Round 3 (and a list of 10 poems I wrote in 2014 which I don't mind you reading if you really want to)

So, a second year down, and I've pretty much kept up my 1 poem a week challenge (I missed one week due to travelling, so wrote 3 the next week). I've now got 100+ poems in this blog. Which is kind of unreal. I still get a little buzz from writing. I get an even bigger buzz if someone actually tells me they've read it. While that's the case I'm going to keep going, I guess. At this point it's not even a choice. It's habit.

So, with that said. If you would like to read something about what I do but reading a poem each week is a challenge (very understandable), find below a list of my favourite poems this year.

The one I most love to perform - Rising Up
This one is quite simple. What would it be like to fly to the edge of space? Find out here

The one least like a poem - The Gap in Conversation
Only very loosely related to the theme of space, this one is a lot more like a very short story than anything else. There's no rhyme, no rhythm. Just words.

The most personal - Dear Thomas, Cat
While I ended up writing a lot of close to the heart stuff, this was definitely the most personal. My Cat was diagnosed with 6 weeks to live around 10 months ago. Throughout this entire year I've not been sure if he'd be here the next week. If I've seemed down at any point it's probably because I've had this thing going on in the background of my life. Only written at the end of December, this definitely summed up a lot of my feelings on the issue.

The one people who like spoken word seem to like - Scars
Definitely a very personal one. I've actually made someone cry after performing this. At the content and not at the writing, I think.

The one which describes why I'm still going next year - Dancing
I'm not good at subtlety in metaphors.

The one with the most extended metaphors - Keep Working
I am, however, good at mixing metaphors.

The one people who like poetry seem to like - Honest Tears
Failed entry to a competition. I still like it.

The best dialogue - The Moon
I performed this one with my friend Dan Shipley, and it's just lots of fun. Particularly if they don't know what's coming.

The one which started off a big project - In Which A Prologue Is Presented
In August I made a pledge to write a whole story. That lead me to produce 4 stanzas on Monday, Wednesday and Friday every week. It was difficult, and kinda fun to actually write something like a story, but I feel like it may have done better with a plan. Still a big moment in my year though to complete it.

The one which was most read - When It's Not Just The News
I wasn't going to include this one. However, it was by far my most read, and also the one I think helped the most people. It was made for the moment and feels dishonest to promote. However, as a reflection of the year, it was such a defining piece of writing that it'd also feel dishonest to leave it out. Written for many friends about one friend in particular. Read something else first.

Dear Thomas, Cat

Dear Thomas, cat
I know I talk to you all the time, but sometimes I don't feel like you can understand me
So I thought I'd try to pursue the process of communication somewhat more formally
Cause I know that although you do turn to me when I say your name each day
Do you really know it refers to you, or do you just think it means "hey"?

Dear Thomas, cat
I've known you since we were young, and we've both grown old together
We both confuse the parents with the amount of time we like spending in bad weather
We're both the most energetic and sleepy people anyone could ever meet
When playing games we can both sometimes struggle to admit defeat

Dear Thomas, cat
Do you actually enjoy it when I scratch you and stroke your fur
You certainly seem to approach something approximating a smile and a purr
We've had special games which nearly always involve you trying to catch something I try to whip away
I estimate your expression is contempt when I prod you with something if you don't (but I do) want to play

Dear Thomas, cat
It's kind of long-winded, but what I'm trying to get at in some way is this
It's a habit of mine and your other pets to try to build up a narrative about you while you exist
We try to work out when you're happy, hungry, going out or feeling great
But this game has had to become a slightly darker one of late

Dear Thomas, cat
You were given 6 weeks to live. You're now on 40 weeks and still going
And I'm trying desperately to work out what emotions you are showing
Your face is contorted. Your tongue hangs out. You dribble on every floor
It seems like the cancer must be hurting you. Causing pain, discomfort and more.

Dear Thomas, cat
I want to imagine you're a fighter. I have this great image in my mind
Of you striking back at this disease, a victory for all cat-kind
You do seem happy to see us still. I know this is merely the image I project
But while you're still seeming to smile and purr, I guess we'll assume you're happy to struggle on for just a little while yet.

Freeform: Cyborg

She's not fully human. At least not any more.
Not since involuntarily gave up a finger or four
And the rest of her hand, her thumb and her palm
Her wrist, elbow and shoulder - but please remain calm

For she means you no harm. For they built her anew
A limb to replace where she once had too few
Not fully flesh, she calls herself cyborg with a gleam
While brightly her arm reflects the smile of a sunbeam

"It's fantastic" she'd say "I'd recommend the experience
Loosing a limb is a testament to my stronger limbs' perseverance
I've got rid of the weak, only the better remain
And look I got to replace where I once had to feel pain"

It's shiny, though slightly dulled from substantial use
From having being subjected lovingly to generous abuse
It can't do everything a human arm can, but also vice-versa
She has strength she never had before - they call her "bear" or "ursa"

But this girl ain't stuck in the constellations, quite the reverse
She's loving life on earth with her gift, and never calls it a curse
And feels nothing but confusion, is even saddened slightly
When others express sympathy, of course doing so politely

"Think of all the things she'll never do. The sensations she wont enjoy.
Think how isolated she'll feel when she holds hands with a boy
She can't knit or crochet, can hardly catch a ball
It's painful to watch her eat, how does she enjoy life at all?"

And these words do annoy her, partially the obvious assumption
But mostly because she feels she has no problem with consumption
She worked hard for straight months to practice technique
Enjoying the challenge of every new skill she should seek

They don't see, can't see, how her life could be better now
The admire her bravery, without seeing it's genuine somehow
And if offered the chance to switch back? She'd know right away
She'd still be the cyborg. She prefers it this way.

Freeform: Tattoos

There are some people who just can't help but leave a mark when you meet them
Leave etches on your memories you can never delete and
Remind you of the other in the earth, those in the planet but not of the same
There are those always in the picture and then there are those that chose the frame

I tell you this so you understand just how special this wise wizened lady was to me
Standing before me voiceless at 5ft3
She'd lived life to it's fullest, never dreaming just doing
Reminding you of how much life you should be pursuing

If she had a tongue she'd curse me for hanging around such an old hack
She'd long ago lost her voice yelling at life to take its lemons back
You ask how I knew without voice this women's great heart?
It's simple. Her entire body was art.

To preserve moments of her life she'd sketched them on her skin
Never one to keep people out or hold feelings in
She was open and honest, she'd tattooed the good and the bad
A tattoo of a young boy, underlined by two dates, of the child she had had.

There was a list of lovers, each with a rating out of ten
There was her Mother's birthday, which she'd once forgotten. Tattoed to never forget again.
There was a world map, coloured in for places she'd been
Her back held the message of "a place I've never seen"

She had hearts and tears, but each held a purpose
This old lady before me, full of art that to anyone else would be worthless
But she was more than her skin. More than just colours and ink swirled.
This lady had become her own tattoo and applied herself the world.

