To create something

What is that boy, you've created something new?
Well that's fantastic, I'm so proud of you
With that last statement being so nearly true
To create is dangerous boy, did no one say?
You can't just make something then go on your way
You're invested now stay, see what I have to say

To create is risky, get out of this game
If you don't you'll feel naught but shame
For trying to stand out, not be the same
Trust me, this game you should not wish to play
So stop right now you'll receive no praise
Oh, much better to regret it for the rest of your days

Oh, you have spent so long, you have worked so hard
You have overcome adversity when the way has been barred
Now you poured your heart into a creation, you are such a card
Because you think the difficult bit to be behind
Well, buckle up boy, you had better change your mind
Because that is not the reality that you are ever going to find

To create is risky, get out of this game
If you don't you'll feel naught but shame
For trying to stand out, not be the same
Trust me, this game you should not wish to play
So stop right now you'll receive no praise
Oh, much better to regret it for the rest of your days

Release your creation boy, your public await!
Put it out in the world and embrace the hate
Your trainings in station, so don't be late
What you've made is surely offensive
Or a copy or flawed so get apprehensive
You took the risk, now get on the defensive

To create is risky, get out of this game
If you don't you'll feel naught but shame
For trying to stand out, not be the same
Trust me, this game you should not wish to play
So stop right now you'll receive no praise
Oh, much better to regret it for the rest of your days

...

Dear Sir. I'm afraid I must ardently protest
See I know you're only saying what you know best
But I've found every creation is worth the invest

You get hit hard, I know that to be true
But every creation is just a reflection of you
Worth the perspiration for any person who enjoyed it too

To create is risky, but now I'm in this game
Sure I'll go through my fair share of shame
It's not because I'm trying to not be the same

What a beautiful thing is the monument in fate

To the strive and toil that marks this date

With the unique thing, existing only when you decided to create

I'm a Christian

I am a Christian, but I am not an evangelist.

See, I do believe, I find beauty in the bounty of creation, and without hesitation (or even much provocation) I can say why I find it amazing we exist.

It's had an impact on my life, minimised my strife, is important for if I ever seek out a wife, and that my faith is never something I have missed.

But that's exactly it, it's been ever present never evanescent simply a part of my element and evident in more ways than I could ever list.

I'm not sure I could ever do without, and so I'm scared to shout to preach aloud, though I'm allowed, and truly proud, but too much of an analyst

See, I never enter argument without indicant that I myself could find I could change mind were I too unwind and find myself an unwanton errorist

I care too deeply, too invested in the answer, to be tested, lest I'm bested, not in jest but in a way which strikes me as a theorist.

And yet, that's nearly all that I encounter as a doubter I will shout the protestation that "I'm still not sure about this"

And so it goes. All around me know and show certainty and thus I stand awkwardly in piety for myself that while I do believe as a Christian in Christ and all his gifts.

I am not an evangelist.

A friend in a strange place

It's one of the nicest things I've got to do
Be a friend to someone a little like you
You know the situation, go somewhere new
Scared about what you're going to go through

Not sure if people are friends or rival
On your toes from point of arrival
You're being judged, it feels the whole while
I'll be the friendly face and smile

It's not much effort, I swear that here
To realise if someone is feeling fear
To just be kind, and tease them out of the shell
Especially if you remember going through that hell

As they come and go, replaced with many more
To be kind to all who walk through that door
It's similar for you, but unique for them
Worth the effort to be a port in the mayhem


For the past three years, I've helped out at Oxford interviews. Mostly, that's simply involved sitting  down with applicants and chatting to them. I've really enjoyed it - you can see how nervous they are, but all of them are brilliantly smart and passionate about something. Even if they're fairly reasonably scared and a little withdrawn initially, helping them enjoy themselves and be more comfortable is always rewarding. 

Zebra

An animal on the street is must curious
Because usually you find them furious
Cars honking at them from both ways
Doesn't help to alleviate delays
Equine was the creature that I saw
Four legs stood on tarmac floor
Giving no sign of trying to move
Happily painted in paved road grooves
I'd been stood a while at the scene
Just wondering what it could mean
Key to this scene is that I waited
Let the scene progress as it was fated
Making no attempt to startle the beast
Not tempted to approach, and become feast
Obviously this irritated those at the wheel
Politely yelling if I was real
Quite clear, I pointed at the danger
Realising I had to help the stranger
Slowly, carefully, I explained clear
That stripes on the road gave me fear
Understanding nothing, he started to yell
Very loudly that I could go to hell
Walking out his car door to shout
X-ing the road to engage in the bout
"You an idiot, you fool" (He shouted to chafe)
Zebra crossings are perfectly safe

Flight

I've never had wings.
I've never felt the wind.
Yet for what I have known.
I may well have flown.

