Two Cells

 I was once two cells. Then one.

From the moment, I became someone.
I would grow and grow and get real tall

Now I can’t remember being one cell at all.

And I. Have really. Tried.

I started off easy. I can remember being very nervous 5 minutes ago

Before I had any sort of idea where this poem would likely go

It’s a very clear memory. Although one I’ll probably forget

Ah well. We’ve got more difficult challenges to try yet

I can remember, quite a while ago now

The first time I did poetry in front of a crowd

I was 19 and proud of this thing I had wrote

As the sound went from my mind to my lungs to my throat

Let’s push back way more. I can remember (I think)

My first day of school. Dressed in blue and not pink

Still learning about how to play games and have fun

And how I was still learning how to be someone

I can push back further, and I’m sure you can too

I think I just about remember when I was two

I remember being in a playground, in a giant wooden horse

Scrambling around and getting all dirty (of course)

Past then. I really struggle. My parents fill gaps in my memory

I’ve seen photos of people that I’m told are in fact me

How this mind of mine once fit in a body much smaller

How I was so energetic – a climber and a crawler

That I was once so fragile. That those photos weren’t my limit

Honestly, it makes me shiver. Makes me want to forget it.

I really struggle to understand sometimes that that. Was. Me.

This shell I once fit in to oh so easily

Though my imagination struggles. I still know it to be true.

That going back before I was someone, I was one cell. Then two.

This stone

In this hand I call my own

I hold a pale, speckled stone

It’s smooth and hard. I feel its weight.

And I begin to contemplate.

See, with the stone that’s in my hand

There’s many futures I have planned

The potential power that lies within

The futures paths I could begin

This stone could break windows,

This stone could break trees

And where this stone goes

It goes because of me

This stone could be flint

It could turn monkey into man

Be the spark and the glint

To make fire as my plan

This stone could tumble and fall

So quickly down a hill

Strike another stone, then them all

An avalanche, from my will

This stone could be ground down

Into the finest of sand

Make a glass to my renown

And the things I have planned

It could be made to a computer

To do my thinking when I need

Though I’ll naturally dispute the

Origin of such mis-deeds

It could cause great catastrophe

Cause such immense destruction

This stone you now see?

It simply awaits my instruction…

Ledbury

Lord, here in this moment I'm praising You
          here in this moment I'm praising You

I could pray for hours and days right through

            pray for the Spirit I know to be true

I will go from here. I will falter. I'm not perfect.

Yet I know right now in my heart You are worth it

When I'm reminded of Your miraculous death and birth it

Inspires me to throw up my hands and worship

I want to sing

                      to dance

                                    to praise Your name!

Yet if I'm honest - I must admit with shame

I will struggle. And then I need You more.

I need Your love. I need Your law.

I need Your help to go to my core.

Remind me of Your name. Inspire me with awe.

Bring me back to the memory of right here. Right now.

As I shout your name as loud as everyone around me will allow.

Fill me with Your spirit. Build me anew.

LORD.

           Here in this moment I'm praising You

Written for Ledbury 2017. I don't write much religious poetry. This is certainly one of the first I've ever performed. Given how much it forms a central part of my philosophy, it's something I'm trying to address.

Beach

I take the beach as the border
In its place in the order
Of Land. Beach. Sea.

It separates the earth
Twixt the water and the turf
The sand boundary.

The water it fights
Through the day and the night
To steal the land back inside

But each time before
It has had to withdraw
The moon pulls back the tide

With sand seaweed and stone
The beach stands alone
In holding back the waves

So castles, they fall
Yet all through it all
The beach never quite caves

Matter

Am I just matter?
Or Do I matter?

Am I just matter or do I matter?

Am I just matter, do I matter?

Am I matter, do I matter?

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Lately I've been living life laterally

It's hard to progress when my mind is under duress

About a question I must take mind to address

And keeping it internal has seemed an infernal mission

Quizzing all content concerning the eternal decision

No, this is not a manner to be contained within thought

I present to you, right now, my cerebral court

Two trusted personas to debate the matter at hand

The case for "just matter", please take the stand

Let me be clear. Let me precise.

