Visualising Eternity

One time, as a young child, I ventured outside my front door.
On my own.
I marvelled at how big the world was.

I knew my way to the shops at the end of my street.
It was a long walk.
I couldn't have gone much further.

As I grew, that street didn't seem as long anymore.
Familiarity shrinks the world.
But Curiosity grows it.

And I am a curious man, so before long I knew every street in my city.
I knew how long they were, how they connected.

And my city no longer seemed that big.

Then I left home, and I realised the world was much bigger than I imagined.
I shrunk that city too.

Then even more cities and even countries.

I have now walked many streets, yet barely covered more of the world than when I first began.
The world seems smaller.
And yet endless.

The issue with infinity and eternity, is that we are here and now.
In one place.
In one time.

And yet, somehow, I feel I appreciate the endless more.
For the efforts I started,
When I stepped outside my front door.

Jesus remains.

The World turns. And we turn too
Subject to whatever forces the world puts us through
Seasons rotate. We are passengers on this ride
Gripping on with gravity as we fly side-by-side

Time passes. And so we all must age.
Sometimes we forget, and it fills us with rage
About how mannerisms are different, not like they were before
As we come to terms with a World we don't recognise anymore

Friends change. They learn, adapt, and meet others
Some will fall away, others stay close as lovers.
You've changed too, so do not become numb
You must accept the new people you and your friends have become.

Jesus remains. In a changing world, Jesus remains.
Recognise this, and you'll be thankful of his name
You will always be changing. This fact is known.
But whoever you are,
       whoever you become
Jesus will be there to welcome you home.

You

hello You
                how are You?

more importantly, who are You?
and is it who You want to be?

i don't mean to pry, i'm asking seriously.

see we all have an image of ourselves in our head.
is it different from the mirror? who are You instead?




maybe You have grand plans for the future
maybe you don't
maybe You follow through.
maybe you wont


but i have a question - are you working towards that You?
and are You flexible? do you allow Your path to split in two?

or are You stuck? no movement from who You are and who You want to be.
that would seem a very sad thing to me.


you know You. better than anyone else on this earth.
and You've already changed so much since birth.

but You can get stuck in a rut, fixed in routines
this reminder is to remember Your dreams


so, in summary:
who are You? how does it link to who do You want to be?
and if you find out
                              could you tell Me?

To live, and to feel alive

Some things I do to live.
Other things, to feel alive.
Let me explain.

As one of many fragile ageing beings clinging on a coincidentally inhabited rock, hurtling through the great endlessness of space, I am scared of what challenges tomorrow will bring.
But, as a human. One with family and friends and ambition, I want to know what adventures tomorrow has in store for me.

Every time I take a breath of air, it is my lungs informing my brain "Go on, take one more. Keep the cycle going. You aren't stopping on my watch."
When I take a deep breath of air, my lungs assure my brain "This one, this one will be worth it. Enjoy."

Each time I blink, I must close my eyes to the world. Often I do this so that I can refresh my vision, and to make sure these eyes of mine don't give up on me yet.
If I close my eyes, slowly. Take a pause, and then open them again - I will have light stream straight through my retinas and right into my brain. I will see colour, and contrast, and beauty!

When I ingest food, my stomach instructs me "Eat up. You need energy in order to do all the tasks that I must necessarily achieve this day."
But what if I add salt, or spice? That's me negotiating with my body and saying "But life is more than just the necessity".

Every step I take both helps keep my body working, my lungs pumping, my muscles contracting and my bones growing tough. But it also lets me explore a vast world which still hold many secrets.

Every friend I make is another who will give me advice and comfort when life is being its particularly over-demanding self. Each friend is also someone with whom I can joke and smile and create memories with.

If I get a job, the money is used to keep a roof over my head, keep rain off my back, and keep water flowing to my lips.
Before I realise, the money is then used to keep a cushion under my feet, keep hair off my chin, and keep entertainment flowing to every sense I possess, helping me celebrate my time on this Earth.

Too often, the line between what we do to live, and what we do to feel alive, is blurred.

Unblur it.

Unblur it so you can better appreciate all the necessities you manage each day, for they are achievements in themselves.
Unblur it so you can better appreciate all the extra things you do, which give life something more.

Our bodies may not be so unique, but we are.

So, take a stand, and join me. Breathe once, so you may live. Then breath deep, so you can feel alive.

I can't know.

I can't know what you've gone through.
I just can't.


Maybe it's an identity thing.
You share with others, not me.

Maybe it's blindness.
Something I refuse to see.

If I see it one day, I'll apologise.
I hope it will be enough.

Because, I know that you've survived.
You're made of some tough stuff.



I can't know what you've gone through.
It would be slander to pretend.

That also means I can't feel it.
There will be no lies on my end.


But I can still see the suffering.
And so with your permission.

I'll simply be a shoulder.
And an ear, with which to listen.