One time, when I was five, I ran really fast.
Everyone around gaped and gasped as I galloped past
I leapt onto the bench in front of me and pushed down
Nor the lack of height nor the impact could make me frown

Age twelve, older, wiser, I did slightly better
All I simply did was to pen my predicament in a letter
Attach it with twine to the leg of something which could fly
And feel my insides and my words jump high

One year ago, actually, on this very day, I
tried to see if I could touch the sky
I got very close, by climbing the tallest ladder I could find
(Or at least, I got quite close in my mind)

Then, in fact, I tried once more just last week
I am sad to say that my arms were too weak
Though I flapped up and down, it just wasn't enough
As just a sadly (un-avian) ball of muscle and fluff

But what can I take from there steps into the unknown
For I still can't really say by any measure that I've flown
But I still ignore the doubters, and those with contempt.
For after all, I've tried. And the pleasure's in the attempt

Ignorant

I'm ignorant, I'm ignorant, I don't have all the facts
I'm ignorant, I'm ignorant, there are points of view I lack
I'm ignorant, I'm ignorant, but I'm trying to pick up the slack
'Cause I'm ignorance, and that ignorance, is being but under attack

There are so many things that I know I don't know
And I have to say that sometimes it really does show
That to stay ignorant is a common status quo
A place I have to try hard not to go

See, I don't know much about many countries
If there is any interaction between birds and bees
Why it is that mornings cause so much pain (say what?)
Or how to stop a runaway train of thought

I just about know how to tie a bow tie
But not what to do if I see a baby cry
Why it is politics causes such heated debate
Or why some people so quickly turn to hate

So, here's something I really don't know to be true
Which is really, just who on earth are you?
Your religion, your faith, or your philosophy
If you consider sleep saviour or monstrosity

Like so many others, you are the sum of many parts
Adding up to give the world an impression to impart
In this world where we are so quick to blame strangers
We don't often stop to think of the dangers

I've seen so much recent hate, it's startlingly common
Insulting and scapegoating in manners ad hominem
I can't argue against, because I don't know enough to represent
All I ask is that you too realise you are ignorant.

Potential

In art, no one has a blank canvas.

...

At the start of all art, you have to be reverential
Because at heart every start is purely potential
We could unfold any world with that blank page
Because the world is whirled onto every stage

So why then, why? Do we have styles and trends
Because my oh my, don't you even pretend
That you don't have topics and tropes that you prefer
Have themes and schemes you always wish to infer

See the blank page is blank. That much is true.
But let me be frank while seeking no thank you
As the artist we must be incredibly stained
As someone who's the sum of how we've trained

Even the creative take comfort in what they make
Don't sink in to thinking this makes you a fake
Don't infer it's a sin to prefer one style or thing
Else you'd likely never ever make anything

When given the blank canvas. You must be aware
How your past steers you to the art hidden there
And other pasts would steer you in other ways
With no past you'd be staring at blank canvas for days

But, here's the twist, in case you missed it (and you care)
The more empty your mind's canvas, the more you find there

Things that whirr

To say I'm an old school cur is a rule of thumb,
But I love things that whirr, and things that hum.
A machine with too many gears and too many parts,
Is something I revere in my heart of hearts.

It's not at all suspect, in fact it's quite clear
When that thing there hits this thing here
One part goes clonk so that another goes clink
Which leads to a bonk so I don't have to think.

Machines these days are way too small,
How to know if they work at all?
If it erks 'n' jerks on a molecular scale,
With what size hammer do I smash it when it fails?

How am I to be a handy type of dandy man,
With objects that fi in the palm of my hand?
I love to grind, to tinker and to strive,
But this machine thinks and it's not even alive!

So back to the old school, with rust dust and levers
I remain with no shame the most ardent reverer
Down with the scientific witchery of present day
Who do modern engineers think they are anyway?

Neon ghosts.

No one watches tv anymore. We wouldn't dare.
We've got real life if we want our scare
We tell stories and tales of days gone by
Of the lost generation, of those on standby

It used to be, we would stare long into screens
It would give us laughter. It would give us screams
We'd plug ourselves in at the start of today
Put on our boots-up, and then press play

The key was never to acknowledge, of even admit
You'd lost days to a being, forced to commit
But what did that being do, with it's extra hours
What was the reach and source of its powers?

We tried to plug it up, but that made it worse
It would screeach and wail, if put in reverse
So we let it go on, stealing our time
Until we had none left to give of our prime

That was them, the standby generation
Who watched it happen without hesitation
They're gone forever, each boy woman and man
But their neon ghosts still haunt our land

Reviewing Art

Here's the answer to a question that you weren't even asking
There is no such thing as a perfect casting
For that book you adore that fills you with amour
When put on screen just leaves you wanting more

See this is the issue with our imagination
We fill in details and cracks with no hesitation
There are no seems, just seamless transitions
Which never even endeavours to require our recognition

Even right now, somehow, you are reading this in a certain way
The voice in your head acts with emotion, with disdain and dismay

And were I to read it to you, my way, in a voice of my own

It would not seek to replace the seed or tone your imagination has sown

There is no such thing as a correct way to experience art

But there is the first way, which left the imprint on our heart

Such that, when someone seeks to recreate that anew

It's just natural it wont be in the way that is personal to you.

I've done this before

I've done this before.

This day to day
Waking up in dismay
The repeat and replay
To all work and no pay

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

The eternal tired
The never inspired
My headache is fired
My nerves are wired

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

The ever-fake smile
And yet all the while
A face in denial
Of internal trial

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

You may know it too
And this to be true
What we've been through
Is never that new

We've done this before.

But what is it for?

That glimmer of change
Just out of range
Asks much in exchange
It may seem strange

I've seen it before.

I say nothing more

But that it's worth fighting for.

