my life
Even a twenty minute break is often enough
To see me re-balanced and ready to go
For I need some time alone with my thoughts
And since I found this spot it has to be here
So meditating one day sitting there as I was
I slowly became aware of a person sitting near
Just from the corner of my eye I caught white hair
and a cane, thick ankles and sturdy looking shoes
A softly shaking voice asked me if I was all right
So I looked over and asked why what do you see
And then I realised that my face was wet with tears.
You can go two ways in a conversation like this
Should I this once dare to say what's on my mind
Should I mention my beloved and how low he has been
and the troubles of my work, money and other things
Would she listen or perhaps turn her face away.
She spoke of swans gliding by, had I seen the moorhen?
And so she brought me back to why I was there.
Watching as the river's waters flow past me
There's something so restful about flowing water
The sound, the currents visible on the surface
The swirling of debris caught in the eddies
Even the nearby road sounds fade as I watch
As I sit and look down almost without seeing
For this is one of my favourite thinking spots
And I come here for it's peace and solitude
Away from the worries and cares of my life
Even a twenty minute break is often enough
To see me re-balanced and ready to go
For I need some time alone with my thoughts
And since I found this spot it has to be here
So meditating one day sitting there as I was
I slowly became aware of a person sitting near
Just from the corner of my eye I caught white hair
and a cane, thick ankles and sturdy looking shoes
A softly shaking voice asked me if I was all right
So I looked over and asked why what do you see
And then I realised that my face was wet with tears.
You can go two ways in a conversation like this
Should I this once dare to say what's on my mind
Should I mention my beloved and how low he has been
and the troubles of my work, money and other things
Would she listen or perhaps turn her face away.
She spoke of swans gliding by, had I seen the moorhen?
And so she brought me back to why I was there.
Talking
Why isn't it enough?
I mean, I know it sounds simple
I know it sounds like no answer at all
but beneath some of the simplest words
lies so much more, what can I say?
I can say that I love you still
I can say that I won't leave you
I can say that we will get through this
I can say that I'm doing what I can
I can say that we will work this out
You look away, it is not nearly enough
bloody hell, what am I missing here?
What can't I see for the want of looking?
I can feel frustration fusing with anger
and I can see too the edge of despair
I walk out of the room and downstairs
Because I cannot lose patience now
Now that you are finally here again
I must find a way to be clearer, more direct
My promises are always more than words.
How can I demonstrate what you already know?
By telling you things you've heard before?
By acting in ways you've no right to expect?
Should I shout, rage, rant, yell, or scream.
Should I become someone different altogether?
But how will it help you if I am not me?
I can not promise what I can not do
I just can not be someone like that
How often do I have to show you
the constancy of my solemn promise?
I will find a way you know, I won't give in.
I will break this wall down to reach you
and offer once again the same old deal
and that is just me, for I've nothing more
Nothing I can give you but more of myself.
So I climb back up the stairs to find you
and we sit once more amongst the guitars
I look into your face and say simple things
of love, of hope, of the worth of promises
and I wait shivering inside, will it suffice?
I feel like such a child in the face of this
I try to make sense of your long diatribe
I feel your distress so keenly, it's loud
and harsh and the edge of your voice cracks
as my vision narrows in onto your face.
Fear prickles as I see your face contort
Withstanding hard words hammering down
and yet looking, for I will not look away
I will not buckle beneath such truths
I owe you always this level of faithfulness.
I will not un-listen when you so need to be heard
I can do this, I am this person, this is me.
I will not break faith now, see? ... do you see?
And when tears start to flow I see you once more
the you I know, the you I have been waiting for.
I mean, I know it sounds simple
I know it sounds like no answer at all
but beneath some of the simplest words
lies so much more, what can I say?
I can say that I love you still
I can say that I won't leave you
I can say that we will get through this
I can say that I'm doing what I can
I can say that we will work this out
You look away, it is not nearly enough
bloody hell, what am I missing here?
What can't I see for the want of looking?
I can feel frustration fusing with anger
and I can see too the edge of despair
I walk out of the room and downstairs
Because I cannot lose patience now
Now that you are finally here again
I must find a way to be clearer, more direct
My promises are always more than words.
How can I demonstrate what you already know?
By telling you things you've heard before?
By acting in ways you've no right to expect?
Should I shout, rage, rant, yell, or scream.
Should I become someone different altogether?
But how will it help you if I am not me?