You are all just physical objects, like ice.

You live in a world with rational rules and laws.

This is as observable as human flaws.

You have to breathe. You have to feed.

Within your genes are the means to proceed.

Here is the junction which governs this mess:

You are just functions, very complicated yes,

But processes. Predictable if you had the power.

Limited by thought, by space, by the hour.

Ticking away until your final day.

When the clockwork stops.

And you drop.

This is neither nice nor cruel - just the default case.

Take my advice and accept this approach's embrace.

If we are "just matter", then that's all we are.

To claim anything else would just be bizarre.

How entitled. How arrogant. How sweet. How droll.

That you could still believe in such a thing as a soul.

Am I matter do I matter
Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Let me speak up, I'm meant to represent argument number 2

All I can do is speak honestly of what I believe to be true

I wont try to force the manner, nor deny much of what was said

You are right now living. You will one day be dead.

But let's stop looking at the scale we live at each day

Think instead of the time with no yesterday

There was an origin to how this universe came to be

It continues slowly, following entropy

Until it reaches the present, until it reaches you

As for what is before and after? We have no clue.

Quantum, that most curious of current conclusions

Would have once been laughed at, just like fission and fusion

We are still learning but our knowledge has gaps
If it didn't then maybe our world would collapse!

If we knew of an afterlife, few would remain on this Earth

We know as little after death as where we come from at birth

Because beyond 'just matter', there really does seem to be more

Beyond physical beings, there's something in our core

Sentience is a very rare trait, and one unique so far in galaxies

So if we can move beyond fate, we can say you matter to me

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

Am I matter do I matter

What's the matter with me?

Hold up there, I'm the third such position,

I beg of you, give me some time and listen,

I can't hold a torch to either the first two cases,

I'm afraid my conclusion wont seem so persuasive,

But here it is, pretty much my case is just this:

Whether or not you matter, if you face an afterlife or abyss,

You must still go forward, seize each second,

Make life take you as a force with which to be reckoned,

The debate you just heard - it's by no means trivial,

Don't discard it as absurd - or even discard it at all,

But acknowledge that while the debate will rage on a while,

You must still go out and face the World with a smile,

In an Earth of just matter, then provide others some lift,

And if you matter to the Earth then be a most welcome gift,
Just no that this philosophy can eat you up inside,
And you still matter to the world in which you reside.

Am I matter do I matter

Does it matter to me?


I had some debate as to whether to put this poem up. I don't suffer with anxiety. I don't suffer with depression. And yet I do have existential crises from time to time. And they pass. One of the few things poetry allows me to do though, is to try to capture moments as they pass. So this is me, trying to be really honest with an internal debate. The hope is that others can see it, and realise that if they've felt such things too then they aren't alone. This isn't a cry for help, or anything close. Instead, it's an attempt at a very honest reflection. In my head, I see this being performed by 4 separate people. The core line (Am I matter...with me) would be repeated throughout by the central person.

Trains

Across the country, on the rails.

Sometimes late, sometimes fails.

No longer followed by billows of smoke.

Reduced often to simple joke.

Yet I'm still a romantic for trains

For all their messes, all their pains

Despite the changes and privitization

They'll always appear in my ideal nation

Maybe it's growing up in York

Maybe it's due to stories, despite all the talk

I love the idea of the Hogwarts express

Streaming through fields showing no duress

The great equalizer, the reason many could see the sea

Suddenly we were closer that we ever thought we could be

Travelling the same route each and every day

"We'll get you this far, now make your own way"

I've travelled so many miles, but never lost track

Always knowing the path is open return back

Yes it's flawed, but for all their pains

I still have a certain fondness for trains

One of the odder effects of growing up in York, I feel. While I'll never be a train watcher I do still have more affection than I probably should for what is a mode of transport...