Break me

It's time that this world did not forsake me

No lie, it's tried, to bow down and break me
It fried me inside as it tried to bake me
Wanting to expose, but finding no fakery

It would never hold back
So I weathered attack
Of smacks front and back
That would've felled any hack

Though not framed in my favour

This game's to my flavour

The danger, I'll savour

'til I emerge slave or a savior

I arose unbound from the ground
Though my soul it did hound
Alive now I'm found
Crowned a man of renown

This Earth will strike again
It matters not when
For now as for then
I have not forgotten

This earth's not one to trust
I'll fight 'til I'm dust
Until I'm bones and rust
Just doing what I must

First World Problems

Your own experience of the world is not invalid.
The emotions you feel are very much real
There is no bubble that is more real than any other
No possible interference of anything but a real experience

It is not only they who have it worst who has a right to complain
Anyone can feel depression or anxiety or pain or PTSD
And yet, we must also, as always, acknowledge the inverse
We must be kind, not terse; whether or not our friend has it worse

See, when I look worldwide at the struggles other humans face
I can't help but feel bad for complaining about how I feel sad
As if the sheer resilience and courage so many manage to show
Means I should refrain from the response due to chemicals in my brain

I am not saying don't feel sorry for them. I'm not encouraging apathy
Go out and make a difference, join every indifference resistance
Merely saying that it's also ok for you to cry and laugh, if you need
You are always permitted to feel, that your experience is real.


Written to stand up to those who claim that only those who have it worst can complain.

Absolutely not written to those who cry when their favourite TV characters die. C'mon man.

Colour in the Crowd

Never forget your youth, dear reader.
By which I mean the truth.
Not of simple nostalgic flights of fancy
Your days were not that angelic

Not, simply of this fact, good friend
You'll realise if you think back
That you were made to conform each day
You were dressed in uniform

You were made to parade in dress
That was only ever a façade
There was no reason, though I say
To suggest so was treason

No financial incentive, as in employment
Just a crush on fashion inventive
There are no individuals, in a crowd of the same
Just uniformed residuals.

One day, I happened to go back to my school.
Back to the place that started it all.
To the place I was never cool.
But back as a much wiser fool.
I came in colour. And felt alight.
When wondering through those halls.
No longer fitting in. I drew stares and gossip.
Setting me apart with knowledge
knowledge the pupils had yet to grasp
I smiled.

On the streets of our leader

We, as a country, elect a leader
(Near enough we do anyway)
This leader is sent to live in London
And in London they'll tend to stay

A five minute walk from work
What a beautiful place to reside
And if you go to Downing Street
You can see through the leader's eyes

See, what's telling is not the gates
The security looking the part
What's telling is the surroundings
The feel, the look, the Art

Some of our leaders have gone to war
More sent others in their stead
Some of those others came victorious, some came defeated
Most they came back dead.

As if in protestation, the country, well
The country responded in force
Not to say they were wrong or at fault
Although some of them were, of course.

Merely to make many a monument
A testament to those dead throngs
Then make many more (for we've many a war)
Built strong of stone and bronze.

Each war is different, each monument too
But somehow all the same
Trying to tell our leader, shouting it silently
That war is not a game.

The ties that bind

I look out for myself, in my own way,
I try to take care of the day to day
I watch for trouble, look for danger
Every other human is essentially a stranger
So I keep myself aware and healthy
For this is a tie that binds me

But I can't just watch out for myself blindly
Throughout my life I've loved my family
They've supported me since I was a child
Now I give shelter away from the wild
I love my family, and do what I must,
For these are the ties that bind us.

I care for friends, trying not to cause fuss
I give 'em support and advice if I must
My confidants, those to whom I turn
With differing thresholds I try to learn
I joke and tease, to try to be kind
For these are more ties that bind

I love the country with which I'm aligned
I care for its heart, body and mind
Though honestly we may not always agree
I do care and work and hope for my country
I should vote, protest and aid sans hesitation
For these are ties that bind our nation

I care for those across all boarders
The sharers, cares, hopers and hoarders
We are you united by no more than our biology
The empathy inherent inside humanity
Opportunities are sparse, but I do what I can
For the ties that bind me to my fellow man

We all care, in one way or another
For family, community, country or lover
Recognise those with whom we share lives
Those on whom we depend to survive
The question is where we draw our line
Between our ties that bind

Dear Human

Dear human,
Rest assured this letter is not of the form I would love to write
I would love to claim moral height of what is wrong and right
I dearly desire to dismantle and dissent of all that you do
But I can't. The truth is, I don't even know you.

Dear human,
You untouchable being separated by electronic waves and wires
One of humanities many enragers, saviours, liars or criers
The fact is, I don't know you. Not in any meaningful way
Though we may have met, or may indeed meet someday.

Dear human,
The reason I'm labouring (maybe straining) this particular issue
Is that I've literally no idea what hardships you've been through
You may be fathering a child, have never smiled, or be just fine
I'm sad to say I don't know your struggles, as you don't know mine.

Dear human,
When my dear friend posted about her experience with sexual assault
I hope you realise, regardless of appearance, that this wasn't her fault
That she may have already gone through enough stress, anguish and fear,
Without you saying "your arse was grabbed once. Not exactly the sinking of the titanic here".

Dear human,
I've no idea why you or I may choose to say the things we say
I like to think us all honest and blessed, in our own little way
Maybe you really do judge everything life brings by the same metric
Judging life as if you're thinking you are sinking on the titanic.

Dear human,
I would dearly love for this letter to allow me to shame and rage
But I clearly don't know you, and we're not on the same page
I don't know your life and struggles, and I'm not going to pretend
I just wish you had realised to do the same to my good friend.

This poem is written very specifically in response to this article - https://elejoy.wordpress.com/2015/08/24/baby-troll-hello-rex/ 

If anyone reading this has experienced sexual assault, please do report and discuss it with your friends, family and/or a confidential helpline. I'm very lucky to have never had to go through such things, so I'm afraid I can't recommend one first hand. In light of this privileged position, I'm very happy to be correct/informed if I've said anything that I should change.