Freeform: The circle in the square

Yo. I'm the circle in the square
The odd guy over there.
I'm the monster in the closet so you'd better beware
But maybe I'm being unfair
So let me say what I mean and you can see if you care

I know I can seem all confident and full of vigour
But that doesn't mean I don't assume people snigger
Behind my back
About social skills I lack
Things others were taught but for me fell through the crack

Is it right, is it fair, is it honest, is it true?
What do they say about me? What could I do?
I've never known if I'm cool or not
Never known if others consider me hot
All I know is there's no social awkwardness I've caused that I've ever forgot

I can assume it's normal, but never really know
Is this social anxiety natural? Can it really be though?
Don't get me wrong. I love to chat and meet people I haven't met before
But when I think of what they must think of me I head to the door
Not wanting to plague them with my presence any more

I've been called unusual. I've been called weird.
I've been outed and laughed at, but I don't think ever feared.
I'm the butt of many jokes, The stereotypical guy.
The one who is seen as all surface and no inner, but why?
I guess that's just how it goes. And why that is, man, no one knows.

Just know this
I do feel awkward
I do wonder what people think of me.
I'm aware it's probably not much
And if it is much, it's probably not good.
But I don't really mind.
Just know I've yet to meet someone I dislike.
And, if you are happy talking to me
I'm happy to stay a little longer and chat with you.

Remember: Admit your mistakes

Thank sinking feeling when you know you've messed up is never nice.
I should know. I've messed up a few times myself. Ok, more than a few.
That's not hyperbole, that's me counting past my fingers.
And I know it's not easy to admit, it never is
So, what I'm going to do is take you through a couple scenarios
And let you see what you should do from now.

In the first scenario, you own up
Yes, I know it isn't easy. But what else can you do?
Knuckle up. Grit your teeth. Clench your hand into a fist if it helps.
Apologise for the world to see.
You are flawed. But you aren't flawed enough to hide.
You may get some flack for this.
This road ain't easy. No one said it was.
But it's an option.

In the second scenario, you just continue on.
Man, that's tempting isn't it?
And yes, it's a genuine possibility.
No one has to live with your mistake except you.
Sure, maybe you insulted someone.
Maybe you forgot a favour
But in the end, you could just live with knowing the person who does those things?
That person is you.
And all you have do is not put in the effort to do otherwise.
The best thing? This is easier the more you do it.
Take this road once and it'll be easier the next time, I assure you.

...

It takes a lot of effort to be a good human.
And being a good human doesn't mean you are never wrong. I think.
It means taking time to realise that you can be
It means that bettering yourself requires acknowledging the parts of yourself that are worse.
And so often I've wanted to take the easy path.
Some day, I would like to meet the me that took it.
But for now. Man, for now?
I'm sorry. I screwed up. In advance for next time if I haven't to you yet already.
Just let me know. And I'm sorry if I'm bitter at first. Because I don't deal with it well.
Just rest assured, even if it takes time.
I *will* deal with it
If only so I can kid myself into pretending to be a good human a little longer.

Remember: 2 minutes of Silence

This is 2 minutes of silence, 2 minutes to actually think
I relish in this quiet and let my thoughts start to sink
No one can control what goes through your mind
Here is 2 minutes worth of what you may find in mine

What is this for? Ah, that's right, I know
To remember a war from long long ago
A war we thought was fought for good reason
A war where not to fight was treason

It was fought by many
And yes they fought well
Those boys my age or less
They all went through hell

Not all, but some noble
Not all, but some kind
Not all, but some aware
Nor all, but some of sound mind

All of them fought in this war to end all wars
All wars since have just been peacekeeping missions
Even if I disagree with the fighting,
I have to admire their courage and ambition

As I do those who stood up
Saying they would not fight
It was a different bravery
306 executed for doing what they believed right

I know picking sides and saying who is right or wrong is a fool's errand
I know life isn't black or white, but far too often stained with red
So while I still am uneasy with propaganda, patriotic jingo and the means to war's end
Rest assured that in my 2 minutes, I still remember and honour the dead.

The 306 in this poem refer to the 306 soldiers shot for desertion. Read here - http://www.theguardian.com/world/1999/nov/14/firstworldwar.uk

For explanation to the poem, I'm not a fan of war. I doubt anyone really is. I really do feel in awe of those people who did give up their lives believing themselves to be protecting their families and country. However, we were not as pure as we like to make out. Propaganda tricked many into serving.  I fully doubt that everyone knew exactly why we were fighting. And no, it wasn't just to 'give the germans a good thrashing'. So, when I remember, I don't feel a lot of pride. I have no right to - I neither fought nor influenced anything that occurred. The country has changed a lot since a century ago. But I do feel sadness that so many died, and awe that they chose to do so.

The first world war was the first great war of the modern era. It was the last time modern war occurred where we could claim ignorance of the eventual consequences. That, and eveything that happened after, is worth remembering.

Remember: The Fifth

Remember remember the 5th of November
Remember remember the 5th of November
Remember remember the 5th of November
But why?

See I remember the fireworks from my childhood
I remember the colours making me feel good
I remember the bonfire and the crackling wood
I remember the sparklers, but not the spark I should

See way back when, kicking it 17th century style
There'd be dissatisfaction, there had been for a while
People were screaming, every citizen a potential revolutionary
This unsettled the royal and his loyal powers that be

So they hatched a plot. The decided to conspire
That a plot would exist to set parliament on fire
But it would be foiled. There'd be no danger
Just the death of someone not them, an unknown stranger.

So the plan went forth on the fifth, and low and behold it succeeded
They'd got the scapegoat they so desperately needed
They took the luckless man, and set him alight
So is this what we should remember on bonfire night?

Nah. Not in my reckoning. You see just one king along
Nothing had been solved. Everything was still wrong.
Despite the best intentions, the best laid plans
The mice in power were thwarted man for man

Dissatisfaction can be abated. It can be delayed
But if the root is not tackled you may end up dismayed
So I remember this night as the great deadline extension
That still led to no cure. Nor further prevention.

That if you are granted a second chance
Be aware of the route down which you should advance
Don't trust the hand of lady luck so blindly
Remember the second time she might not deal you so kindly.

Remember: The watcher

She was the watcher. That was all that she did
She would watch the world without interaction
It's all she'd done since she was a kid
It would've been all she'd do until death

But I, I sought out and met the watcher in person
I wanted to discuss great things
They marvels she'd seen, but also her aversion
To going out and experiencing the world

"Will you not come with me?" I near begged at her side
But not because of her beauty or looks
You've been cooped up too long watching from inside
The earth is there for all to enjoy

She looked at me, and gave a wise, tired sigh
"I would like nothing more than to explore with you
But I stay here for a reason, and you must understand why"
I waited so I could hear what she would say

"The world is more beautiful than you could possibly realise
I have seen thing no others ever will
But these memories no exist no place but behind my eyes
I could not stand them to vanish if I would go

Life and all in it is temporary
It is fleeting and transient at best
So I must stay to hold it my memory
To let it last. To let it live, if just a little while more.

Space: Rising up

And I rose.
I wove jovially at the odd collection of individuals around me
The pillow of air bellowed out below swallowing all I could see
A transparent bubble of separation giving an indication of reality
The untouchable. The others. The ever further away.
I was swept into the aether as it took me where it may.

And I rose.

Going up now, going up ever ever higher
I was excited, yet only via aid I could even respire
My mind was raised up, up, up to a scene to inspire
And I had to admire the entire collage of colours collect
Though nature has her faults you have to acknowledge her palette

And I rose.