I can not promise what I can not do
I just can not be someone like that
How often do I have to show you
the constancy of my solemn promise?
I will find a way you know, I won't give in.
I will break this wall down to reach you
and offer once again the same old deal
and that is just me, for I've nothing more
Nothing I can give you but more of myself.
So I climb back up the stairs to find you
and we sit once more amongst the guitars
I look into your face and say simple things
of love, of hope, of the worth of promises
and I wait shivering inside, will it suffice?
I feel like such a child in the face of this
I try to make sense of your long diatribe
I feel your distress so keenly, it's loud
and harsh and the edge of your voice cracks
as my vision narrows in onto your face.
Fear prickles as I see your face contort
Withstanding hard words hammering down
and yet looking, for I will not look away
I will not buckle beneath such truths
I owe you always this level of faithfulness.
I will not un-listen when you so need to be heard
I can do this, I am this person, this is me.
I will not break faith now, see? ... do you see?
And when tears start to flow I see you once more
the you I know, the you I have been waiting for.
Warmest hugs
It's not far off a year now since that first letter
and what a journey it has been my dear friend
we've had some real ups and downs haven't we?
What a voyage of discovery into another's life
I suppose I could also say into another's heart
and since I'm here I might just say thank you.
For in these letters I have been able to express
things I just can't say out loud and yet you know
now after almost a year of sharing our inner thoughts
I don't feel quite the same kind of fear as I did before
because now I have all your answers as well as mine
and so often it's a combination that is compelling.
I hope that it's the same way for you my friend
that my answers have melded well with your own
to provide that quite unique blend of perspective.
I was trying to think of the words to describe
the very special gifts you have brought over this year
but they are all long words, much too long really.
For it is in the simplicity of being able to tell you
that the reason we are friends is not to be found
in words long or short, but in the way that we feel.
The way that seeing you in my inbox lifts my day
the fact that I look at your picture often and smile
and look forward to another chapter from your life.
I was looking for something last night at home
and I came across an archive file of our letters
I sat and read and read again, it was breathtaking.
Like re-discovering our friendship all over again.
and I will reply to your latest email this weekend ...
warmest hugs to you as always my dear dear friend.
and what a journey it has been my dear friend
we've had some real ups and downs haven't we?
What a voyage of discovery into another's life
I suppose I could also say into another's heart
and since I'm here I might just say thank you.
For in these letters I have been able to express
things I just can't say out loud and yet you know
now after almost a year of sharing our inner thoughts
I don't feel quite the same kind of fear as I did before
because now I have all your answers as well as mine
and so often it's a combination that is compelling.
I hope that it's the same way for you my friend
that my answers have melded well with your own
to provide that quite unique blend of perspective.
I was trying to think of the words to describe
the very special gifts you have brought over this year
but they are all long words, much too long really.
For it is in the simplicity of being able to tell you
that the reason we are friends is not to be found
in words long or short, but in the way that we feel.
The way that seeing you in my inbox lifts my day
the fact that I look at your picture often and smile
and look forward to another chapter from your life.
I was looking for something last night at home
and I came across an archive file of our letters
I sat and read and read again, it was breathtaking.
Like re-discovering our friendship all over again.
and I will reply to your latest email this weekend ...
warmest hugs to you as always my dear dear friend.
Trust
Did you want to say more? Have I missed the most important thing?
There is something in your stance, in your voice, an uneasiness
A shifting of weight from one foot to another and a downwards glance
Even I can't miss the signs of such discomfort, dense as I am.
I trawl through our conversation looking for clues as to it's cause
But I just can't see the wood for the trees, the forest is too dark
and the feeling of foreboding builds as I see your eyes brim over.
Oh god, more tears, more time to be spent here listening to pain.
I feel unable to find the level of patience and compassion you need
It has all gone you see, I feel used up, washed up, totally alone
and yet your eyes drive me to try, for my concerns are not yours
and what sort of friend can't even take some time to sit and listen.
When is it my turn? The thought came into my mind some time later
and though the selfishness struck me at once, so did the truth.
That this friendship is something of real value but also of inequality
for what you tell me I would not tell you, which makes me the coward.
And thus the inequality I perceive is not so much a lack in you at all
but rather a lack in my ability to match your trust, your expectation
and this about-turn in my thinking has led me to an unexpected place
somewhere I recognise, a place of vulnerability and overwhelming fear.
If I open this door and let the light shine in, will I die? Is it so bad?