Stage 5: Sleep paralysis

It always starts the same way. With you waking up.
Your eyes slowly opening to your familiar ceiling.
It's always late when this happens. It wouldn't be scary otherwise.
You turn, to check exactly what the hour is.

Or, at least, you try to turn. You try again.

No luck. Your muscles are stiff. At least, most of them are.
Your heart - that small muscle - hammers against your ribs.
Your mouth can't move, but the air is still just breathable.
Sleep paralysis. The silent stiffness.

And yet, the dream still has you.

In this still state, you still hallucinate. Light flashes before you.
You hear close by noises that should surely make you flinch.
You feel creeping on your skin, you want to twitch so so badly.
They've let you just far enough into reality to make it real.

But not far enough that you can escape.

The punishment of lucid dreamers. Of the lazy. Of the slovenly.
Of those who do not take care to tread softly on new paths.
Their solution to intruders who break after entering.
Boy, do they make their revenge imaginative.

I will leave you with this.

You are in reality. Pull yourself towards it further.
Waggle your tongue, look around, breath deeply.
They can't hold you entire. But mostly, you must
be more careful to not tread ideally into dream.

Sleep paralysis is real. I've tried to incorporate actual facts about the causes/solution in here. For more info, see http://www.wikihow.com/Cope-with-Sleep-Paralysis

Stage 4: The dreaming

The road of silver goes on, past fields of gold
Just colours blocking in the landscape
Now you've begun, curiosity will not hold
Your desire for detail will escape

The dreaming is wonderous, but it cheats
It cannot hold such a fantastic world entire
The background is ingenious and repeats
Woven together of whispy dream wire

The faces are only those you've met before
Refreshed and switched so as to appear brand new
And everyone knows what your here for
The guiding lines to steer and direct you

The path may be strayed from slightly
The dreaming by it's nature can adapt and alter
Yet the dream is played carefully and lightly
Lest you make the architect of the world falter

You may draw attention, from the creator
As to exactly what path you are pursuing
This world is their invention, their strength greater
They've now come to enquire what the hell you think you're doing.

Stage 3: Comfort

It is often the curse of life, that we get too comfortable in our way
We're all versed in strife, too ameliorated with the day to day
Too easy to get a trifle too used to do tomorrow what you did today
See the same eye full of images emerging as if they're on replay

It is all too easy, to turn to live a life that's sedentary
You must seize the day be on guard like the sentry
Unlock the problem the keys of the solution elementary
Lest you freeze sans delay you must force your entry

Nowhere is this more true than when discussing your dreams
Nothing more sticky than glue than thrice failed schemes
To explore through I implore you to live in new regimes
And force into new ways of sleep, experience extra extremes

Do not fall into the same wish, night on night
Do not stall when deciding to walk or take flight
You must know by now what is easy may not be right
You must show your strength, for courage is a fight

Stage II: The passage

The dreaming is not a difficult place to enter
You've probably done so yourself many a time
Any meaning or memory you must face to surrender
To protect everyone against dream crime

The dreaming is more fragile than you've been told
A single misstep and it'll break
Usually seeming to occur just as the good bit takes hold
You suddenly find yourself awake

Those who are versed in passage can avoid this path
We've seen some shape dreams to their will
They've rehearsed an age to hone their craft
Weave reams and make seams with utmost skill

They always get the kiss before opening eyes
Can always utter that last goodbye
For days they've waited in bliss where they lie
No sound say they but a sigh

Beware, though, should you chose this path
Do not draw attention to you presence
The Lord of Dream enjoys a laugh
You should seek prevention from this circumstance

Tread soft. Get the girl after time. Fly low.
There is much to offer a traveller in Dream
Don't act aloft, being hasty is a crime y'know
Be aware from this storyteller not to blaspheme

Stage 1: The Gates

Are you really alive? Are you really awake?
Is all this real, or might it be fake?
Do you know for certain, can you be sure?
In which domain you dwell either side of dreams door?

Let us propose to postpone pomp and pretence
Stop with the certainty, admit self-synthesised sense
This world, whatever it be, confuses all the human race
We struggle to reason, just ruse to wear a brave face

For those who walk the borders between lands, beware
I have known men slip the line of neither here nor there
Traverse an edge long enough, who knows what you find
When the certain become stuff, you know not you own mind

Let us journey, the glory is always in adventure
To the initial question, which I felt brave to venture
Of if we are in dream, or dwell with the awake
I propose it matters not. Regardless, we shall undertake

To shine. Let us make promises and favour, debts to be owed
Let us adventure so our subconsious struggles to lay road
Whichever world we find ourselves, lets us still be proud
Let us prod dwell and delve, meet our destiny unbowed

Image from end-your-sleep-deprivation.com

Names

When I was born

And when you were too

Some sounds were uttered

Then given to you

You held on tight

Still do to this day

To that utterance

Which you portray

The sound is not unique

To you or another

Yet it's certainly yours

To be learnt to a lover

These sounds are you

Pick you out from crowds

Yet mean nothing more

Than what you allow

They are arbitrary

But that doesn't mean

They can't be you

Who you are, who you've been

Did you stop to wonder

To if you had different sounds?

Would you be the same

If that different you were found?

It matter not

For you are simply you

But it's also fact

Your name is you too.