I danced on clouds since up until now in life I'd had to refrain
I spread my arms and pretended I was an aeroplane
And I looked down at the ground, that refuge of the sane
As it grew smaller and smaller, and grew a horizon
As the earth shrunk my landscapes widened and wizened

And I rose.



Here from the edge of space everything looks so small
The boundaries blur as if they were nothing at all
I rose from the politics, the arguing, the discriminating, the brawl
And it was only so far away that I finally did know
I didn't want to return back. I didn't want to go.





And I fell
I would be safe. I would be secure
My own little bubble would still be so pure
But still I had to wonder how I'd endure
Knowing how fragile, and how small we are
How I could live among the ants I had once seen from afar.

Inspired by someone going really high into the atmosphere and then not being so high - http://www.nytimes.com/2014/10/25/science/alan-eustace-jumps-from-stratosphere-breaking-felix-baumgartners-world-record.html

Space: The gap in conversation

Alright, sit back and settle in.
Let me describe how your evening has gone so far.

A good friend of yours has dragged you along to a party.
You went because he needed some confidence, and you wanted some entertainment.
He's currently trying to stand up while chatting to a girl in the corner. He's having about equal success at both.
The only issue is, that leaves you alone.

The party itself is decent. The drinks are about the right level of cheapness. The house has just less seating space than is ideal. And so far not one person has started a fight or thrown up on themselves.
It's kind of dull to be honest. But you're fine with that. You've had a bit too much excitement at these things recently. I'll leave it up to you as to whether you were the cause of the excitement.

But anyway, you've tried chatting to a few people. But nearly everyone else is either in the wrong type of investment banking for you, or too keen to talk about people they've known. You've been talking with other people about other other people a long time, for so long you're not really sure if these others really exist.

You look at your watch and decide it's just too early to leave, yet. You don't mind going without your friend (he's fully occupied after all), but you've just never imagined yourself as being the *first* to leave a party. You want to make one last go at conversation.

Then, you find them. And by them, I mean the person you've been unknowingly looking for all party. The one you actually sort of don't mind hanging around for more than 5 minutes.

"Hi!"
"Hi."

You can tell it's going well so far.

You follow with a "How are you?", and then it turns to "How have you been?" and you start fantasizing with them about "How will you be?". Without really trying, you're talking. It could be there's something more there but for the most part you're just so happy to be finding out about someone, and discovering they're someone it's worth finding out about.

You glance down at your phone - not (for once) to check your messages but just to see how long you've been there. It would now be more than acceptable for you this to call this a good night, try to find your friend and stagger home with him. But you don't want to, not yet.

But, just thinking about it makes your brain freeze. And I don't mean time stands still, no, time is very much moving about the very stationary you. They look straight into your eyes, possibly with a hint of concern (and it seems like genuine concern, as much as anyone does care for each other at these parties). They ask if you're ok.

And you're just sitting there.

Sitting there.

Begging your mind to come up with something.

This is it. The  s p a c e.

This is where you decide what it's all about.

What does this conversation mean to you?

Does it mean anything at all? Will it just stand out as a good night in your mind, a meaningful highlight that there are real people in this world.

Does the person in front of you mean anything to you? How much talking have they been doing? How much have you been doing? God, has it just been you rambling on so far? You'd been so engrossed in the conversation you hadn't thought to check. What's their name again? You know them so well but you're not fully sure you know their name, and it's certainly too awkward to check.

Is it love? Or is it a genuine friendship? (After all, falling in love happens every night for some people but finding a good friend is something not worth ignoring either). Or is it just you desperate for companionship at this dull party.

Wait, someone is coming over. No. No they can't. This has been such a lovely conversation, don't make us acknowledge someone else. It'll ruin it. Not to be rude, but you were flowing so well and that doesn't quite work with three people there.

You were flowing, yeah. What were you even talking about now?

You're aware they're still patiently waiting for you. Are they just being polite? Kind? Do they care about what you're going to say? Or are they just curious as to how you'll dig yourself out of this hole?

Why are you not saying anything? Come on.

This could be your chance.

At what, I'm not quite sure, but your chance at something. Something more than anything else that's gone on so far.

You can see them glance away. And you see why.

The friend you came with has managed to start a fight. With himself.

With a sigh, you get up and make your excuses. You ask them to hold on, promising you'll be back and hoping you aren't lying.

You go and help your friend. After all, that's what good friends are for.

He's not really speaking as you manage to get him into the car. You pass the person who was waiting for you on the way. You smile at each other, and it seems like there might be something there. Possibly. If you'd kept talking you could've just ignored this. But you couldn't. And your friend, now unconscious, is drooling slightly on your lap. Ah well, you say to yourself out loud, at least you're sure of some good conversation on the way home.

Space: The space inside

To be performed

I'm always kind of amused, whenever I find myself on stage.
Of all the emotions I feel, it's never fear or rage
I never want to strike out. I never want to hide
Just a curiosity. To find out what is inside.

See, I'm placed here before you all today.
All 6tf1 of post-teenage angst and decay
All of you see me, standing right here
All of you waiting for me. And I don't fear

See, some people get stage fright, that was never my scene
Others get an audience in sight and shout words that're obscene
I've known a man or two who sees a crowd and loves the attention
But my reaction is one that's just of my own invention

You are all sitting down there, trying to make a decision
What sort of person I am, am I worthy of derision
What am I saying, thinking, and about to do
Here's what you don't realise: I'm deciding the same about you

See, my own dull mind is the only one I know
It's quite spacious in there, it's not a fun place to go
But other people's minds? That's a wholly different tale
So leave me some breadcrumbs and I'll follow your trail

What are all of you odd little creatures thinking of in the space behind your eyes
What images are playing, what is the purpose which causes you to rise
How do you think? How do you see colours? How do you do?
If I see a thing do you see the same thing too?

Do you really think behind those eyes, or are you just put here to deceive me
But mostly what I want to know is are you willing to receive me
As a performer, after all I'm up here on stage to put on a show
So what I really want to know, is should I stay or should I go?

Space: Halley's Comet

You may not know, but earth gets a regular visitor.
And I mean regular, as in, with regularity.
It's far from a common occurrence
But, well, I like to imagine there's a purpose to the visit.

That, far far away, a grand council of others spotted this planet
That they saw it developing, so young as it then was.
And, for the purposes of science and stories
The decided that, every 3 generations, they would monitor our progress

And then they waited

They would have seen so much in our time.
I'd like to think they applauded the young man
The one who, only seeing their comet once, realised the pattern
That they watched, possibly unable to help, as we delved further into war

That these watchers note carefully the steps we've made
That they can see us start to stare up at them
That they let us grow
They watched us be slow

And then

They visited in 1910. And the world was starting to turn.
We'd blackened the land so we could travel it faster
We'd explored the world so we could command it
We had progressed for personal gain

Then, in 1986, they visited again. And the world had turned many times.
They'd seen the greatest period of peace in history
They'd seen us learn to communicate across the seas
They saw that we had finally started to explore beyond earth

Yet they will visit again. They always do
In 2061, the comet will fly by again
The earth will have turned many more times
And I wonder what the watchers will see

This is a little similar to a previous poem of mine, so apologies, but I liked this execution better. Also, there's a slight inaccuracy here. You see, for a rather odd reason, Halley's comet will be visible later this month (21st-22nd ish), a little earlier than planned. Maybe they got so keen to see what had happened next that they couldn't wait for an update.