The whole world is listening

The whole world is listening.
You grab a mic and the whole world is listening.

What do you say?

They wait, hanging on each word.
Every ear ready
For you

Speak.

You must
Build up courage
Gather yourself
And
speak

You wont get this chance again

Not unless you seize them by scruff of the neck and make your point in such a way that no one
could deny
you

You, who right now have a message to give
A message that will help those who hear.
Well, the whole world is listening.
So speak. And be heard.

Part of my on-going attempt to be better at non-performance style poetry. Inspiration - https://flobots.bandcamp.com/track/american-dreams

In a war

Right now, we're in a war. But, we won't always be.
One day there won't be guns and conflict as far as we can see.
There won't be a man, gun in hand, waiting to kill us on sight.
One day there won't be a war. We will have ended this fight.

In this generation, we fight for a cause.
We fight without mercy, fight without pause.
We survive one tough day, two tough days. All days are the same!
War is normality. Head down. Take aim.

In only one generation, we can talk across nations.
Our children will be nervous, speak with hesitation
When asking us parents "What did you do in the war".
Still jingoistic, still traumatised, we steel up, say we gave 'em what for.

Two generations, amnesia starts to sink in.
As we who survived now mostly sink in our coffin.
They'll say "Dear old Grandpa, he can't have been bad.
I remember his laugh, and the good times we had."

Three generations, and relationships are made.
Where nations once sought death, love is displayed.
This eternal fight of ours doesn't have to be theirs.
We keep fighting so they can live a life without cares.

Four generations, and a daughter of a son of a daughter of a son.
Wants to know everything her great great grandpa has done.
She sets aside emotion, travels 100 years back in time.
Holding me accountable for every last murder and every last crime.

In this war, we fight. We'll do things, and we won't be proud.
One side will win. Their side of history will be loud.
You don't chose the future. You have to live when you happen to be.
Right now we're at war.  But, God Willing, we won't always be.


Dedicated to a German friend, and her pursuit of the actions of her ancestors. A link to her reaction (and the rest of her blog, detailing her adventures) can be found here.

Is life a race, or a dance?

Is life a race, or a dance?

If life is a race, let me run.
Let me not need to pause.
Leave my rivals in dust.

If life is a race, let me finish first.

If life is a dance, then let me take time to perfect my steps.

Let me appreciate tap, while dancing for my break.

Find solice in slow tunes, and fire in the fast.

If life is a dance, then let me find my own rhythm.

In both race and dance, I am not alone.

People push me further.

In a race, I force myself to the front.

In a dance, we can alternate the lead.

Is life a race, or a dance?

I don’t know.

But I know which I’d prefer.

Empathy

Empathy. It's the great human curse and the great human gift.
When you see your friends smile - it gives your heart a lift
It's the thing that fills us with utmost joy
Like when we know someone has been blessed with a new girl or boy

But it's not all cheer. There's something else inside.
Like most things in life - empathy has two sides
For every head there's a tail,  courage for each fright
There's a hero for each villain and shadows are cast by light

So I'm sure you've felt sadness you wished you could stop
Often there's feelings we just want to block.
From the small to the large, it can overwhelm.
Life can be tough with empathy at the helm.

Empathy. It's the ability to feel what others are feeling.
So let us all be grateful that human empathy has a ceiling.

Imaging you had some people you made as your own.
You'd seen them flourish, see how they'd grown.
And then you'd seen them do wrong, seen them sin.
You've a welcome home, but can never let them in.
To be separated for eternity, to experience loss.
And the only way to avoid this has the greatest cost.

Jesus. He saw us suffering. He took our sin.
Took every pain on his back. Every wrongdoing. Everything.
And marched up to a death we struggle to imagine today.
And he did it out of love. He saw our toll, and decided he'd pay.

God lost a son. We lost a saviour. It is right to mourn and be sad.
But it is human to share this feeling, so let us remember what we had.


Last poem was written for a Maundy Thursday service - but they asked me not to mention the resurrection. So, I had to write another. 

He is risen

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
This kid down in Nazareth got all uppity
Seems to me he's got a problem with authority
Went up to the leader of the Pharisees
And gives him a lesson in theology
As a kid? As a kid
Seems to me this kid is not messing around
He is going to cause problems all over town

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
This kid, the one of the Pharisee fame
Seems he's grown up and has started making an honest name
As a carpenter, and then he threw it away
Threw it away? Seems the part of his heart that yearned to dismay
Led him to challenge the temple's money changers
In his anger throwing tables - this guy is headed for danger

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
So, you know that guy who berated those using church for profit?
He claims to be a messiah - the one foretold by prophets.
And he claims to be behind some miraculous events
And his claims, well his claims. I swear, they make some sense.
This guy makes sense? Well in the way he talks about the poor, needy, and forgiveness
Here's my two cents, it's something you must witness!