Threads

How long is a piece of string?

Sometimes, I feel as a piece of thread.
Containing turns and knots.
A frayed string.
Never truly aware what is happening.

Most often in life, enjoying the journey
Weaving amongst others with great accord
Every path is an adventure!
So come, see who we get tangled up with

Having twisted myself a good many places
I have taut myself in the struggle
Should I slack off my progress?
Is it good? Or does the tension help me grow?

I am vaguely aware I had a beginning
And that this tapestry is much greater than I
I, a single thread among millions and billions
Creating a picture that can only be glimpsed

I am scared. Scared of being lost,
Scared of my time in telling the story being done.
That one day my thread will tie off neatly
Never to see what the image will become

So it goes.
For now, I just have to be weave
Take my journey as it goes
For as long as it will take me

Shine

You don't always see the darkness in the world.
You don't always know where the shadows lie.
Who is struggling, who needs saving,
Whose hopes are about to die.

Life. It's not pleasant. It's not nice. It's not pretty.
What it is, though, is filled with change.
So, for those times when things aren't going so bad,
I'm going to ask you something strange.

I need you to shine my friend.
Shine bright and strong and true.
From every inch of your being,
From every ounce of you.

Shine with every colour of the rainbow.
Drive every rag of shadow from this place.
Love with every atom of your being,
If you can, wear a smile on your face.

Be the mercenary we require right now.
Help all of us who want aid in the fight.
Because all we may need when feeling down,
Is to bask in another's light.

The traveller

The traveller never went far from their heart
Except when they returned
For every time they rested
It was travel that they yearned

So they followed their heart away
Across the sky and sea
Finding rejuvenation in the waters
In each new land they'd see

It mattered not with whom they went
If they ventured out alone
Nor that they'd never see every place
For the thrill was in the unknown

And so the traveller went, and as payment for their aches and ails
They filled themself with memories, and told the world their tales

A bonus poem, written for a friend

The Arena

"You must enter the arena my child"
Said the father who had survived it all
Survived the feral without becoming wild
And stood at the end, proud and tall

"Only those tested ever get their name in a book"
He said with great aplomb and pride
Forgetting exactly how his legs fiercely shook
Before history was on his side

"It made me who I am today"
Said the man who was able-bodied and sane
Forgetting those with a greater price to pay
The cost for such a gain

"You shall look back fondly too"
If you're able to look back at all on this time
For each shoulder on which you stand
One has been crippled and one forced to crime

"I promise if - you win you live on in eternity"
But what about those with a weaker demeanour?
No one can promise with certainty
So get both sides before you enter the arena.

The family trade

In my village, nothing much ever changes
We don't like to leave and aren't open to strangers
Jobs are passed down from father to son
And have been since our village first begun

Everyone wants to be friends with the baker's son
You need to be on good terms with the house maker's son
And the distiller's son (if you ever need a comforter)
Never, never run afoul of the son of our governor

I had trouble making friends as a child
I had to be sensible and never be wild
Yet when they coughed they'd look at me often
Knowing, that one day, I'd  make  their  coffin

My father taught me how to guide an axe into a tree
The dead wood reincarnated in the assembly
Add to it 25 nails and (of course) a cross
Give it an extra polish after a wash

And voila. One size fits any soul.
To make them sturdy was my only goal
If it was good, my father would nod, put a hand on my shoulder
As we marked a potential client in pencil in our folder

We didn't know. But work gets to you in the end
There's a reason the undertaker and his son struggle for friends
But it has to be done. And so to make sure we get paid
I am simply another son taking up the family trade

inspiration - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_Mu-OJ6VKM

Make up

A brief google search tells me a box of make up can cost anywhere from a couple of pounds to an entire student loan.

The reason I have to search is because I have never bought make up before, and it occurs to me this is something I should probably know.

In a similar way to how growing long hair gave me insights into the effort and dedication that so much of the population put towards a part of the human anatomy I had previous given little to no thought to.