Space: Flight

I hate this first bit.

Always have, always will

Never quite enjoyed this thrill

A clench of fists, my teeth grit

The countdown begins

I do a check - I've got my things



The safety announcement

Please lift up your cabin trays

Check how to exit on the displays

Departure is now imminent

I strap in real tight, fumbling

I can hear the engines rumbling

This trip is quite short

Due to last a mere two days

Which seems a long way aways

As my mind is on just one thought

I must stay conscious, I must

The engines start their thrust

I feel as if I'm dying

This is a slow but powerful course

I try to withstand the G-Force

And then we are flying

I have overcome my fear

My reward for consciousness is clear

All around me, space

The wonders of the galaxy come into view

In utmost clarity, vast and true

Yet mine is the only wondered face

Some glance briefly, the universe quickly seen

Others look not at all, this trip is routine

I am always sad when I realise

That humanity can so quickly be bored

With that which our discoveries grant accord

But then I see another set of glimmering eyes

The small girl next to me, staring out into forever

I squeeze her hand and we stare, together.

I've recently been flying a fair bit. I flew for the first time in 13 years last summer. I've flown twice again since then. And each time, I'm amazed to find myself up above the clouds. Full of wonder by all I see. It saddens me to realise I'm normally the only one. This happened with trains, it happened with planes and, it made me sad to realise, if we ever achieve space flight, it'll probably happen with that too. That which people nowadays would love nothing more in their hearts to achieve may one day become routine. As flying is to us. But that doesn't mean that there wont be a few who realise that some experiences are more than just a novelty. Hopefully.

New Words: Ephemera (Or: Honest Tears)

There is no more beautiful or treacherous pleasure to indulge in as a man than to enjoy crying
To let emotion pour from you, your face dripping with the betrayal of what society demands
For once, you can be honest.
For once, you can not hide.

Most of the time, we have to bottle up our tears
Drink them down with the rest of our sorrows
Tattoo them on the inside of our eyelids
So that only when we blink do we wash away the mask and see ourselves clearly

Trying so very hard to emotionally barricade the first tear in
But once the breach is made, all internal defences are voluntarily taken down
And, sitting there in a pool of utmost clarity
Know that this, this can only be a merely temporary transparency

But for now, while the taste of salt on tongue is fresh
Before people scold and make fun for not being a man, before rejoining the anti-emotion mob
This ephemeral feast for one will provide a little nourishment
To help build this human into a man once more

ephemera -

Things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time.

New Words: Ebullience

I've got a little tip for you
It's how to perk yourself up, when you need to

It wont get you to elated levels of exuberance
To be described as someone consumed with ebullience

Rather quaintly, its just a little tip
Some small advice, an oddly trick

So let me get to it, I've been rambling a while
It's known some parts as the two part smile

First smile small, don't show your teeth
And hold your breath, this part is brief

Then exhale, and go full cheer
Show your happiness, then never fear

You'll find yourself elated a little, at least it works for me
It's not much. But may it make you just a small amount more happy.

Ebullience - The quality of being cheerful and full of energy; exuberance.
(I know this one is a day late, there'll be 2 this week, but I was travelling sadly).

New Words: The dichotomy

Listen up, as I help you:

Remove the dichotomy
Lose the lobotomy
And stop your world view from shrinking
Despite the polarity
Realise that contrariety
Does not only equal two ways of thinking

Alright, let's rewind it back a little

When I was just a young cur
As most of us once were
I would struggle to see more than two sides
So when I'd want an opposition
My natural disposition
Was to take the first position I realised

And then not think any further

Let me provide an example
Just a little small sample
Of the type of thinking that used to vex me
See I saw on television
The nauseating preposition
That was life was only worth living if you're sexy

So what did I do?

Now, not to come on strong
But this was clearly wrong
So I decided that life should be blander
That each and every person
Should have a natural aversion
To this clearly incorrect propaganda

So what did I miss?

As I only heard one voice
I didn't realise the choice
That I could just give people the option
I shouldn't force others to display
That people should choose their own way
And select own mindset for adoption

The lesson from this?

I took time to realise
I'd become what I despise
By forcing others into my point of view
There is always at least 3 criteria
But then, giving me hysteria
I realised there could even be a forth option too...

dichotomy: a division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different.


Yes I already new the word dichotomy, but the poem idea came to me and I couldn't resist

New Words: Recumbentibus

Sometimes, I want to strike out
And I want an opponent too
I want them to know exactly what I'm about
As I strike them with the old one-two

Yes, my friends, the one two classic.
If you haven't heard of it let me explain
The move is so old it's practically Jurassic
To cause both types of pain

You start with the verbal retort
To render them confused and stunned
Then you come out physical, to end their thought
And show them they've been completely out-gunned

Recumbentibuses, we're talking in plural
Because just one knock out ain't enough
Back them up against the wall then turn them into a mural
Cause you're made of the tougher stuff

At least, I fantasise about that a short while
Then I realise and I'm back to reality
I don't want to hit people, just make them smile
Except for in my wildest fantasy

Recumbentibus: A knock out word, verbal or physical

Story: In which our hero finds out what he's done

Our hero looked out, to see what he'd done
He surveyed the world, and saw it not as one
For all the hero's good intentions in actions
They'd all had an equal and opposite reaction

Be elevating one side, helping on his way
His absence had led the other side to decay
Sometimes that's the way of life and light
With nothing wrong, there'd be nothing right

Our hero was shown what each action had done
How each task had helped and hurt someone
How our hero was the sinner and the saviour, the one who set the sails
This world is one of balance, and he charted the course on these scales

Oh hero, our hero, oh what have you done?
Oh hero, our hero, this can't be undone.
Though he knew it was necessary, when his full actions he realised
Our noble, strong hero? He broke down and he cried.

Story: In which a tale is told

Story: In which our story has a Prologue

There are a lot of tales in this world.
But not that many actually worth listening to,
And far fewer worth retelling.
Particularly for those whose business it is to do so.

Myself, I knew a tale or two I think you'd retell.
But which one, which one to choose?
Hmm, I apologise, but a few seconds are needed.
The choice of which story to allow to the world is not one to take lightly.

Let's see. I can't tell that one. Not if you want to sleep tonight
And *this* one? 
No. The wounds haven't yet healed.
But, wait, this story right here? Hmm.

I guess I could. But you must promise to be careful with it
Now, get yourself comfortable.
Because, this world right now is to be on
In which a story is told.

 

Story: In which we meet our hero

Now once a upon a time but many more times too
There lived a hero, let me introduce him to you
He stands, strong and blond and 6 foot 2.
An image of perfection, Yes, I hate him too.

Yet you can't hate him too long, he's everyone's friend
You, like everyone, will come to love him in the end
After all, he's just so easy to comprehend
You know what he'll do, on that you can depend

Sometimes, just sometimes, he'll be his own man
He'll divert radically from the well-thought out plan
And when he does that, be as far away as you can
Unless you enjoy a ride in a nice, black, sedan

However, he doesn't know his strength, he has never been tested
As he has never been in battle, he has never been bested
But he's ready for the fight - after all, his whole life he's been rested
So listen up, because his story is one in which it's worth being invested

 

Story: In which the world is set

Now let me describe the world in which our hero dwells
Lest you try to build it yourself, and fill it with the wrong smells
When telling a story, it's important to set the scene right
I'm about to put whole world in your head, so close your eyes and hold on tight

For this world is simply a world of two halves
Radically opposed, connected once and then no more paths
For two sides so opposed, the existence of the path is peculiar indeed
Neither goes near the other, save the house in the middle, for which our hero holds the deed

To the left of our hero's front door,
Lies chaos incarnate and more
To the right lies order, and an egalitarian town
Where all peoples are equal and none hold a crown

Both sides exist in harmony, but know well of this land
It is a dangerous business to interfere with what you don't understand
Our hero, for obvious reasons, has always stayed on the right
At least, until he lay down his head to rest tonight...