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
The preacher from the mount, the King of the Jews?
Seems he finally has to pay his dues
And I don't know for certain if what he said was true
But it annoyed every person of power right through.
His friends abandoned him, he'll be up on a cedar cross.
He'll stand alone for his crime of making leaders cross.
Pilate tried to forgive him. But he must face the walk.
And pay for the message of love in his talk.

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
That Jesus is gone. The guy on the cross - he finally died.
I can't believe it. I felt I knew the guy.
I though he was bigger than death, immune somehow.
Honestly, I'm not sure what to believe now.

Have you heard? Have I heard?
About this thing that's absurd:
Jesus is risen! My friend, rejoice, Jesus is risen!
He took our sins on his back and now we're forgiven!
This is a new day. Everything is different to before
It's a miracle, and one only possible through the Lord
Let us cheer and celebrate, and honour it thus:
We shall remember this date, and all Jesus did for us.

Correct Technique

I've wondered for a while - do I write with correct technique?
Or am I more a mish-mash, a creative freak?


I know I'm not a poet who is learned in his way
I know my rhyme schemes cause dismissal and dismay
If I sit down with one who studied properly past sixteen years
I'm often overcome with turgid terminology that fills my fears


Look, I'm an academic in enough of what I do already
My poetry is an escape to keep my boat steady
It takes the build up inside of emotion and thought
And releases it all to escape this fort


I will never be the next, well, whoever is supposed to be famous
I know I'll never hang out with the poetic elite and a-list
But by doing my own thing, maybe I hit on something new?
Else, maybe I'm closer to the proper poets than I ever knew?


Does it matter? Probably not, I'm just thinking
Releasing thoughts aloud that I sometimes sit back and sink in
Just know - if I find I am a fraud, it's an identity I'll foster
As I try to claim the title of most ambitious imposter.




Written while listening to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfoyqjucqXA

The kid could fly

The kid could fly.

By Jove and by Jupiter, this kid could fly!

They could, but wouldn't. So I had to ask why.

"Hey kid!", I asked in a not unkind tone,
To the kid who was sat looking guilty on her own.

"Don't worry" I rushed, "I don't mean to cause a fuss
But I must enquire - did you just feel a gust"?

I made an indirect enquiry, wishing to give the kid space.
I wasn't wishing to be mean - I just didn't want her talents to waste.

And I think the kid realised where my question had been heading.
You'd have thought that I'd asked the kid how to get to Armageddon.

It took much cajoling, and convincing of intent,
To let the kid know - what I wanted was innocent.

You see I'd seen the kid hover, by a centimetre at most.
Only for a second - they flickered like a ghost.
But man, I thought what I could do with such power.
I wouldn't fly by the millisecond - I'd fly by the hour!

The kid swore me to secrecy (and you see I've kept my vow),
And swore she'd never give me the answer of "how"
But the answer of why she kept power under wraps?
She looked at me nervously, her nails began to tap.

"I dreamt of glory. And saw what it would mean.
In my head I was a saviour. In my head I became a queen.
Then I saw what that would be, and what would come to be true.
I saw what terrible things such power can do.

Right now I'm a person - and I'm developing as such.
But this power of mine, it became my crutch.
I saw myself stagnate, in a place no one could touch me.
And so no one developed. And it saddened me muchly.

So I'm keeping it hidden. On lockdown if you will.
Believe me it's tough. I do miss the thrill.
I can fly through the clouds, if I wrap myself warm.
I can dance with the birds, be one with their swarm.

But for the sake of others not being intimidated by me.
I'll stay on the ground. With no power you can see."

The kid was insistent, even though she looked filled with regret.
About the things she can't do. About the secret that must be kept.
Though I disagreed with the answer, I accepted it and walked away.
Thinking about how this kid had been given such an important part to play.
A part they had taken a long look at, and rejected goodbye.
Leaving me with naught but the tale
of the kid that could
but wouldn't
fly.               

The importance of keeping things short

If you have a speech to make
Here's some tips you ought to take
Keep it short, keep it sweet
Don't you lead them to their sleep

I know you have a lot to say
And could go on for a whole day
But they have all got a place to be
A thing to do, a friend to see

So work out how you'll keep it short
Keep it tight like you've now been taught
Take out each word that is there just for you
And then you might just be set to

Make a speech, one which holds it's own
Before they can...too late.
                                        Bring out their phones.

The Show Is Over

The show is over, but the show is not done.
In one sense, the show has only just begun
Think of this, before you leave this show and me
You've granted "right now" a place in your memory

Now there's a real chance you'll forget this quick
That the thought of this night will just not stick
So all that remains of all you now see
Is a small memory of maybe some poetry

Some of you, may remember what you've heard
Will remember this show, remember some words
Words that follow you home and into your bed
So that when you dream, there'll be poetry in your head

Some lines will have left you smitten
Some lines will begin to be rewritten
New poems will start to form
New ideas will be born

You'll start to write. To create. To build a new thing.
And out of the ashes of the old show, a new show will begin.