Why does the level of fear build to such a degree that I lock up inside
Next time you ask "and how about you" I really must try to say more
For I know that only along that path does true friendship lie waiting.
There is something in your stance, in your voice, an uneasiness
A shifting of weight from one foot to another and a downwards glance
Even I can't miss the signs of such discomfort, dense as I am.
I trawl through our conversation looking for clues as to it's cause
But I just can't see the wood for the trees, the forest is too dark
and the feeling of foreboding builds as I see your eyes brim over.
Oh god, more tears, more time to be spent here listening to pain.
I feel unable to find the level of patience and compassion you need
It has all gone you see, I feel used up, washed up, totally alone
and yet your eyes drive me to try, for my concerns are not yours
and what sort of friend can't even take some time to sit and listen.
When is it my turn? The thought came into my mind some time later
and though the selfishness struck me at once, so did the truth.
That this friendship is something of real value but also of inequality
for what you tell me I would not tell you, which makes me the coward.
And thus the inequality I perceive is not so much a lack in you at all
but rather a lack in my ability to match your trust, your expectation
and this about-turn in my thinking has led me to an unexpected place
somewhere I recognise, a place of vulnerability and overwhelming fear.
If I open this door and let the light shine in, will I die? Is it so bad?
Why does the level of fear build to such a degree that I lock up inside
Next time you ask "and how about you" I really must try to say more
For I know that only along that path does true friendship lie waiting.
The sea
I've been looking out from the shore for a while now
Looking for signs of you out there amongst the waves
Sometimes I think I see a splash of colour, your arm perhaps
Or maybe your hand waving. Are you waving or signalling?
How can I tell from here where I'm waiting in the silence
This is just no good at all, worse than useless in fact.
I take off my shoes, never mind about getting wet, wade in
Strike out from the shore in search of the gentle man
And should I find you out here, what then my love, what then?
Will you and I learn to float on our backs and look at the sky
Will you laugh when I ask you to try such childish things
For in acting like a child we can come to a place of healing.
I see you here far from the shore, it looks so distant right now
I make my way over and look for signs that you know I am here
The look of your despair washes over me and I feel the undertow
But I can not, will not sink here into the depths of your misery
I will find a way to offer more than my company against this thing
I won't let it be that you must learn to swim such distances alone.
I must strike for shore, I won't try to persuade you right now
I can see that your focus is too far within, your energy too low
I will try to build something of use, some kind of raft maybe
Something to float out to you next time, some way of staying
For I know that this loneliness must be killing you too out here
The simple things I have to offer aren't enough, but I miss you.
I miss the way you look at me when coming out of the shower
Eyes squinting through the steam, is that you, you ask ... as if ...
I miss giggling under the covers and making up jokes in the dark
I miss feeling that you are here, I miss feeling there is an us
I feel my reserves depleting and know I must stop looking inside
I must find a way of fighting this darkness before it takes us both.
Or shall I just leave it as you ask. Shall I walk alone along the shore
Knowing you are out there, knowing that the undertow is so strong
Is it enough that you can see I am here, shall I light a fire?
Mark the place of safety with light, heat and the warmth of my heart
Shall I swim out and float near you to show you again how it's done
The undertow scares me too, but I will fight it, please try too.
Looking for signs of you out there amongst the waves
Sometimes I think I see a splash of colour, your arm perhaps
Or maybe your hand waving. Are you waving or signalling?
How can I tell from here where I'm waiting in the silence
This is just no good at all, worse than useless in fact.
I take off my shoes, never mind about getting wet, wade in
Strike out from the shore in search of the gentle man
And should I find you out here, what then my love, what then?
Will you and I learn to float on our backs and look at the sky
Will you laugh when I ask you to try such childish things
For in acting like a child we can come to a place of healing.
I see you here far from the shore, it looks so distant right now
I make my way over and look for signs that you know I am here
The look of your despair washes over me and I feel the undertow
But I can not, will not sink here into the depths of your misery
I will find a way to offer more than my company against this thing
I won't let it be that you must learn to swim such distances alone.
I must strike for shore, I won't try to persuade you right now
I can see that your focus is too far within, your energy too low
I will try to build something of use, some kind of raft maybe
Something to float out to you next time, some way of staying
For I know that this loneliness must be killing you too out here
The simple things I have to offer aren't enough, but I miss you.
I miss the way you look at me when coming out of the shower
Eyes squinting through the steam, is that you, you ask ... as if ...