 

Story: In which our hero dreams

Our hero sleeps quickly, without needing sedating
He needs sleep. And if there's something needs doing there's no point in waiting
He dreams of his own world, but with one small change
As a voice from the wilderness comes into range

"Dear hero, oh hero, we need your assistance
But only if you are strong - this job requires persistence
And bravery too, you need to step where you've not before
Turn the other direction as you walk through your door

And when there, you'll come across 3 tasks needing done
What they are I cannot say, but you must do each one
It wont be easy. But I'll guide you where I can
For this task may be too much for just one man

You must restore balance to this distorted place
Now go, and find what dangers you will face."
Not sure if he was dreaming, it was groggily our hero awoke this night
He grabbed his satchel and left. And, for the first time, did not turn right.

 

Story: In which our hero has something (finally) happen to him

Barely had our hero crossed the threshold of the other half
Did he hear a different voice, this one with a maniacal laugh
"Yo boy, you've really fallen into my hands now
So let me introduce myself and take my bow

I'm the ruler of the chaos in which you stand
As far as it can be, it's under my command
But know well, it only obeys this order
Because it is in a state of total disorder

So know well, if you wish to defeat me
You'd better not going increasing entropy
But you've been bewitched by my monologue a touch too long
Because now I've set up my trap to test if you're strong"

As the last of his words faded, so did the sky
And the ground and the air, which whooshed as they went by
As our hero found himself in a pit laden with all types of stone
For lesser men, this would be a burial throne

 

Story: In which our hero makes the first task look easy

Surrounded by stones, surrounded by rocks
Surrounded by the echoes of a voice which incessantly mocks
Our hero surveys carefully all that surrounds
Until slowly and carefully,  solution is found

Out of the scattered boulders, a pattern emerges
From the utter stillness, his energy surges
Picking up with power and carefully placing
Here is his answer to the danger he's facing

He builds, most surely, his way to escape
As his creation over time starts to take shape
See in this chaotic and despondent place
Our hero has constructed a spiral staircase

He climbs it to freedom, and breathes in the air
It certainly seems clear and fresher than down there
And, showing no sign of the challenge taking a toll
He picks a direction and starts to stroll

 

Story: In which our hero faces a different sort of task

Such tasks by heroes are very simply done
It's taught first thing, heroing 101
But as our hero strolled, he found something new
In amid the chaos, something you wouldn't expect to

A town, or at least, some sort of dwelling
It appeared in tatters, but still somewhat compelling
An elder (or just old beyond his years)
Gives our hero a speech as he slowly appears

"Dear hero, oh hero, could you stay with us a while
Our town, it is large, but on no face is a smile
Our homes are in tatters, our politics a mess
This is an issue we need a hero to address"

Now this sort of task is not done in a day
But our hero felt like he had to stay
These people needed him, he felt it deep in his marrow
He agreed, whilst ignoring the cackle from the shadows.

 

Story: In which a long time passes

Our hero, he stayed, to do what he could
He built homes out of stone, cement and wood
He talked to people, made them understand
He built the greatest town in the land

The way he had done it - through peace, not force
Was bound to draw some attention of course
But remarkably, against all narrative and probability
This did not cause war, nor any instability

Others saw his example, some asked for his aid
Others strived on their own, many plans had been laid
Societies sprouted, this half-world was transformed
Only through our hero could we ever see this semi-terraform

But sadly, all things must come at a price
To not interfere in what you don't understand, was my advice
Many years later, our hero finally walks off, alone
From the town he now calls his home

 

Story: In which our hero goes to find his third challenge

Our hero walked as he not done before

For now he was older, and wiser at core
He had dealt with politics, geography and science
And left behind a community bonded in alliance

In fact this whole place didn't look as chaotic now
It had been ordered, tamed somehow
He now knew these trees and knew these roads
But sadly a happy ending is not the point of this ode

His feet had wandered, as hero's feet do
Until finally he came to some place quite new
A mountain stood there, its slope gradient high
It towered and loomed, dominating the sky

Our hero started, to time spent to consider
Though the air grew cold, he gave no shiver
Though the air grew thin, his breathing was strong
There was no time to be lost, this climb was to be long

 

Story: In which our hero meets the source of the voices

The journey up the mountain, it took some time,
But our hero had nearly ended his climb
When he heard the voice, that voice from before
In fact he heard voices, that voice and one more

The one that had started this whole curséd quest
Both were talking together, neither would rest
As he rose up over the final crest of stone
What he saw was a most unusual throne

It had no back, but luxurious seat and arms
With two figures back to back, who said "We mean you no harm
We are the watchers, the ones who look out on this land
And you've come to us now, just as we've planned

We watch over both halves of this earth, one half for each
We watch and command, but they lie out of our reach
We ensure they're in balance, as all things must be
So the result of your actions, you must now start to see"

 

Story: In which our hero finds out what he's done

Our hero looked out, to see what he'd done

He surveyed the world, and saw it not as one
For all the hero's good intentions in actions
They'd all had an equal and opposite reaction

Be elevating one side, helping on his way
His absence had led the other side to decay

Sometimes that's the way of life and light

With nothing wrong, there'd be nothing right

Our hero was shown what each action had done

How each task had helped and hurt someone

How our hero was the sinner and the saviour, the one who set the sails
This world is one of balance, and he charted the course on these scales

Oh hero, our hero, oh what have you done?
Oh hero, our hero, this can't be undone.

Though he knew it was necessary, when his full actions he realised

Our noble, strong hero? He broke down and he cried.

Story: In which our hero meets the source of the voices

The journey up the mountain, it took some time,
But our hero had nearly ended his climb
When he heard the voice, that voice from before
In fact he heard voices, that voice and one more

The one that had started this whole curséd quest
Both were talking together, neither would rest
As he rose up over the final crest of stone
What he saw was a most unusual throne

It had no back, but luxurious seat and arms
With 2 figures back to back, who said "We mean you no harm
We are the watchers, the ones who look out on this land
And you've come to us now, just as we've planned

We watch over both halves of this earth, one half for each
We watch and command, but they lie out of our reach
We ensure they're in balance, as all things must be
So the result of your actions, you must now start to see"

Story: In which our hero goes to find his third challenge

Our hero walked as he not done before
For now he was older, and wiser at core
He had dealt with politics, geography and science
And left behind a community bonded in alliance

In fact this whole place didn't look as chaotic now
It had been ordered, tamed somehow
He now knew these trees and knew these roads
But sadly a happy ending is not the point of this ode

His feet had wandered, as hero's feet do
Until finally he came to some place quite new
A mountain stood there, it's slope gradient high
It towered and loomed, dominating the sky