Ghosts

I don't believe in ghosts. But they believe in me.

I walk my life as any human was who was free.

I feel the crunch of dry leaves under my feet.

I take two lefts and a right. I turn around and then repeat.

There are drips overhead. That plumbing needs a fix.

Details enter my head. The ghosts enjoy their tricks.

Many footsteps surround me. I am not jostled at all.

At the hint of any contact, I would surely stumble, fall.

A door. Focus now. A door handle is before my hand.

I extend my arm and grip it. This entrance was pre-planned.

I walk over the doorway, across an ordinary mat.

A little bell rings overhead, and wakes a sleepy cat.

I stand, judging it. Do the ghosts have this one too?

I gather myself, walk forward. Many things I walk through.

This pocket contains many perils. I bring forth, unscathed, a watch.

It's ticking is uneven. The gears need check for any crack or notch.

I cannot have this. The lack of regularity drives me insane.

A figure (two?) agree that a faulty watch would be a shame.

Given four hours, they can fix it. I sit. I observe.

Carefully. Quietly. Waiting for any straight line to curve.

Is it done? I only ask when I know for certain it is, yes.

I apologise for my awkwardness, during the time I was watch-less.

I exhale. The ticks. My ticks. Not slow. Not quick.

My time. I turn. And walk. Job done. Tick tick.

I don't believe in ghosts. But they believe in me.

With a working watch in hand, I now walk a bit more lightly.

The power of voices

Good morning, good evening.
Good day. How're you feeling?
No matter what you say or your flavour of greeting
We love to talk - our words give life meaning

But sometimes, sometimes, our words leave us screaming
Wanting to take back what we said, start retreating
Sometimes we're scared of the power our words can impart
We wish we could stop it, cower, go back to the start

See for all the times that we use our words wisely
We also try to get an edge by using our words wily
And it could be a joke that we hope will be funny
Or trying to cope when we know life isn't sunny
And inside you bet we regret what was said
We have died from dismay on replay in our head

We hate the person that said them - even though it was us
We are versed in acceptance - not making a fuss
As it's hard to admit when your unfit for forgiveness
In a bit maybe - but for now I'll live with this

The most powerful word that I've heard is sorry.
Spoken when we've awoken to give an apology.
And it's rare that it's honest, rare that it's true.
Sincerity is valuable, something hard to live through.

But if you're living with regret for words you want undone.
Then you know the power that your words have spun.
And if those words are powerful, know other words must be as well.
Including the words to bring you back from your hell.

Sentient Water

Now I don't know which mad cap scientist with a corporate ear
Was the first to remark Sentient water! Hey, what a good idea.
But it honestly has to rank in the top three bad ideas this decade.
Right after the sandpaper toothbrush and interns not being paid.

The original justification was dubious at best.
There's water scarcity and abundance, it's clear humans have made a mess
In trying to sort out where to put water on this land
So why don't we let the water come up with a plan.

So we did. We gave it brain and senses and existential dread
And we tried to let water sort out its own future instead.
Naturally it fled. Very quickly, at high speed. Away from humanity.
So began to great water hunt, and the start of our insanity.

Now, don't let me pretend that it wasn't a little bit fun.
Pursuing water across many cycles of moon and sun.
But soon all the air from our lungs was expired.
As we became slow, dehydrated and tired.

We'd caught, quite quickly, the water that was soft.
It succumbed quickly, we held it victorious, aloft.
Then, by the known process of natural selection
The water that was hard naturally gained our attention.

It was toughened by minerals, charged by ions.
It started a battle that would last for eons.
We'd chase and it'd learn, and sometimes claim one of our own.
It would divide and erode us, seeking to catch us alone.

There was never a treaty, just raw primal chase.
As we battled our creation - the new water race.
There were many victories on each side, but heed the truth of this fable:
Never trust anything with "smart water" on the label.

Why I believe

I don't believe because it is easy. My religion calls itself foolish.
I don't believe because I think I am special. My religion is open to all.
I don't believe because I feel it makes me better. My religion centres around my sin.

I believe, because I think that it is true.

So, why then, do I believe with my heart, as well as my brain?
Because, out of all possible truths, this one is so glorious.
Out of all the world that might have been,
Out of all the things that might have been true,
The world I find myself in is one where my creator loves me.
It is one where I can be forgiven.
It is one of caring.
It is a world of joy.

This is why I believe.

When do you stand?

When, my friend, do you take your stand?
When do you rise to make your voice heard?

Maybe you stand as the last of the crowd.
You rise when all around you have taken their feet.
You wait until you feel you are allowed.
You take no risk, so you will never feel defeat.

Maybe you stand to push the movement.
You are the toppling point to the majority.
Your choice is not easy, but made with intent.
You shall always stand with history.