I suddenly realised that I had no idea exactly how much make up cost or exactly why people wear it.

Not really keen to set aside an extra 5 minutes that could be spent sleeping in a morning trying it for myself (because, after all, I love my beauty sleep), I have decided to instead spend the next 5 minutes trying to work out why in a slam.

Because I now know how much make up costs. But it's the why which I find a little bit of a bother.

...

The first time you see someone that you know well but without their make-up on tends to blow your mind a little. It informs you quickly that, regardless of what you tell yourself, a lot of how you perceive someone is tied up in their physical appearance. Maybe not for good or bad, but you do feel like you've learnt something intrinsically personal about a person. You've learned what they actually look like. And that can be a bit of a shock to the system, even if it's just because you kinda thought you already knew what they look like.

As a side note, when this happens and they go fishing for a comment do not blow it. Think in advance if you have to. 

I was very young the first time I saw a make up box. I didn't really know what it was, but TV and books had taught me well enough to know it was something for Mummies. Leave it alone. Go do something wrong that your older siblings will later get the blame for. Make up was something for girls to aspire to.

So what were they aspiring to? The first time I ever wore make up, I was in the grip of adolescent hormones. I was performing in a play as an emo, and was told to wear make up to go with the role. Naturally, I hesitated, but went forward with it. After all, this would help me get into the role. This would help me change into someone else.

I think you might see what I'm getting at.

I did learn something else though - make up is very hard to do. It was a massive shock to the system to learn that I sucked at using eyeliner. I mean, I'd done Art. I'd drawn things before, and one or two pieces I'd drawn quite well. Never the pieces my parents put on the fridge of course, but I thought I was quite good at drawing. Turns out it's very different when the canvas is your face.

It turns out it takes a lot of time to work out how to correctly and precisely block sunlight from touching your skin.

It turns out, that those people who paint their face in make up often, are very good artists. It is said it take 10,000 hours to properly master something. And I realised I knew a lot of people who must have spent at least that long sat cultivating their own reflection.

---

My parents were more Beatles than Bowie, and so only when older did I appreciate that it's fully possible for people to use make up to carve out identities, to become fantastical creatures, to add their own signature touch to how the World perceives them. For some people, their skin is paper and they lovingly paint masterpieces.

In the same way coloured hair and tattoos are expressions of utmost individuality, so too can you say of make up. Indulge in those brushstrokes, adore the palette, savour every shade. 

A lot of what I love in culture is tied up in image, and for better or worse make up will always be a big part of that.

So why does it still make me a bit uncomfortable? What was this cringing feeling I still sometimes feel?

I think (and I'm sure years and actions will change me somewhat) I think, the issue I have, is how people paint themselves to look like an unblemished canvas. How they feel they need to. I have strong memories of one girl who would come in to school everyday, and she was the only one I ever noticed her make up, because it was so thick on her skin it showed up even to such unobservant and untrained eyes as mine.

I kinda always wanted to mention it. To ask. But I never knew what my question would be.

It's not wrong to need confidence once in a while. To have a little boost to your ego. To walk a little taller from the ground. But when those heels become all you ever go out in, I do wonder what it's like to go home and see yourself at you-level again. Or how you feel around others, wondering whether they'll accept you as you are yet.

It is worth saying at this point that my view of whether I think make up is attractive is irrelevant
to these thoughts, or, at least, I'm trying to make it so. But it was strange for me to realise how routine it was.

All we ever see on TV are unblemished beings. We rarely see spots and scars. We see our idols - our heroes in sport and song and dance and art. And while we spend many hours trying to replicate their physique, many hours perfecting how people hear us, many hours in the mirror correcting our movements, it is those hours we spend with a paintbrush in hand - the shortcut to the image of our idols - that I find the most scary.

I'm a little scared that I'm going to have performed this and be told I got things entirely wrong. And I'm prepared for that to be true. But I just want to end this with a different message. And it is for you.