Our hero started, to time spent to consider
Though the air grew cold, he gave no shiver
Though the air grew thin, his breathing was strong
There was no time to be lost, this climb was to be long

Story: In which a long time passes

Our hero, he stayed, to do what he could
He built homes out of stone, cement and wood
He talked to people, made them understand
He built the greatest town in the land

The way he had done it - through peace, not force
Was bound to draw some attention of course
But remarkably, against all narrative and probability
This did not cause war, nor any instability

Others saw his example, some asked for his aid
Others strived on their own, many plans had been laid
Societies sprouted, this half-world was transformed
Only through our hero could we ever see this semi-terraform

But sadly, all things must come at a price
To not interfere in what you don't understand, was my advice
Many years later, our hero finally walks off, alone
From the town he now calls his home

Story: In which our hero faces a different sort of task

Such tasks by heroes are very simply done

It's taught first thing, heroing 101

But as our hero strolled, he found something new

In amid the chaos, something you wouldn't expect to

A town, or at least, some sort of dwelling

It appeared in tatters, but still somewhat compelling

An elder (or just old beyond his years)

Gives our hero a speech as he slowly appears

"Dear hero, oh hero, could you stay with us a while

Our town, it is large, but on no face is a smile

Our homes are in tatters, our politics a mess

This is an issue we need a hero to address"

Now this sort of task is not done in a day

But our hero felt like he had to stay

These people needed him, he felt it deep in his marrow

He agreed, whilst ignoring the cackle from the shadows.

Story: In which our hero makes the first task look easy

Surrounded by stones, surrounded by rocks
Surrounded by the echoes of a voice which incessantly mocks
Our hero surveys carefully all that surrounds
Until slowly and carefully,  solution is found

Out of the scattered boulders, a pattern emerges
From the utter stillness, his energy surges
Picking up with power and carefully placing
Here is his answer the the danger he's facing

He builds, most surely, his way to escape
As his creation over time starts to take shape
See in this chaotic and despondant place
Our hero has constructed a spiral staircase

He climbs it to freedom, and breathes in the air
It certainly seems clear and fresher than down there
And, showing no sign of the challenge taking a toll
He picks a direction and starts to stroll

Story: In which our hero has something (finally) happen to him

Barely had our hero crossed the threshold of the other half
Did he here a different voice, this one with a maniacal laugh
"Yo boy, you've really fallen into my hands now
So let me introduce myself and take my bow

I'm the ruler of the chaos in which you stand
As far as it can be, it's under my command
But know well, it only obeys this order
Because it is in a state of total disorder

So know well, if you wish to defeat me
You'd better not going increasing entropy
But you've been bewitched by my monologue a touch to long
Because now I've set up my trap to test if you're strong"

As the last of his words faded, so did the sky
And the ground and the air, which wooshed as they went by
As our hero found himself in a pit laden with all types of stone
For lesser men, this would be a burial throne

Story: In which our hero dreams

Our hero sleeps quickly, without needing sedating
He needs sleep. And if there's something needs doing there's no point in waiting
He dreams of his own world, but with one small change
As a voice from the wilderness comes into range

"Dear hero, oh hero, we need your assistance
But only if you are strong - this job requires persistence
And bravery too, you need to step where you've not before
Turn the other direction as you walk through your door

And when there, you'll come across 3 tasks needing done
What they are I cannot say, but you must do each one
It wont be easy. But I'll guide you where I can
For this task may be too much for just one man

You must restore balance to this distorted place
Now go, and find what dangers you will face."
Not sure if he was dreaming, it was groggily our hero awoke this night
He grabbed his satchel and left. And, for the first time, did not turn right.

Story: In which the world is set

Now let me describe the world in which our hero dwells
Lest you try to build it yourself, and fill it with the wrong smells
When telling a story, it's important to set the scene right
I'm about to put whole world in your head, so close your eyes and hold on tight

For this world is simply a world of two halves
Radically opposed, connected once and then no more paths
For two sides so opposed, the existence of the path is peculiar indeed
Neither goes near the other, save the house in the middle, for which our hero holds the deed

To the left of our hero's front door,
Lies chaos incarnate and more
To the right lies order, and an egalitarian town
Where all peoples are equal and none hold a crown

Both sides exist in harmony, but know well of this land
It is a dangerous business to interfere with what you don't understand
Our hero, for obvious reasons, has always stayed on the right
At least, until he lay down his head to rest tonight...

Story: In which we meet our hero

Now once a upon a time but many more times too
There lived a hero, let me introduce him to you
He stands, strong and blond and 6 foot 2.
An image of perfection, Yes, I hate him too.

Yet you can't hate him too long, he's everyone's friend
You, like everyone, will come to love him in the end
After all, he's just so easy to comprehend
You know what he'll do, on that you can depend

Sometimes, just sometimes, he'll be his own man
He'll divert radically from the well thought out plan
And when he does that, be as far away as you can
Unless you enjoy a ride in a nice, black, sedan

However, he doesn't know his strength, he has never been tested
As he has never been in battle, he has never been bested
But he's ready for the fight - after all, his whole life he's been rested
So listen up, because his story is one in which it's worth being invested

Story: In which our story has a Prologue

There are a lot of tales in this world.

But not that many actually worth listening to,

And far fewer worth retelling.

Particular for those whose business it is to do so.

Myself, I knew a tale or two I think you'd retell.

But which one, which one to chose?

Hmm, I apologise, but a few seconds are needed.

The choice of which story to allow to the world is not one to take lightly.

Let's see. I can't tell that one. Not if you want to sleep tonight.

And *this* one? 

No. The wounds haven't yet healed.

But, wait, this story right here? Hmm.

I guess I could. But you must promise to be careful with it.

Now, get yourself comfortable. 

Because, this world right now is to be one 

In which a story is told.




My theme for this month is to write a story. However, like most people, I'm scared of big chunks of text. But, I also want time to explore the story properly. So, rather than my usual weekly updates, I'm going to be updating 2/3 times a week with a provisional 4 stanza maximum.

I don't know where this story is going to go, but it's going to be fun finding out. Let's go for a ride.

Age: This Tree

It's 1900, and the seed, carried by the wind from its parent, finally finds a home in the soil and take route.

It's 1901, Queen Victoria has just died.
The British empire spans most of the globe.
The first Nobel prize is awarded.
The tree is one years old, and not very tall.

It's 1914, World War is declared.
The entirety of the world is up in arms.
Humanity gambles with its own extinction for the first time
The tree is 14 years old, and the tree has leaves.

It's 1945, The second World War is ended
Humanity enters a cold war of fear
A global mindset is present in all
And the tree is nearly a half century old.

It's 1969, Humanity lands on the moon
It reaches up above the sky
And climbs even higher
The tree is 69 years old, and has just climbed above the canopy.

It's 2000, Humanity celebrates a Millennium
Celebrates surviving y2k, a bug of it's own design
And celebrates the advances of a century
The tree is 100 years old, and still standing tall

It's 2014. A young boy comes across a tree among many
The tree was here before him, and will be here after him
The world has moved fast around it
But, just for now, this part of humanity stops to rest with the tree.

Age: My Dad is Old

In case you weren't aware, my Dad is old.
It's not his, fault. He's been old since I was born.
But back then he was only old.
Now he's old. Like, he's now nearly 50 old.