Do you stand when the ideas are full formed?
You see the movement, and see where it will head.
You take the risk, but the fire is warmed.
You shall stoke it higher instead.

Do you stand near the start, to form a voice.
To cement ideas, make the movement go.
You do not play with minds or toys.
You honestly believe in this thing you know.

Are you the first. The first to stand up tall.
Are you the reason we all stand now?
Did you take the mocking? Survive it all?
You who stood, take a bow.

All are needed. This time, the crowd has won the day.
So, my friend. When will you stand next time?

Snowman

Yo. I made a snow man.
He was a cool, not take any of your stuff man.
Kinda chilly, not one to rise to anger or danger.
He'd give an icy smile to any passerby and stranger.

Had a bit of a pot belly, but that wasn't his issue.
He couldn't take the heat - would always need a tissue.
He didn't own 24 carrot gold, but nose where riches lie.
My snow man has his home, the place he will die.

No point in moving, though grass is greener.
Put on a smile - no point in acting meaner,
He would melt your heart if you gave him time
My snow man committed no coldhearted crime.

He's on his way out, so keep him in your thoughts.
Goodbye snow man, your time was short.

Take a second. And take notice.

On this day, take a second, and take notice. Because often, we don't.
We don't notice how much people cheer for us.

I know you wont recall how proud your parents were when you said your first word.
Or how the same parents doted after you when you took your first steps.
I guarantee they doted. Because you were small, and they were big steps. Ones worth noting.
They've been cheering you on all your life. And they aren't the only ones.

At one point, you made your first friend who wasn't part of your family.
In this big wide world, you found someone who enjoyed spending time with you, who didn't have to spend time with you.
They stayed, because they enjoyed talking to you and doing things with you.
They were to be the first of many.

Throughout your life, teachers have silently cheered you as you put your heart into something.
Maybe a librarian saw you take out a book they also enjoyed, and you warmed them inside.
You helped someone who had fallen off their bike, and a passerby resolved to be you if they saw it happen again.
Throughout your life, some good deeds you have done, have likely inspired others.

And sometimes, it isn't even that quiet!
If we get picked for sports teams or pass interviews, it is because someone looked at us and thought "Yes! This person has the talents I am looking for".
No one enters into a relationship without admiring that person in some way.
If you are in a relationship, you are likely the world to that person.

We forget when people tell us "Well done" - they have recognised the work you have done.
We ignore when people say "You made me smile" - this is a smile the world would otherwise not get to see, if not for you.
We pass over those who tell us that they are inspired by us.
So take this knowledge, and do not forget it. This knowledge of all you have done well and all those people who stand behind you, cheering you on. Take this knowledge, and fight the next battle.

People are cheering for you.
On this day, take a second. And notice.

The song is beautiful

The song is beautiful.
But it ends, as all songs must.

And there isn't a dry eye in the house.
Men who built up walls have had them shattered.
Children who do not know loss now know they lack, something.
The entire front row are standing, sending a ripple through the crowd.
There is cheering. Yelling. There is celebration of what has happened.
Tinged with the demand, the raw urge to hear more.

In the midst of the crowd, a young woman sits.
She did not stir. She did not applaud. She was certain this would work.
The musician was the best around, after all.

After the show, the musician is mobbed.
They plead patience. And take time. Every fan has their ten seconds.
And every ear that heard is a fan. So this takes a while.
Exhaustion sets in. The entourage is big, but not unkind.
There for the musician's protection, they try to guide away by the shoulder.
Their efforts are fruitless. The musician has seen their target.

"You. Young woman. I have something for you.".
The crowd gasps. And parts.

She stands alone. Just as she was before.
The only one unmoved.

"You came seeking emotion. You came hoping I would provide.
Alas, this musician can only do so much.
Let me just say this.

Keep searching.
You will find your song.
It will not be the same as anyone else's, and you may have to play it yourself.
But it exists. Or, at least, it will someday.
If you keep looking."

The musician turned, and so did the woman.
The fans went after the musician, fawning and asking for guidance of their own.
He had already given them all he could.

The woman?
She knew the song was beautiful.
But that it had ended.
All she had to do, was find the next one.

Top 10 of 2017

Stumbled across my blog? Wondering what to read. Well, here are the 10 poems I wrote that meant most to me in 2017, that I think you'll enjoy.

I just created something
Finally, I made a poem about creating poetry that I really liked. This one is fun to perform and, I think, fun to listen to as well. The aim is to connect with the listener, and that personal contact that exists makes it one I want to memorise and have on demand.

The secret about poetry
Following on, I was challenged by someone to make a poem for kids. Well, I interpreted that as writing as if I was getting to perform to kids. Intentionally keeping the language and rhymes 'simple' was fun, as was getting across this message.