I miss giggling under the covers and making up jokes in the dark
I miss feeling that you are here, I miss feeling there is an us
I feel my reserves depleting and know I must stop looking inside
I must find a way of fighting this darkness before it takes us both.
Or shall I just leave it as you ask. Shall I walk alone along the shore
Knowing you are out there, knowing that the undertow is so strong
Is it enough that you can see I am here, shall I light a fire?
Mark the place of safety with light, heat and the warmth of my heart
Shall I swim out and float near you to show you again how it's done
The undertow scares me too, but I will fight it, please try too.
My Valentine
Sometimes I look over at you with a completely detached stare
I know it un-nerves you when I do that, since you told me so
But it's not like I don't see you doing the same thing is it?
You know that song .. the one you belt out when playing the strat
Neil Young has such an incredible voice which I know you relate to
Am I imagining the extra emotion you give to it when you sing
how does it go now, that song ... Love The One You're With?
And that's what I wonder about when I see you with her still
it seems there's a quality that isn't there when you look at me
and the way you are when chatting on the telephone,
even without looking I can hear the smile in your voice
and so the lyrics unbidden pop into my mind and resound there
"there's a rose in a fisted glove, and the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with"
I was starting to think that this might in fact be the case for us
and that the reason you stayed isn't deep abiding commitment at all
More a realisation that the options are no longer what they once were
and since she's gone you might just as well make the best of it with me.
But does it lack passion, zing, an edge of excitement and of uncertainty
I can never be the person she is, if I'm honest I can't even get close
Is the person I am so very at odds with the dream you hold so dear?
So when you said "will you"? I was more than a little shocked I suppose
I had been thinking once more that your plans lay elsewhere altogether
and I was beginning to resign myself to the prospect of our separation.
Imagine my suprise, my joy, my fear, my uncertainty, my doubt, my love.
For in the end after all we have and continue to be to one another
one thing holds true for me, and that is the love I have had from the start
I don't know how you did it, but that day you rocked up you stole my heart.
And so this Valentines Day feels odd in a way, well more so this year
as you have withdrawn and are now elsewhere whilst seemingly also here
and I am waiting to see your return. I am waiting to see if you want to even.
And that sadness that I felt before is back, that same old doubt and fear.
I'm wondering if you almost prefer to stay there in the shadows of your mind
than to be here with me. It lies heavy on my heart these long silent days.
Would you rather I just left you alone in your self induced solitude my love?
I know it un-nerves you when I do that, since you told me so
But it's not like I don't see you doing the same thing is it?
You know that song .. the one you belt out when playing the strat
Neil Young has such an incredible voice which I know you relate to
Am I imagining the extra emotion you give to it when you sing
how does it go now, that song ... Love The One You're With?
And that's what I wonder about when I see you with her still
it seems there's a quality that isn't there when you look at me
and the way you are when chatting on the telephone,
even without looking I can hear the smile in your voice
and so the lyrics unbidden pop into my mind and resound there
"there's a rose in a fisted glove, and the eagle flies with the dove
And if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with"
I was starting to think that this might in fact be the case for us
and that the reason you stayed isn't deep abiding commitment at all
More a realisation that the options are no longer what they once were
and since she's gone you might just as well make the best of it with me.
But does it lack passion, zing, an edge of excitement and of uncertainty
I can never be the person she is, if I'm honest I can't even get close
Is the person I am so very at odds with the dream you hold so dear?
So when you said "will you"? I was more than a little shocked I suppose
I had been thinking once more that your plans lay elsewhere altogether
and I was beginning to resign myself to the prospect of our separation.
Imagine my suprise, my joy, my fear, my uncertainty, my doubt, my love.
For in the end after all we have and continue to be to one another
one thing holds true for me, and that is the love I have had from the start
I don't know how you did it, but that day you rocked up you stole my heart.
And so this Valentines Day feels odd in a way, well more so this year
as you have withdrawn and are now elsewhere whilst seemingly also here
and I am waiting to see your return. I am waiting to see if you want to even.
And that sadness that I felt before is back, that same old doubt and fear.
I'm wondering if you almost prefer to stay there in the shadows of your mind
than to be here with me. It lies heavy on my heart these long silent days.
Would you rather I just left you alone in your self induced solitude my love?
Meetings
Angry faces looking at me
Resentment boiling up
I don't blame them
This is just shit news
And so I keep my calm face on
It's the very least I can do.