And, even though I haven't been around for much of it,
I feel like I added at least half of those myself.
Multiply that by 3 extra siblings,
And you might finally understand how my Dad is wiser and wearier than his years.

Alright, let me back up a bit.
My oldest brother was born when my Dad was two years from my present
And three years past from my brother right now
So maybe he wasn't always so old.

But he's certainly old right now.
Despite his love of Pixar
Despite the way he acts around cats
And, well, ok, maybe he doesn't act *that* old.

Wait, what am I saying?
Ok, let me get on solid ground.
My Dad has been old throughout my life, and, from what I can tell, all of his too.
But that isn't the only thing he's been

He's been a constant force of motivation
While allowing me the freedom to pursue routes he may not think best.
He's been there to guide my taste in books
Even while not being 100% at guiding my taste in music

He's helped encourage me to think for myself
He's been concerned for me, and helped me (sometimes) be concerned for myself
He's been there for meals, even when he's been busy
And, though I hate to admit it, he is rather good at puns.

In short, he's been the old person I needed in my life
Even though I realise now he's had to learn to be old as we go
And though I may slowly be reaching an age to pretend to be old myself
He will always be, my old man.

Happy 50th Dad,
Love Harry (the youngest one).

When it's not just the news

There's a lot of static in modern day life
On a frequency that we just don't tune to
But we catch little snippets and sentences
But don't usually focus long enough to realise

That's how it is for the news for me
I'll catch a story every once in a while
But the rest of the time it's just static
Impersonal. Uninteresting. Irrelevant.

"Today a young man in Liverpool went....Kids today I swear....The average taxpayer can expect....Exciting change in number ten....9 Britons died today.....The church of England has radical new policies....We'll bring you more on this as it happens".

And usually, I don't listen in for more.
Usually, it means nothing to me
Usually I'm quite content to let it happen
Because usually it doesn't affect me.

Until I find out it does. That it does affect me.
That it shouldn't. That statistically, I was safe.
That numbers and percentages are so small, they could be ignored
But some days, the numbers just aren't small enough.

I had a friend die in the MH17 Malaysia airlines plane crash.
I wasn't his closest friend. Even though it hurts, I wont be hurting the most from this.
There are people right now who need prayers and sympathy more than me
And I am going to give the every ounce of it I can muster.

I still feel pain. I know he was a good guy. I knew his smile.
Suddenly the news, read and written by people I will never meet becomes *the* most relevant thing in my life.
"Why aren't they mentioning him?" "Why are they talking about him, let him be".
I've read more news today than I have in a long time.

Because today, those statistics they're talking about, aren't just statistics.
Those statistics mean way more than they ever normally could.
Those statistics mean close friends of mine are crying, are sad, need someone to listen to them.
Today those statistics mean a friend has died.

God bless. To all of you, but to one guy especially.

Age: A pre-mid-life crisis

So, here's the thing. I'm just at the stage in my life where my decisions have just a bit more impact than I'm comfortable with. That what I decide to do now may just end up affecting the rest of my life. And, well, that's not the easiest thing in the world for me to deal with.

In a pre-mid-life crisis

The best advice

is to try not to panic and shout

So get on my page

As I preach from the stage

to tell you what it's all about

Time is a finite resource

So, quick! Decide your course

with what you've learnt already somehow

But each day you are given

Yet another decision

which will decide your life from now

Is your lust for money shameless

Do you want to be famous

and maybe end up in Hollywood

Do you want to make an impact

Or just live with the fact

you don't know what to do in adulthood

So now you are stressed

And I have to say I'm impressed

that you've held together thus far

So just take a quick break

Before you make a mistake

and I will try to make it seem less bizarre

Don't be scared to wander

To discover and ponder

and change course wherever you may desire

Uncertainty is no sin

And you are not caged in

unless you decide to create your own barbed wire

Age: To which I belong

It was not a pretty conclusion I came to
But I had to concede that it was true
That I am a product of this day and age
That I didn't write the book of which I make my page

It really was painful to realise
That I would view the world with different eyes
That, were I born a hundred years prior
Being offended at misogyny would make me a liar

Were I in a different place and time,
I would most likely think slavery were not a crime
I might be homophobic, and I might be a soldier
No, this was not a nice realisation to shoulder

I may not have been these things of course
There are those in history who stood up to this force
But they were exceptional, and far from the rule
I must accept that, I most likely, would have been a fool

So now, if chatting with a gentleman of a different era
If he makes an off-colour jest I don't shout his error
I don't condone, or condemn, but try to understand
While letting him know why the joke didn't go as planned

For one day I to may be making jest at fault
Not realising my utterances as pure insult
I will try not to, for this is my crime
I, like most of us, am just a man of my time.

Age: To be young again

I don't want to be young again.

I don't want to be young again,
because I try not to forget there were bad things about being young
 
To have to still be doing work I don't care for
To still be embarrassed about not getting drunk
To be ashamed to develop talents
To have to relive teenage mood swings
To not yet be really thinking for myself.

Yeah, I don't really want to be young again,
because I'd have to undo so much of my life

I'd have to unmeet so many good friends
To respend all those hours working hard
To have to forget so many memories
To be bored for all those hours
While I may not have a spare moment these days, I think I like it that way

Because, honestly, the reason I don't want to be young again
Is because, even though I know 21 is still young, when I start wanting to be younger, I stop wanting to get older

If I feel like my best days are behind me
If I add a rose-tinted filter to all days past
Then I would probably stop trying right now.
Part of me does want to be young again
But much more of me wants to find out what happens next.

Labour: Labour without gain

This is dedicated to labour without gain

To labouring with pain
Even as it all still feels the same
And going on sans shame
With neither result nor fame

To the psychiatrist, trying day after day
To cure a patient, to get through some way
To the teacher working to break though to a kid
Even if just trying the same thing they already did

To the benched athlete, trying to improve their skill
To the struggling painter who is painting still
To the addict trying to attend rehab again
Yes this is dedicated to labour without gain

For it's the labour without gain, that leads to success
It's when you know you're fighting for nothing and finally confess
That's when you're free, to labour on and on
Because that labour may have been for something all along

Off Topic: Last Words

There's a mythology around last words
They supposedly have more impact than all others
The parting imprint we impart on those about to depart
Whether they're the last words of life or last words to an ex-lover

How can a few words sum up
All the experiences that have gone before
Whenever I've found myself saying last words
I always want just a few last words more

Right now, I want to talk about and to each one of you
In turn, saying how you've made my time here unique
How you've encouraged, supported, assisted me and all others
And helped one another when someone's struggling that week

This community of individuals is simply outstanding
The time you've all sacrificed to help others go far
The things we've done, the people we've known
These are the things that define who we are

I don't know what my last words are gonna be
But know that my last words to you are simply this
I hope these are not my last words to you.
Don't grow old without me. I love you all. There's not one of you that I'm not gonna miss


context: this is the poem I wrote and performed for a valediction service (normal language - leavers assembly) for the people in my year who were leaving.

Picture made in 2022. I could have made this neater, but it honestly felt fitting to have it as it is.