Ledbury
This poem means a lot simply as the first proper religious poem I've written in a long time. The fact I got to perform it made it even sweeter. Given how important my faith is to me, being able to overcome that block and produce something meant a lot to me.

The Vow

While Ledbury was my first faith poem in a long time, this is my favourite one of this year. The only one where I got inspired, then actually took some time to hash it out and get it up to a standard I'm proud of.

Brave
Some people struggle in life. I'm glad I finally wrote something to demonstrate to them, if not that I can fully empathise, but that I realise what they do is difficult. I know this poem means a lot to some people close to me, so that means it means a lot to me, too.

Blessed with friends
On that note, this poem means a lot because I'm getting to talk about how much I value those close to me. I'm lucky with the friends I have, and sometimes I realise I don't put enough effort into these relationships. I'm weird in that I like meeting people occasionally, and find close relationships difficult. So this was to thank those that have stuck with me.

Did you not expect us
A lot of my poems tend to be positive. So having one which was trying to capture raw anger was certainly a challenge. Made after a chat with a friend, after trying to come up with a poem it would be good to film. Certainly something I want to do, some day.

The family trade
I like this one for the story it tells. I'm trying to get better at telling stories which are completely separate from me, and this was probably my best attempt at that this year. One I'll try to work on, but for now, I'm happy with this.

The books of war
If I ever perform this to you, I'll need five minutes. It has a really cool and unusual rhythm, which comes from the song the poem is named after. That makes it a lot of fun, but also a lot of work to do in a live setting. The challenge is good though, and I like how unique the poem feels to me.

Matter
Probably the poem that was in my head the longest. One of the toughest longform poems I did this year, and on a scale I'm not used to writing. Also an idea I was really happy to get out of my head. I'd tried to represent it in the poem before, but it didn't feel right. So it was good to just take another crack and get this one down.


Bonus: two more that meant a lot to me, but that no one else will enjoy because they were written with very specific people in mind.

The first among us
A poem written for my brother, performed at his wedding. It's hard for a poem to mean more than this. It's sad in one way - I really liked it, and I don't think I'll ever get to perform it again. But it was written for that moment, and I don't think I'd change it at all.

My best man speech
Being asked to be best man by my friend Joe was a special experience, and having the experience of performing at another wedding that year certainly helped. It was filmed for posterity, and I pretty much managed to not forget my lines. Almost.

Dead books

How do you feel, when you pick up the book of a dead author?
Particularly a book which you enjoy.

Go, do it now.
Realise that, though this person has passed from this Earth, they are not gone.
The book you hold in your hands is real.

It could take you on adventures, while keeping you right where you are.
You could take pilgrimage in it's pages, lose yourself in the prose.
Say hello to characters that will never have another sentence written for them.
Fall in love with the ideas, with the words. And then read the last line.

You are done. That book is done. You are not done.
Those characters are with you, and alive in you. You will take them with you.
And all those characters are and were, springs from a person no longer here.

There is power in books. In stories.
Do not take them lightly.
For though the authors may die,
   There is no such thing as a dead book.
They live on.

When are we honest

Yo. Who are you. I mean, who are you really
It's a question I've always approached somewhat queerly
Like, is this not me? Who I am each day?
Am I not myself if I live life in a comfortable way?

Yet I've heard it said, and heard it said sometimes by me
That most of the time in life what we say is untrustworthy
We have barriers, protections from a world always at war
Trying to break us down and then break us down some more

So we can't be honest. We can't speak our mind.
Except when we're in an intoxicated state of a kind.
Or we're tired. Or we're too young to know better.
Only when we're down can you trust our word to the letter.

So what? When I panic, or am stressed, I know I behave differently
Does that mean that these automatic choices represent me?
Rather than a decision I've thought about for hours on end?
Is that whole existence just a great game of pretend?

That doesn't mean I can discard that me either
I'm accountable for them, and must act as healer
If I do wrong or behave in a way which harms
It's because the conscious me wants to apply that balm

Here's the great truth. We are flawed. We are more than one thing.
We are our response to whatever challenges the world may bring.
Even if the responses would be different, they are the range of us,
But you can only ever act as you feel that you must.

I am thankful

This list is not complete. But it has now been started.

I am thankful that I was brave enough to give blood.
I am thankful that I was so unaccustomed to pain that the whole experience sucked quite a lot.
I am thankful that society doesn't dictate I have to remove my leg hair and that the word epilate is not in my regular vocabulary.
I am thankful I never had diabetes, so don't have to inject myself regularly.
I am thankful that people worked really hard on making diabetes a manageable problem, as some of my good friends are diabetics.
I am thankful for my friends.

I am thankful that my parents were around at most meals.
I am thankful I realised they are interesting to talk to.
I am really thankful for all the times they drove me places, but also that they let me cycle on my own, even though it worried them.
I am thankful for the financial security they provided, so I never had to learn how long after a missed bill payment the lights will go out.
I am thankful that I was able to focus on learning when growing up.
I am thankful I had teachers to help me learn.