Post Tournament Blues

IMPORTANT: THIS IS A PSA

IF YOU'VE RECENTLY FOUND YOURSELF DOWN ON A MONDAY

LESS ENTHUSIASTIC THAN MANY OF YOUR BUSINESS COLLEAGUES

UNABLE TO FOCUS ON ANY CIRCULAR OBJECT WITHOUT WANTING TO THROW IT

TRYING MOTIVATION CHANTS BEFORE IMPORTANT MEETINGS
SPIKING ANY REPORTS DONE ON TIME TO AN ACCEPTABLE STANDARD

OR EVEN JUST RELISHING CRAMP FOR THE MEMORIES IT CONTAINS

THEN YOU,

ARE SUFFERING,

FROM,

POST TOURNAMENT BLUES...

The post tournament blues are the downfall of us all

Where most incidents renew your recall of a call

Since recent emotions have been so intense and too high

Your mind's location is green pitches and blue sky.

The speech replay of the captain trying to inspire you at half

The point of day where you were in pain 'til a team mate made you laugh

Your saviour, near enough flying in a bid to make up for your mistake

You savour this stuff near crying until you have to fake you're awake.

Snap back to reality, and ain't it cold?

You lack normality, though it should've taken hold

See, the moments where you are most real and alive

Paid atonement now in the struggle to feel and strive.

You miss your team. You miss your friends.

You want to scream and make it end

It's the price we pay, for bonds so tight

My advice today, to make it right.

Is to enjoy the tournament most, while you are there

To not annoy or taunt the host, to show you care

To play with spirit and heart, try not to be fake

Today give it your part, for all of our sake.

It may not make it any better the day after

Trying to fake along with the office laughter

Just know if you make your tournament and invest all you can do

Your team is doing what they do best, and sharing that feeling with you.

And with your team behind you, you can do damn near anything.

GB U23 Mixed at worlds.

Dedicated to the loser

History is written by the winners, as you know. By the victors, the ones who come in first.
Usually, rightly so. They fight and battle so when it matters they don't end up as worst.

With great respect we honour their names. Learn our lessons from their paths
They're showered in riches, respect and fame. We study their skills and mimic their craft.

Winners are two a penny, as far a history is concerned. You can find them ending each story.
This poem is dedicated to those who're spurned. Whose fate is somewhat more gory.

This is an ode to the loser. A tale of the downtrodden. A requiem for the ever unrealised.
It was felt they are owed a chance to explain and broaden the perception of those never idealized.

You see, there is beauty in the struggle
Drawn from a duty to not crumble
There is much to be learnt from the fight
Even if victory is not earnt that night

To the resilient soldier in dulled armor
The brilliant lover in cold amour
The persistent in the face of defeat
The ever-resistant but finally beat

For the strength to be defeated, but still keep going
Make the conflict be repeated, scars still showing
To rise from the ashes to still get burnt
To live through the crashes, with knowledge earnt

We should remember that life is not just made of victories
You can learn from those who lost well
That throughout all of history
The man who came in second still has a tale to tell

Image from http://www.worth1000.com/contests/22408/22408-silhouettes

Before I Forget

I am not a smart man. I was never even a smart boy.
What I am, is curious. Curiosity leads to preoccupations.
Which leads to you forgetting whether or not you've eaten lunch.
Alternatively, it also leads to finding out some rather cool things.

The issue I have is, there are so many things to be curious about.
The world has so many wonders, lots of which are distressingly difficult to discover.
As such, as soon as one discovery is made, it must be abandoned.
If only to embark on the next great adventure.

This means I forget a lot of things.
That discoveries are lost. Even if only to be rediscovered later.
That what was once known, is no longer.
That one must never become certain, if a person is to keep changing and evolving

So, before I forget:
I need to remember that I am a different person today
Than I was yesterday, the day before, and all days prior.
And, going on from that, to who I will be tomorrow.

Before I forget, I need to remember that though I have moved away from dear friends
I have always gained fantastic new ones.
There are now so many people and faces I have known.
The chance to reacquaint myself should never be ignored, lest it never reappear.

Before I forget, I need to remember all the people who have helped me
Even if it were to no benefit to themselves.
That the kindness of others works best if passed on.
That sometimes you don't see the rewards of your efforts, and that's ok.

Before I forget, I need to remember that I know no mind but my own
And even of my own mind I'm not completely certain
That others are fighting battles of which I have no idea of the battlefield or the dreadful enemy
But that refuge in such battles is always appreciated.

Before I forget, I need to remember that I began a beginner.
Before I forget, I need to remember that the past had it's flaws, and so will the future
Before I forget, I need to remember why I learnt whatever it was in the first place
Before I forget, I need to remember that how ever much I experience, I can never capture life perfectly inside me.

But mostly, before I forget
I need to remember what made me who I am in the first place
I need to remember, always, to stay curious

Our last message

The aliens came to destroy us, which was only fair
We'd been instituting polluting without a care
We'd been renegades of morality, aka the human race
The rest of destiny would not be ours to face

However, before we were vapourised to just a residue
The aliens were of a kind mind to give us our due
They gave us an offer which we couldn't refuse
The single message of our legacy was soon world wide news

Who would deliver it, and what would it say?
We'd quarrel and war for all of the day
"Us" said the white men "we've been the rulers"
"We're the cleverest, the cunningest, sit back as we school ya"

"Nah" said the mothers "We won't take that anymore"
"They should hark at the matirach not your tale of gore"
Said the blind "We've seen humanity for how they truely are"
The artists "It's our duty to tell of our beauty and bizarre"