Labour: Keep Working

I'm stuck in a rut, and this rut is sticky
No signs of escape to roads out of this city
I'm just paying my dues from a bankrupt account
Struggling to earn enough capital letters to spell it out
This repetition has become it's own deja vu
A copy of a copy of not knowing what to do
So I'm though. I'm not gonna take it no more.
Wait, did you like that? Let me do an encore.
I'm sick to death of this illness
Viruses up to my irises yet I'm not feeling fulfillness
So I'll fill myself with whatever facts I feel belong
Did you know that what you know is known to be wrong
I find comfort in that, so I settle down in an armchair
Made of whatever nice half-truths that I happened to find there
I lay them around me as a protective thought
So you can try to batter through while I cook you up a treat
You'd better not harden up else you wont take the heat

I kidding of course,
Let me open up a discourse,
I've been working tough,
But I think I've worked enough,
So if you'll humour me
And wait patiently
I've got one last job to do
Until I break through...

Labour: Dreams

When I dream, I dream of stars and rainbows.
I dream of flying to distant lands and fighting pirates
I dream of worlds I don't live in.
I live here, why would I dream about it as well?

I don't dream about what product I can sell
I don't dream about where my life is heading
I'm sure I will, but while I'm not dreaming yet
I don't mind following someone else's dreams for a while

But I want to follow someone whose dreams make me smile
Someone who wants to make the world a better place
Someone whose dream is of this world but still in colour
Someone who doesn't just dream of making more money

And I'm not writing this just to sound funny.
We have so limited time on this earth
Such little time to explore and influence the path of this rock
And I don't think I'm being unrealistic

I may be young, and I am idealistic
But I want to dream in this world someday to
Dreams are just a reflection of our surroundings after all
So I'm gonna follow a dreamer

Follow someone with plans: a schemer
Someone who dreams in ways others don't: a prophet
Someone who is, well, a human
Someone who doesn't just go with the capital flow

Personal: My Fear

While I was playing with magic objects one day
I came across a strange instrument indeed
I knocked it in a very particular way
And out of it some parchment was duly freed

It was scrunched, as though placed back in a rush
It had one big clear line, with disclaimers underlying
"View your future today!" was written in bold brush
"Though you can't change your future, except by dying"

It would be fantastic to know who I'm going to be
There's no doubt that we wonder about it each day
But a future set in stone was not to be for me
Having a definitive path was never my way

But it wasn't just that, you see I have a fear
Concerning exactly what I would hear
That my future is simply one of monotony
Such a curse would be like a lobotomy

That I would get a job earning more than I need
Focusing on the financial legacy I lead
Friends with whom I only talk small
Living a life that isn't a life at all

That I've given up my creativity
Laughing about my past efforts jovially
Becoming of the world, rather than being fascinated by it
Happy to just have a comfy home in which to sit

While I'm aware there are far worse fates I could uncover
Such a life is, I hope, not for me
May I have an interesting life, and then may I have another
Onwards onto uncertainty

Personal:My Room

I don't think people realise just how recently I've come out of my inner shell.

On the outside I was always sociable and interactive

I would always tell people about what I'd done. But never who I was

I've always held beliefs that I don't really talk about

For example, as a pacifist Christian, it's amazing how rarely I discuss these beliefs (possibly out of a desire to still have friends).

It's said by some that analogies are key for understanding

And there's one analogy that fits rather well

See, not many people have ever been in my room

When I was young, we didn't have people over much

My parents were blessed with 4 kids and boy did we bless them hard

So I never got in the habit of having friends visit me

Instead I would have to be invited to visit them

It just so happened my house was a bit offset from my close friends

So even when I was older, it was never my house things happened at

My home was just where I went to be with a busy family

Where I would lose myself in books for lack of anything else

When I got to uni, I was in the most isolated room

Just by chance, everyone else's room was more convenient

I decorated and put on a show, but still

No one really came to visit. And I never really asked them to.

I sort of didn't realise this was the case.

I'd decorate my room, be all presentable

Set up a chair in the corner for people to sit

Then never invite anyone to sit in it.

I'd like to think I'm different now

Just know that if I invite you back to my room

It's cause I want to get to know you better

And maybe chat a little.

Personal: Dancing

I did not dance to please the crowds
No, I danced just for me
I danced hard and I danced loud
As I became the symphony

I danced because it filled in my veins
Because I felt the rhythm
I danced because it healed all pains
And closed up every schism

I danced to know I could dance at all
To marvel that my feet could tap in time
I danced because it made me tall
Even as the beat began to climb

I danced so the music could not fade
To ensure that not one note dropped
I danced because I was afraid
To what would happen if I ever stopped

And now I'm caught up in my tempo
I can't control the pace
And now you may call me yellow
But I don't want to leave this race

Because this dance may be my peak
The most beautiful thing I'll ever do
And now I dance because I'm weak
I dance because I can't bare not to

I dance because I see,
There will never be a second act
So wherever this dance may send me
I will dance it on, and that's a fact

Spoiler: Dancing is a metaphor for poetry.

Personal: I find you beautiful

If I tell you I find you beautiful.
(Which I would absolutely love to by the way)
I mean just that.
That I think you are a beautiful human being.

And I don't just mean in physical beauty,
Though I definitely can't discount that.
I mean there is beauty in the way you talk
In the way you think, act, and walk.

I don't mean that I want to enter a relationship
I don't mean that I want to sleep with you
I don't mean anything else than that,
I don't mean anything else than that I find you beautiful.

See, I find everyone I meet beautiful.
I really wish that these were hyperbolic statements for artistic effect
I really wish they were symbolising me being a "charmer"
It would make my life so much easier

Then when I meet the next beautiful person
I can complement without connotations
Put a smile on their face and go on my way
Without people second-guessing motives

It's just the way I am.
I really do find humans beautiful. And all of them in their own special way.
Him and Her and all of Them and especially You. I mean it.
You are beautiful. And I mean exactly that.

Personal: Scars

Content Warning: self-harm

A lot of my life I spend confused. Not knowing what to do.

I would desperately love to have the answers to everything, but I just don't. Sometimes there are no right answers.

Sometimes this means I make a fool of myself. Those are the times I can deal with.

This is dedicated a friend who will likely never read this.

One skill I've wanted badly from a young age is to notice things other people don't. And if I did notice something I would then pretend that thing defines a person:

I want to notice the colour of your eyes, if you have dimples when you smile,

I want to notice, most of all, if you're having a bad day, so I can offer kind words so I can see if you have dimples again!

What I wasn't prepared to notice was your scars.

My mind jumps to a thousand conclusions, while concluding nothing.

I have to remind myself that I am not Sherlock. I can't tell your past.

All I know is that some scars don't heal, regardless of time.

All I know is that you are fighting.

I have never experienced anything like what you're going through.

I don't know if the fight is over or still raging.

I don't know why you started, or how it ends.

I want to talk to you about them, so I can offer help. But I know that's selfish, because I know you probably want nothing more than to forget they were ever there

So let me just say this.

If I am ever fortunate enough to become close friends with someone who has scars,

They will not be my close friend who has scars,

They will be my close friend.

If you want to take the fight alone, you can take it alone.

If you want to wear your scars with pride then ignore any prejudging moron who jumps to conclusions.

If you want to hide your scars because they aren't you then so be it.

If you are confused then be confused.

Just know that to me, those scars do not define you any more than the colour of your eyes

Any more than your dimples. They don't define you any more than a bad day

But if a bad day ever does turn up. As they sometimes do.

I just want you to know that I'm here. And I'll do my best to make you smile.