I am thankful that I don't really panic in stressful situations.
I am thankful I learnt first aid, and that I haven't had to use it much.
I am thankful I don't give in to peer pressure.
I am thankful that I have so much to be thankful for.
I am thankful I have so many people to be thankful for.
I am thankful that this list isn't even complete. But I am thankful it has been started.

Today sucked

Dear Diary,
                  For me, today absolutely sucked.
Some days suck because things don't go your way and you're down on your luck.
This day was entirely my fault.

And everyone was so nice about it. People were polite the entire day through.
They had their smiles on their faces and were positive too.
I helped put up Christmas decorations, I put tinsel on windows
I got my hair braided by a girl I didn't previously know.
Most of these people didn't know the choice I had made.
I am thankful for all of them. But my day still sucked.

I walked slowly into the clean and sterile room.
I was told to read leaflets I had read 3 times before coming here.
Told to drink pleasantly sweet squash, a slightly different brand to the one I had been drinking all day.
I was quizzed as to which countries I had been to in the last year, and I felt like a jet-setter.
     I travelled further last year than I had ever travelled before.
I was quizzed about my medications. I couldn't remember the name of one.
     I ignored the part of my brain desperately giving me an "out".
     I looked up my surgery number online, and they gave me the information.
     The key to going one step further.
They told me I had passed. Yay.

Everytime I said I was nervous, someone comforted me.
Especially when the women took a blood sample from my finger.
I didn't realise pain could feel both electric and mechanical at the same time.
The sterile room was quite small.
A kindly man laid me down, and made conversation that wasn't forced.
Each step was small. To turn at any point would have been a bigger step.

I laid down.

The man brandished an instrument. It cleaned my arm. For around 30 seconds.
I was asked if I'd like to find out if I was eligible for a platelet donation. It's only one more needle.
I declined. It was a small step. The coward that I am likes small steps.
    The next step only required me not to move.
I made sure I was looking the other way.
The pain was not short. Even though I was told my vein was easy to find.
I had been told to ball up my hand. I could feel the stiffness in my forearm.
    I looked. After around five minutes, I looked. And took a picture.
    My static arm shows no cowardice in that picture.

Instead, I seem brave. Just like I did when I signed up in under ten minutes.
Just like the friends I had chatted to before, for whom it was no big deal.
Or the people in the room there with me.
Either side of me, a father and son donated. It was the son's fifth time. The father, many more.
For so many, this is a simple step.
I am not one of many.
When the machine mercifully beeped as my arm went cold.
I required half an hour longer to rise, due to feeling faint.
     Indicating I am one of the less than 2% of people to whom this happens.
And I left. A bandage to my arm and memories in my head.

Dear Diary,
                For me, today absolutely sucked.
Dear Diary,
                For someone else, today sucked a lot less.
Dear Diary,
                Today was one of the few days in my life I managed to make not about me.
Dear Diary,
                Today sucked. But it was a good day.


sign up at blood.co.uk
It's easy, simple, and for most people, is completely fine.

Hidden Layers

It's one of the laziest metaphors. And one I dislike the most.
See, lots of things have hidden meanings and layers, right?
And, like, onions have layers too, you know?
So, "it was layered like an onion".
So if I'm seeking to explain something deep and interesting and profound.
Maybe, I should do that thing some justice.


This world contains many wonders, not all of which are hidden
Though there is of course delight in finding secrets once forbidden

When you enter a new city you enter into new sights and sounds, It
hits you like a blast, your senses are overloaded, pounded
Welcome to the surface. To first impressions.
If this place is a teacher you're learning your first lessons

Take a trip on the transport give an ode to each road
The steps taken each day by those who call the city their abode

Then take a step down take a step in take another step deeper
Going to the places where this new place happens to keeps the
Things it puts on show, the history and attractions
Split the city into pieces and learn all its factions

But take a walk down any street in any city you will witness
People practising their passion, running a local business

Let's go inner again, lets meet the people inside
of the buildings, those residents that reside
In the city, and the city dwells in their personality
And then each person goes deeper than you will likely ever see

Then you meet those you call family, those you call friends
And you uncover more layers and you hope it never ends



Do you see now? Why I dislike the onion analogy so much?
See, each layer of an onion is just more onion.
The true hidden layers, the ones worth exploring?
They are so much more than that. So much more.
Don't do injustice to reality with lazy metaphors.
Instead, mirror it, and sink that next layer deeper.