Meetings all day today
What a joyful prospect
F*ckwit Fiona no doubt with me
Telling me how tough she finds it
to deal with so much aggression
and so I really must stay calm
She needs my false confidence
that everything will be OK
I haven't mentioned the punch
or the egg throwing incident
Christ if she's scared now
She'll run for the hills if I do.
So take some deep breaths
and away we go again
on the frightful merry-go-round
of meetings, tears and grim faces
it won't get easier any time soon
so settle and let battle commence
And so here's the first lucky one
sitting looking at his shoes
I know this feeling, so calm face on
It's not good news I'm afraid, I say
We'll be cutting hours and also your pay
and on top there'll be no paid holiday
Since you are down and almost out
I must also tell you
that you have been selected as at risk
of losing your job in the redundancy round
Take some time and think it over
Would you like to go home now?
Up he stands I won't shake his hand
Made that mistake already
and ended up sprawled on the floor
and I shan't risk that outcome again
so out he goes and I turn to see
tears streaking down her face.
Resentment boiling up
I don't blame them
This is just shit news
And so I keep my calm face on
It's the very least I can do.
Meetings all day today
What a joyful prospect
F*ckwit Fiona no doubt with me
Telling me how tough she finds it
to deal with so much aggression
and so I really must stay calm
She needs my false confidence
that everything will be OK
I haven't mentioned the punch
or the egg throwing incident
Christ if she's scared now
She'll run for the hills if I do.
So take some deep breaths
and away we go again
on the frightful merry-go-round
of meetings, tears and grim faces
it won't get easier any time soon
so settle and let battle commence
And so here's the first lucky one
sitting looking at his shoes
I know this feeling, so calm face on
It's not good news I'm afraid, I say
We'll be cutting hours and also your pay
and on top there'll be no paid holiday
Since you are down and almost out
I must also tell you
that you have been selected as at risk
of losing your job in the redundancy round
Take some time and think it over
Would you like to go home now?
Up he stands I won't shake his hand
Made that mistake already
and ended up sprawled on the floor
and I shan't risk that outcome again
so out he goes and I turn to see
tears streaking down her face.
Confidential
Having coffee one evening with someone I don't know well
she looked over at me and asked if I knew whether I was loved.
It was a strange turn to the conversation from safe to perilous
and my silence was not as she suspected, of offence taken at all.
I was thinking back to the early days with my kind and gentle man
who still spent many a long evening with his old flame back then
and I remembered just how that feeling of incredible doubt felt.
I'm not sure that I said the right thing at all that night
It's hard to know how to respond to such an immediate risk
of saying too much .. or more likely listening far too little
The instinct is always there to read solely the surface meaning
and shy away from what lies beneath .. huh .. what a coward eh?
I wasn't really much help as I couldn't think of much to say
so I just sat and listened to a long tale of serial infidelity.
I guess sometimes you get so desperate to talk about things
that once you start you just can't stop, and so out it all poured
and the tears flowed and the only thing I could think of to do
was to open some wine and talk about the things that actually matter.
And that evening I learnt something of a new form of loneliness
and so the wall between aquaintance and friendship tumbled down
and I saw how a fundamental breach of trust rots into your very soul.
There's a problem being a trusted person, and I felt it that night
as I lay in bed and reviewed what I'd said for I needed to ensure
that I had not broken a confidence from a conversation I'd had before.
I know the man concerned as we have been sort of pals for some years now
and he has on the odd occasion alluded to his "away day" activities
to which I've said nothing at all, for who am I to judge such things.
Still, keeping two sides of essentially the same confidence is awkward.
she looked over at me and asked if I knew whether I was loved.
It was a strange turn to the conversation from safe to perilous
and my silence was not as she suspected, of offence taken at all.
I was thinking back to the early days with my kind and gentle man
who still spent many a long evening with his old flame back then
and I remembered just how that feeling of incredible doubt felt.
I'm not sure that I said the right thing at all that night
It's hard to know how to respond to such an immediate risk
of saying too much .. or more likely listening far too little
The instinct is always there to read solely the surface meaning
and shy away from what lies beneath .. huh .. what a coward eh?
I wasn't really much help as I couldn't think of much to say
so I just sat and listened to a long tale of serial infidelity.
I guess sometimes you get so desperate to talk about things
that once you start you just can't stop, and so out it all poured
and the tears flowed and the only thing I could think of to do
was to open some wine and talk about the things that actually matter.