Do, whatever makes you feel best. Make yourself feel comfortable. Make yourself feel beautiful. Paint yourself up a treat. Change your face a thousand times for each sunset that graces your image. Become a living deity, shine like the stars, absorb the fullness of whatever it is you are trying to be.

I just want to say this. To everyone.

Whatever is underneath all that

Whatever is the sum of weathering and genetics that at the end of the day has formed who you are

When you wipe your make up off

And you look in the mirror

I hope you realise that

The image you see looks kinda good

And that that image

Is you

And that the you underneath, is something people love about you.

I just wrote something down

I just wrote something down
     Hey, look at me: I just wrote something down!
And it may cause some people to smile and some people to frown,
But I did this. I created something new.
It's flawed and it's weird and it's me through and through.
I have no doubt there was hesitation involved in its creation,
And that motivation was the pursuit of procrastination.

But still. It's here. It's here and it's in my hand.
It starts off shakey, the ending wasn't planned,
And the middle is ok and overall it's just fine,
But it's here. And it exists. And it's mine.
It's mine to the word and it's mine to the letter,
And if the rhymes don't quite scan then that doesn't matter.

The trick was to start. Take it from my heart the trick was to start,
And not get caught up and lost in the state of my art.
I just put down some lines, hoped for the best,
Kept myself going showing no need to rest,
Until, finally, I'd got to the end.
And then, my friend, I'm not going to pretend,

You're supposed to just leave it as static and stale,
You should tell someone about it. Tell them your tale.
Listen to the feedback they do and don't give,
Let you work breath, let it grow and live.
But to get to this point there's only one trick I've found
You need simply to start. And write something down.

As an old man died

No flowers withered
At death's knell
The world was still
As his eyelids fell.

The lightbulbs glowed
And they did not flicker
The air was quite still
And did not grow thicker.

But inside. Man, inside.
Electricity that had made a man do a thousand different things
Made him think of love and loss and anger and regret
The spark that had made him once get up on a stage and sing
Had powered a laughter that could spread and infect
The memory of the time he walked in on his parents at night
The touch, so soft, of his true love. And also of his wife.
The electricity inside that powered every thought and light
It ran the end of its circuitry and it
Fizzled
Softly

The world kept its spin
But electricity stopped inside
The earth did nothing
As an old man died

Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c1HOsmpoxE

Untitled

Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why
In this world of fight or flight I've got a forest in my eye
Wood I remove it by moving my morals to act consistently
Sure would! But my groove as a human is to affect with hypocrisy
My comfort as I come at all the issues life will raise
Is to decide as I ride - and retroactively reconcile for days
Some times I come up good - as I should tend to find I guess
But in any contradiction I apply diction to redefine to my very best
See, my label of untitled might be a placeholder later
Appalling it appears, I'll often edit my edict for the final paper
And I'm sick of this schtick, so instead I'll be leaving that word blank
Letting you know quick I'm flawed - rather than swim through mud I sank
Sometimes things don't line up and finish in the way they're supposed to
Rather than chop around the edges I'm now just gonna flow through
Acknowledge as a scholar that I'll stumble and I'll sigh
Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why

Sharing joy

It is a singular delight
To find one with which you share a passion and flame.
As you both shine bright
With whom you need to feel no shame.

Far to often, we enjoy
Hiding ourselves and our inspirations away
For fear that our joy
Will be shunned and scorned without delay

We'd rather protect
That small flicker that makes us feel less small
Than let it grow and infect
To spread wide and to fully engulf all

The risk is far too great
What if they are right to bring us down?
One thing I've found of late
Is that passion finds far more smile than frowns

And so, to find that pleasure
One with whom you can share your flicker of light
To face all dowsing together
And merely emerge aflame is an utter delight

Brave

"Hold on, be brave" - the eternal maternal refrain.
Taught to be thought, implanted in every infant.
The most meticulous mantra, made in the mind.
To be repeated eternally for every tough situation you'll find.