The refugees told of our notions of what is was to be free
The disabled enabled visions of our heirarchy
The old told of what we'd done to deserve our fate
The honest would admonish us for our holding of hate

The evangelist spiel was to tell of our sin
The atheist's tone was his own, but said the same thing
Voices rose, and we came to roar and yell
The aliens watched as earth turned to hell

Their job done for them, they turned to leave
Humanity instigation of its own decimation was beyond reprieve
They felt a tug on their robe, just before they left us to our gory glory
As a young child smiled, and simply said "sorry"

Once more

Once more

Once more, my friends, is all it takes
Muster energy once more for all our sakes
Once more is all it needs to be
Until we shall be once more free

Once more, those old words of inspiration
Just once more with effort and perspiration
Once more and all will be over and all will be done
We shall once more be free to be someone

Once more, I promise, I swear it's true
Marshall energy now and you'll soon be once more through
Once more, the end is now nearly in sight
Try once more now and be done by night

Once more, once more, that fickle phrase
You've gone through many ill-fated days
And all I ask, this final score
Is for you to take this journey, just once more

I said once more my friends, because in truth I'm weak
All our journeys are necessarily unique
What's once more for me is no more for you
But trouble is still better once it's through

So when I say once more, I say it kind
For I will say I do not know your mind
I do not know what once more would take for you
Just that the fact that it's just once more is true.

Cloudscape

The greatest of all sins is pride. And so I must confess
That, deep down inside, I felt great duress
That I found the scene before me impossible to explain
To not be able to say what I had seen caused me great pain

Alright, let me clear my mind and at the very least try
To explain what you see when you go above the sky
The setting is made, I'l give you my angle
The beauty displayed out of your transparent rectangle

Ignoring the wing in the corner of your eye
An ugly orange thing emblazoned with corporate vox populi
You see the wondrous sight of the clouds from above
As your heart is set alive with longing and love

You want to break outside, to try and escape
So you can live forever inside the cloudscape
You're to be enclosed in this rectangle another hour
The discontent sowed as your mood starts to sour

I want to sell this time later to a great artist of the past
Take a bard, poet or painter of a high enough class
Who can properly portray the majesty of this moment
As my skills have betrayed my description of this incident

I haven't yet begun to describe the cloud horizon
Nor mentioned the sun anew bright as my view wizened
My heart is down, as I realise I haven't described it at all
Just take solace my eyes witnessed something so beautiful

Running

Run, run, run, run
The time to move has just begun
Though to some it may not seem fun
You'll change your thoughts when I am done


Ok, let me paint a picture for you
You are young, energetic, and lively too
You love the grass as it flies past your running shoe
Each rushed breath you breath is life anew

Then suddenly, from out of the grass
A branch sticks out, makes you fall on glass
That step you took would be your last
For a good long while, without a cast


Suddenly, life moves a lot slower now
There's advantages, that fact you'll allow
But that fact will never make up somehow
You see all your friends running, all "faster than thou"

You long for the feel of wind in the hair
All you can do, is train and prepare
Go through physio and hell, as others just stare
Wondering what could push someone to so powerfully care


Day turn to weeks turn to months turn to a year
Your inner thoughts turn to your greatest fear
All you want to do is not be stuck here
You want to run so bad as you fight back a tear

The day you're allowed to jog blows your mind
The first steps beyond a walk in a long long time
But you dare not go faster, commit that crime
Indulge in the speed you so want to find


It's here, finally, the day of speed
Its certainly been waiting a long time indeed
The day finally, when you fulfill your need
Gets set, get ready, and now I've planted the seed

I hope you can see now what I have done
Go out, enjoy it. I promise you'll have fun
Have I inspired you at all since I first begun?
Do you finally see, what a beautiful thing it is to run?

You lucky thing.

Magic

He was the magician, his tricks you'd never realise
You could get an optician to double check your eyes
You could see a psychiatrist to examine your brain
Who'd heartily insist you were indeed quite sane

A philosopher you'd see, and debate the nature of man's being
A scientist in biology would confirm the magician a human being
A gymnastic trainer to confirm the impossibility of such a reflex
A filmographer to let you rewatch visually yet still stay vexed

You see it seemed impossible, what that man could do
You were there for at all, you witnessed the show through
It's been haunting your thoughts, all other ideas tried on the shelf
You went and caught him, to ask the man himself

"Dear magician, entertainer, I must make a request
I could never refrain from calling you the best
Your tricks have troubled my thoughts, and I can't break free
As such I have sought to ask to reveal your secrets to me"

He replied

"Dear entertained, I'm so very glad you enjoyed the show
But for what you have asked I'm sad I can't let you know
Though it may surprise you, in fact I would prefer to be in your position too
Imagine being the only person in the room for whom the magic doesn't hold true?"