And that evening I learnt something of a new form of loneliness
and so the wall between aquaintance and friendship tumbled down
and I saw how a fundamental breach of trust rots into your very soul.
There's a problem being a trusted person, and I felt it that night
as I lay in bed and reviewed what I'd said for I needed to ensure
that I had not broken a confidence from a conversation I'd had before.
I know the man concerned as we have been sort of pals for some years now
and he has on the odd occasion alluded to his "away day" activities
to which I've said nothing at all, for who am I to judge such things.
Still, keeping two sides of essentially the same confidence is awkward.
snack attack
Since you started working in this office
my snack habit has started to escalate
God .. do you never ever stop eating?
Shuffle shuffle crinkle crackle
sweet wrappers, biscuits and cake
that ruddy drawer keeps opening and shutting
So I take another trip to the snack machine.
You take the bloody biscuit you do mate
you tell me solemnly of the diagnosis
it's diabetes apparently and you can't imagine
how such a thing could have befallen you
as you eat so much salad and fruit these days
I walk over silently and open the drawer
we gaze down at the evidence. 'nuff said.
my snack habit has started to escalate
God .. do you never ever stop eating?
Shuffle shuffle crinkle crackle
sweet wrappers, biscuits and cake
that ruddy drawer keeps opening and shutting
So I take another trip to the snack machine.
You take the bloody biscuit you do mate
you tell me solemnly of the diagnosis
it's diabetes apparently and you can't imagine
how such a thing could have befallen you
as you eat so much salad and fruit these days
I walk over silently and open the drawer
we gaze down at the evidence. 'nuff said.
A slip of paper
Did you see that? No ... over there.
Yes her ... bloody hell .. what a state eh?
There's a woman staggering along the High street
on a Saturday afternoon when I'm out for a walk
she kind of falls into the road and stops a car
hurling abuse at a somewhat confused driver.
I'm thinking of passing on by, none of my business
but then she turns towards me and I meet her eye
or I think I do, but it's a bit hard to tell
she's quite far gone this strange woman in blue.
I call across to her "do you fancy a cup of tea"
and she sneers but still she stumbles over to me.
I say how bout the cafe it's just over there
and so off we wander and I feel people staring
I am looking for a piece of paper and a pencil
as I know what I say now will mean so little
and I'm not that great at chatting on the whole
but I want to help in some way if I can.
See this strange woman in blue could easily be
someone I know, christ it could even be me
I've been known to overindulge myself at times
and I don't always completely remember things done
So I want to give this woman some glimmer of hope
So I scribble down how to get on to Bright Eye.
I saw her again the other day .. same street funny
No-one was staring this time, nothing to see
Just two women walking along and she saw me
and said do I know you? So I said no not really
I just helped you out a while back and we drank tea
She hadn't a clue who I was and that was fine by me.
Next time I saw her was in the food shop
when we were hunting through the bargain shelf
and she looked up and smiled in a bleary kind of way.
So I smiled back and handed over a slip of paper
Because I've learnt my lesson and keep some on me
as you never know when you'll see someone drowning.
Yes her ... bloody hell .. what a state eh?
There's a woman staggering along the High street
on a Saturday afternoon when I'm out for a walk
she kind of falls into the road and stops a car
hurling abuse at a somewhat confused driver.
I'm thinking of passing on by, none of my business
but then she turns towards me and I meet her eye
or I think I do, but it's a bit hard to tell
she's quite far gone this strange woman in blue.
I call across to her "do you fancy a cup of tea"
and she sneers but still she stumbles over to me.
I say how bout the cafe it's just over there
and so off we wander and I feel people staring
I am looking for a piece of paper and a pencil
as I know what I say now will mean so little
and I'm not that great at chatting on the whole
but I want to help in some way if I can.
See this strange woman in blue could easily be
someone I know, christ it could even be me
I've been known to overindulge myself at times
and I don't always completely remember things done
So I want to give this woman some glimmer of hope
So I scribble down how to get on to Bright Eye.
I saw her again the other day .. same street funny
No-one was staring this time, nothing to see
Just two women walking along and she saw me
and said do I know you? So I said no not really
I just helped you out a while back and we drank tea
She hadn't a clue who I was and that was fine by me.
Next time I saw her was in the food shop
when we were hunting through the bargain shelf
and she looked up and smiled in a bleary kind of way.