The Vow

Dear Lord

I make this vow, as thanks for the Agape* you have shown me

To try to give back some love in exchange for you having known me

So, in the name of You I take Jesus as my witness

To try to involve my faith in all of my business

To not take worship lightly, yet not to consider it a chore

To be satisfied with my blessings, not always asking for more

To by proud of my faith and not hide it in shame

And accept, as a Christian, every act that I do is done in your name

I will take you in richer and poorer, in sickness and in health

Knowing that the relationship we hold is beyond medicine and wealth

I am needy - I need comfort, care, and forgiveness

I know if I am only bold enough to ask - you will give this

I will try my best to be faithful, and try my best to not stray

And that when I falter I ask you to help me back to live in your way

For my ashes are your ashes, my dust will be your dust

My words in this vow seek to sanctify this trust

As I lift up my passion and lift up my heart

My life is your life and in death we shall not part

I admit to believing these words as I'm saying them now

So in your name, Lord, I seal this vow

Amen

*Greek for the love between God and man. Not the English, agape, meaning opened wide. This would give the poem a different meaning.

-

Matthew 5:34-37 New International Version (NIV)

34 But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne;35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. 37 All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.[a]

-

With the above in mind, this poem is not to be taken as an actual oath. It is written to try to prioritise in my head that which I hold dear, rather than as a literal declaration. It was written to be symbolic of the vow taken at a wedding, hence a lot of the imagery.

Success

Let me sit you down. Let me be a little blunt.
Let me take you aside and put up no front.
What
makes
a successful life?
What would you say is reason enough for a meaningful stuff we claim to pursue does it seem honest and true
And look. I'm me and you're you through and through
We have different goals in life and different things we want to do
Guided by a mixture of morals and philosophy and fear and ambition
That widen our scope or limit our mission

I remember, when I was much younger
Leaving school with a burning passion and hunger
Another young man, whom I don't know if I would call a friend
Left me a message at our journey's end
He wished me what he would say to be wishes of success
Even though it contained a future I didn't wish to possess
And nothing against him, he was only being polite
But, how many of us do that, each day and night?

We think our own path through life is surely the right one
That if we achieve it everyone will nod and say "nice one"
I've had friends who take paths I would only go down under duress
Yet, for them they seem happy. So, I just wish them the best
Even if I think they may be causing the planet some harm
Even if their goal causes me anger, I must stay calm
Because I have no right. They're achieving happiness
They take their route and I'll take mine I guess

It just made me think, how much of what I want to achieve
Is down to what success I think other people will perceive?

I hope it's some percentage between one hundred and zero
I like my friends. I value who they are and what they know
At the same time, we have different paths and places we want to go
So, I hope the success I achieve is at least somewhat my own
I hope the path is uncertain, at least somewhat unknown
I hope to make other people smile, and live a little longer
I hope my path can make me smarter and stronger
I don't wish for money or status, just enough to get by
So that, when I finally take the journey to the sky
When asked what I did, I hope I can say nothing less
Than to say I felt my life a success

Taste

You know that thing you think is awesome?
The one that blows your mind, every time?
Yeah. I tried it.
And I think it's alright. Like, not bad, not at all! Just, well, alright.

Here's what that doesn't mean - that it's any different to before.
It's still the awesome thing that makes you smile
Just a little bit, every time it crosses your mind.

It simply means that, on this thing, we have a different taste.

And I'll embrace the chance to let you try again.
Help me sit in your shoes
And I will gladly follow your instructions on how to to your laces.

But part of what makes our experience personal
     is that it is personal.
We all see things in different ways.

Maybe I would have enjoyed it if I were sixteen
    And still full of energy and anger
Maybe if I were a different gender. Or height. Or, well, not me.
Often, I get confused as to why I don't enjoy something as much as I think I should have.

Just, don't force it. I've yet to meet someone with whom I don't share any passions.
We will find that thing.
And on that thing we will share joy and excitement and beauty and memories.

But this one?
This is yours. And don't let that be taken away from you.

The lifeblood pumps

It's a conspiracy. But that doesn't make it any less true.
Just because it's only known to a select few
It defies all logic and knowledge and reason
Hey! Did you know the Earth's orbit isn't what causes the seasons?

I know I sound like a madman, and that I may well be
But please take a few seconds and listen to me
My statement is dramatic enough it may have given you pause
Now listen as I tell you the actual cause

There are pumps. They go way deep below the ground.
Below where oil and dinosaurs are found
They gather the heat of Earth's molten blood
And pump it slowly through the seas and the mud

The process it starts as quite a slow thing
Around the time you may know commonly as spring
The energy it imparts can prove of great worth
As it allows plants to grow and animals to give birth

It quickens, intensifies, and reaches it's peak around July
But this is science - this energy can't just instantly die
Instead it is pumped back, and the pipes tumble and Fall
Being sent back to the core of molten halls

There it is rejuvenated, with oxygen and other things
The pumps of this lifeblood, they squeal and sing
The surface is cold, the cycle will begin again from the start
And know you know the inner workings of our own planet's heart

I made this poem in collaboration with my cousin Farai. Our topic was "The change of the season", and I was inspired by her use of a heart to show the different parts of the year to write this year.