Democractinsect

It's one of the few times in its insanity, humanity hasn't lied
When it acknowledged as homage our greatest sin is pride
We like to pretend our philosophy is unique, it's hypocrisy
That our culture has the only properly practiced clique of democracy

This hypothesis is preposterous, but it's argued in absentia
From our monstrous cluelessness of kingdom animalia insecta
You heard me right, the insects of this earth elect the ruler of their state
Let me not just infer or be impolite, let us go instead straight to the debates

You'll see the idea and their demeanor, none of us will know the victor
Each bug claiming  they are meaner and stricter
The reBuglic stands strong, the empire looms past the horizon
A democracy far greater than any you've yet laid eyes on

Up to give their first spiel, it's their incumbent overlord
You may feel he's worst, vitriol inherent like swords
But he's grown soft in the underbelly, a ready reason for uprising
He was one once feared as Machiavelli, now treason wouldn't be surprising

Next in line to argue for lord insect elect
Is a dungbeetle intellect out to infect
The masses of lads, neuter, and lasses with their talk of a dystopian ideal
But sadly he's badly and madly arguing a position too intellectual

A long nosed weevil sniffs around then takes the stand
Claiming to be the ultimate evil she unleeshes the zeitgeist canned
Appeals straight to the hearts by claiming bacteria welfare
She's got rhetoric as an art, delighting in the fear and the scare

Right next to me you can see the bumblebee, causing a buzz
No chance to flee as she would sting with glee through his fuzz
Causing a stir trying to get the masses to collect as a colony
You can hear her avoiding calls of socialist sticking to her policy

Demanding reform an armed alliance as urgency
Is the cockroach claiming they could live with spiders in harmony
That together they could take this land by surprise
A very curious call to be Lord of the Flies

The mosquitos and moths, the butter and dance flies
Each have their representative, watched by stalked eyes
It's not a responsibility to take lightly, the leader of this space
Just think twice when you claim democracy as sole domain of the human race

Labels

Y'know. For a population so diverse, so varied, so fantastic. We use a lot of labels.

Wherever we go, with whomever we converse, we like to keep our reality stable.

We make matches, avoid mixes, we categorise people's personalities with care

And it catches, because the trick is, it simplifies humanity so we can socially prepare

This world is confusing so we strive to be the first to make sense of it all

It's mostly amusing, to be alive is to thirst to try to enthrall

To capture imaginations and a heart's fraction of anyone we happen to meet

Without hesitation engage in the art of interaction when we greet

We want to be outstanding to be more than just a member of the crowd

We're demanding that we be dismembered from another vox populi, if we're allowed

We want to be special. To be unique. To be essentially ourselves.

Yet we make all the others seem freaks if into individuality they delve

The first trick into letting others see you not just as another stereotype

Is to slip into the habit of never just painting pictures of people with the same stripes

Create a picture of the world which is fantastic in the range of colour and shade

The structure that'll unfold will spring elastic into new shapes, and leave you permanently amazed. 

If today

If today is not the day we die, then let it be a day worth living

Let this world not pass us by, for time is unforgiving

There's action we can take, paths we have to choose

Friends that we can make, a day we should not lose

If today is not the day we die, let it be one we remember

Let July not pass us by, so we can't recall it in December

We all have dreams, we all have goals. It is not wrong to strive.
Complete your longing, and be whole. Let us feel alive. 

If today is not the day we die, let it be like no other

For when this day will pass us by, there is likely just another

The future is not known of any, nor what destiny has in store

Just remember that last beg of many, who ask for one day more.

If today is not the day we die, then let it not be a day we take by half
Let it be a day we smile, let it be a day we cry, let it be a day we laugh
You've only got a lifetime, and yet so much to give
Because I feel today will not be the day we die...
               So let it be a day we live

Why I'm Voting

I would like you all to realise how fantastic democracy is
And yes, I know it's flawed. I know there are many different democratic systems.
I know there are those whose voices I do not want governing me
I know there are those who do not want my voice governing them.

But voting. Ah, voting. It's the great equaliser.
No matter how much money gets spent, in the end, you get the choice
You. No matter who you are. You matter.
You matter enough that you get a say in this country.

When you see human rights violations
When you want road works completed quicker
When you get angry at the news you read
When you disagree with your neighbour

You have a direct say in how the country is run.
It may not count for much. There's lots of voices after all.
You don't mean more than them. They don't mean more than you.
For those that care. voting is the minimum you can do.

It's far from the only thing. But it's certainly one of the greatest steps.

Tanning?

Don't get me wrong. I'm amazed at the Sun. I really am.

I don't really understand the physics. Or the chemistry.

I just know it as a big ball of fire in the sky above me.

I know it's been here from long before I was born.

And will probably be here long after I die.

It provides plants with energy, to produce the oxygen we breath

It lights up our life so we can see our lover's faces

It is hidden by a rotating Earth to give us chance to rest

Now, we have harnessed the Sun to start to power our homes

It is vital to all life on this Earth.

Now, I understand all this, I really do.

But when a ray of light, emitted by this ball of fire

Travels eight minutes through the vacuum of space

Past space dust and planets, penetrating our atmosphere

Reaching the insignificant surface of this blue rock, against all odds

And finds, out of seven billion people, me.

Forgive me if I forget the wonders and curse at the Sun a short while.

As someone who burns a little easily.

Disclaimer: Written from the perspective of someone who burns easily. As someone who tans more than roasts, I have to admit I quite like the Sun this time of year...

To be English

It's St. George's day, and the banners of patriotism fly
Those claiming to know where the loyalties of the country lie
Claim persecution, because their love of country is too strong
And through all this, I have to wonder where I belong.

You see, the flag is rarely flown from a moderate door
But shared on facebook, by those wanting to give immigrants a war.
To claim you "love your country" is to gain a label
The "patriotic liberal" is known as an oxymoronic fable



So here's the thing. I do love my country. I really am proud.
And yes, I really do acknowledge its flaws, but I should still be allowed
To love the NHS. The money and citizens we send for aid.
The fact we protect workers by giving a minimum they can be paid

The communities we still have, even if they're diminishing
The courage and resilience we show goes way beyond idle wishing
The education we provide - others travel many miles to learn here
The fact the death penalty hasn't been seen in Britain for 51 years

Our sporting, intellectual and creative prowess should not be taken lightly
We're kind to others, we're known for taking matter politely
And while the nuances of the matter are far too great to explain in verse
I'd honestly like to think we've made this world better, not worse.