So I smiled back and handed over a slip of paper
Because I've learnt my lesson and keep some on me
as you never know when you'll see someone drowning.
To me back then
So this is where I have to write a letter to me then
... as opposed to me now. I am looking at my photo
which is supposed to help and I've chosen a nice one
of me from pretty much when I remember all this began
but you can't tell just by looking at this little girl
who is standing by a dog grinning up and that's a clue
because later on I became and am very frightened of dogs.
I sit here looking at this photo of me back then
and I'm trying to think about what I can write to her
that will in any way undo even the smallest measure
of the damage done by the scary monster man
I try to think of all that I've learnt in my sessions
but my mind refuses to do anything but look and cry.
Well this carries on for a few days which is sort of OK
as my other half is away on business so he can't see
this totally shambolic attempt to get it together
and make steps forward instead of .. christ I need a drink
And I wander to the kitchen to look at the wine rack
Full of stuff that will only make the tears run more freely.
Back upstairs in my special writing place I sit once more
looking at me from way back when the monster man first came
Dear little me ... this is big me talking to you now
and I know just how scared and lonely and bad this feels
but you know what? This is not happening because your are bad.
So what can I say it's because of then, she's waiting to hear.
Well you see there are bad people who want to hurt kids.
And they tell them that they must never tell and you know why?
Because what they are doing is really very bad and naughty
and if somone told on them do you know what would happen?
They'd go to jail and have to stay there for a long time.
I think there's special jails for monster men with high walls.
But I can't say those things to little me, because she never told
well except Daddy who got all funny and strange and called her a liar
She didn't remember seeing him there at all until later
Back to little me, I was telling you about bad people wasn't I?
And how this isnt your fault and little girls are never to blame
for this kind of bad thing happening. Will you trust me?
I must tell you some stuff that is hard to understand
about scary things that happen when we're too small to stop it.
I know that he hurt you and made you do things that made you cry
and that the hurt bits inside you still don't feel right
It was him that was wrong and not you at all, you're beautiful
and clean, bright shiny girl. I want to hug you right now.
When you grow up in the future and look back to this time
I want you to know that this was what a bad person did
and you are still a good girl even if you don't feel it's true
and what happened does not make you less than the person you are
or the person you would someday wish or even pray to be
I love you me from way back then, and I'm sure we'll be OK now.
... as opposed to me now. I am looking at my photo
which is supposed to help and I've chosen a nice one
of me from pretty much when I remember all this began
but you can't tell just by looking at this little girl
who is standing by a dog grinning up and that's a clue
because later on I became and am very frightened of dogs.
I sit here looking at this photo of me back then
and I'm trying to think about what I can write to her
that will in any way undo even the smallest measure
of the damage done by the scary monster man
I try to think of all that I've learnt in my sessions
but my mind refuses to do anything but look and cry.
Well this carries on for a few days which is sort of OK
as my other half is away on business so he can't see
this totally shambolic attempt to get it together
and make steps forward instead of .. christ I need a drink
And I wander to the kitchen to look at the wine rack
Full of stuff that will only make the tears run more freely.
Back upstairs in my special writing place I sit once more
looking at me from way back when the monster man first came
Dear little me ... this is big me talking to you now
and I know just how scared and lonely and bad this feels
but you know what? This is not happening because your are bad.
So what can I say it's because of then, she's waiting to hear.
Well you see there are bad people who want to hurt kids.
And they tell them that they must never tell and you know why?
Because what they are doing is really very bad and naughty
and if somone told on them do you know what would happen?
They'd go to jail and have to stay there for a long time.
I think there's special jails for monster men with high walls.
But I can't say those things to little me, because she never told
well except Daddy who got all funny and strange and called her a liar
She didn't remember seeing him there at all until later
Back to little me, I was telling you about bad people wasn't I?
And how this isnt your fault and little girls are never to blame
for this kind of bad thing happening. Will you trust me?
I must tell you some stuff that is hard to understand
about scary things that happen when we're too small to stop it.
I know that he hurt you and made you do things that made you cry
and that the hurt bits inside you still don't feel right
It was him that was wrong and not you at all, you're beautiful
and clean, bright shiny girl. I want to hug you right now.
When you grow up in the future and look back to this time
I want you to know that this was what a bad person did
and you are still a good girl even if you don't feel it's true
and what happened does not make you less than the person you are
or the person you would someday wish or even pray to be
I love you me from way back then, and I'm sure we'll be OK now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