If we don't show pride for our country, we let others dictate its character
If we don't acknowledge advances as well as issues, we'll never make it better
St. George may be an odd choice for our patron. But I'd still like to say
Even if it's not cool among my class. I'm proud to be English today.

The re-tale

Stop if you've heard this one a few times before
The re-tale of those who clean and mop the floor
The deja vu of the cashier's day
Just sit back and press "replay"

I said stop me, if you've already seen this scene
Analysed all the wall you're appalled this is mean
There's not one task to do you haven't done prior
Your brain goes insane as you know this world entire

Don't pretend you don't know of this world gone stale
The all-too well known re-tale of retail
You've done it so many times. Repeated every task
I said to stop me. Was that too much to ask?

Taken from mellophant.com

The Coffee Shop

They're working, working. On computers and paper
But I'm working too, serving caffeine to their flavour
I see all types, observe every Mrs and Mister
So listen to the tales of the coffee shop barista.

They're working, working, scribbling away.
Some have been here since the start of the day
Let me take you through the types, the workers' who's who
Because it seems everyone these days has a lot of work to do

Sitting by the door, talks to everyone as they pass
Is the not-really-worker, the snake in the grass
The distraction, the trap, the folly of the fool
While blank pages litter their table and stool

In the corner by the window, watching the world go by
Is the worker-dreamer, who let's their imagination fly
They'll compose a thousand stories of the world outside
Before trapping a single story into words inside

Right by the counter, next to the coffee bean sack
Needing regular coffee, and needing it black
Always up at the counter, and shaking slightly
We have the worker-addict, to name them politely

The imposter in the shop, of which we have a fair few
Comes in looking haggled and tuts at the queue
Spends fifteen minutes setting up, but never stays for long
In coffee shop worlds, worker-drones just don't feel they belong

Working in the middle, taking centre stage
Is a person who has written many a page
My favourite worker, for they've survived such a trial
The introvert in the room, for whom I always save a smile

The hardest worker of all. Head always down and low
Lest they have to talk to someone for more than a hello
Social anxiety can make this a personal hell
Yet it's the same thing that makes them work so well

Every worker in the room has a type and style
Some here briefly, some here for a while
So if you ever come to my shop to work, I can guarantee
You won't be alone, it's a worker community.

Time

You wasted three seconds reading this line

Another two on this one.

We need to be careful with how we spend out time

Whether on learning or fun.

Our purse of time is not predetermined

Yet it will have a limit

When you're young, as far as your concerned

Most spending is within your remit

You can't live each day preparing for sundown

You'll survive the night anyhow

Yet as you spend more time to become more renown

You'll gain more regrets than you should allow

If I'd spent my time differently, I'd have been

So different to how I am

Why yes, that's true, but what does it mean?

What's more, should you give a damn?

After all, you've likely still plenty left in your banks

Don't worry about fortunes lost

Enjoy what you spend, be happy and give thanks

Realise that some things are worth the cost

Outside the elements

Pitter patter pitter patter goes the rain on the window
Howl and whistle, can you hear the wind blow?
Thud and splat as the rain raises it's attack
Now there's a solid connection as the hail makes contact

And here you are, just hidden away
Protected and secure, no need to pray
There's no hell to endure when you're under a roof
You can shelter ensured of protection, that's truth

You can find it peaceful, the chaos outside
It's almost sinful, like a sin of pride
That some are feeling pain, and getting wet through
It's almost insane, the duality you go through

You feel safe in pure safety, it seems odd then
That you can relax to danger, but only when
It's close by, but still kept at bay where you can see
Yet another reason why I find humanity a curiosity

Photo by TheJustandtheUnjust.tumblr.com

Listening

Practical exercise time.

You've probably done it before courtesy of a tired teacher

Now courtesy of this rhyme

I want to re-execute this exercise in enlightment like a preacher

Are you ready? Do you trust me like science?

I'm going to follow it with you and write right after that

I need you to turn off all noise, engage in silence

Be aware of all that surrounds where you sit.

...

The constant whirr of my computer is not new. I'm aware of this companion

What else is there I don't always acknowledge?

A car on a distant road. It's man-made engine purrs as the wheels spin in tandem

Then something new is added to my knowledge

It's all artificial. Were I to try this again

Outside my home in a field in nature

I would hear insects enough to drive me insane

Or rivers and wind, I would happily venture

Humanity has made amazing things. But we must be aware

What progress has done is certainly profound.

We have silenced nature. Created our own fanfare.

I'm curious as to what you found?

The Greatest

I'm sure you've heard the big names before
The classics, the greats, the best for ever more
The ones who stand out from an ever growing crowd
The ones who you'd love to know and make proud

Well put all those aside, whatever your doing
Whatever goal it is in life you're pursuing
I assure you, there's no point from this moment on
You've been surpassed, there's no stopping the momentum

They'll do it with skill, they'll do it with flare
They'll do it through passion, hard work and care
They'll do it effortlessly, without even trying
They'll be so good it'll leave you crying

And no, they aren't just another flash in the pan
You're sure to always remember this man/woman
Whatever he/she will do would just be a fad
They wont just be good once and then be bad

No I assure you this is a name you'll remember for eternity
The best in history, of all humanity
Welcome to the greatest name you'll ever hear
The eternal name of <insert name here>

Taken from http://www.jeffbullas.com/