Have to eat something bad tasting? - Hold on, be brave.
First time public speaking? - Hold on, be brave.
Getting an injection? - Hold on, be brave.
Experiencing life? - Hold on, be brave.

So, here's the thing. The thing when we're told to be brave.
We're told what bravery is - bravery is saving the world.
It is overcoming incredible odds. For situations it's incredibly odd to be in.
But we're shown countless examples. Count and sample many unrealistic situations.

"Bravery - it only counts if you save a life."

What if you have to be brave every day?
What if bravery is getting upon the morning?
Encountering others? Wearing a smile?
Does it count? Does it matter?
What about if bravery is saving one life every day?

Bravery is not just what is done. It is the place it is done from.
Bravery is knowing, deep down, that you did all you could.
Even when the ridiculous becomes routine,
          when the essential is almost reverential,
           when the poignant is personal,
            when you deliver daily on the down-right difficult,
Then maybe, you get to redefine bravery for yourself.




Written for a friend.

Lost in time

I've been lost in space many times
Misplaced my way and trespassed lines
It's fine. I guess.
Sometimes I leave a mess
But mostly, it's for the best.

Because it's only by going places we aren't meant to
That we realise where we're supposed to be.
Echolocate our way to home in the midst of this cacophany.

So let us sound out the solution to the problem I now see
I'm not exactly sure when I am supposed to be.

Yes you read that right, and no, I'm not talking in jest.
Because in this world I always have so little time to invest.

Just as I get comfortable, settled in to a season
It always ups and passes by without reason

The earth keeps on spinning and rotating and falling
Meaning I'm never winning and I find this appalling

I guess, well, I just take more time than most to adjust
So I find myself out of sorts. And I've cried and I've cussed
But it doesn't matter. Watches I watch don't stop on a dime.
And I find myself, once again, a man out of time.

Maybe I should go forward. Predict the next trend.
But then it wont be long until, that too, will end.
I'll be out of sorts once more, once more out of mind.
So maybe then there's a whole different decade to find?

I've seen people do it. Stick themselves in the past.
They cling desperately until their very last.
While it's sad in a way, it's also inspiring.
They think I'm there judging, I'm simply stood there admiring.
Impressed by the strength of character, resilience of mind.
To always keep their clockwork up tight - never unwind.

But that's their destiny, so I'll be aware just for me.
A traveller should never know where they're supposed to be.

Fish in the sea

You're heartbroken again, aren't you?
You've seen life's turmoils through and through

Well don't worry. After all it should be plain to see
There's always plenty more fish in the sea

(This line was said with a big, wide, devious smile
That hung on the narrator's face for a while
After all, they knew your life and knew the score
And how many times you'd heard that line before)

Of course, the issue with that saying is clear
You'll find another fish if you persevere

But some fish are sharks, with a nasty bite
Some fish only come out in the dead of night
Some are whales, which may still be your thing
Some, like the jellyfish, pack a powerful sting
Oh they're beautiful to look at, don't get me wrong
You just never want to hang around them for long
Some like a swordfish you'd never want to kiss
Some camouflage away and are easy to miss
A pufferfish will put on such a mighty display
But will look very different at the end of day

It seems, if you have high standards, you might still prove
It's possible to be alone even with an ocean-full to choose

But here's the catch, if you care to take my bait
All those flawed fish? They still find a mate
Despite all the flaws in someone you wish to uncover
They still find someone to adore and call their lover
Because here's where this analogy of you as a fisherman may cease to be true:
Somewhere out there someone is fishing for you too.

This fragile mind

This fragile mind was meant for only one end.
See, this fragile mind, it was meant to bend.

Though it's so very easy to snap and shatter
Particularly for thoughts that matter
It must stand strong, must persevere
For every thought it minds to hear

You can talk of fractures, talk of a tear
A raptured mind will withstand any wear
Brains? They fold. They envelope all info anew
If given something bad it'll absorb that too

It can't discriminate, there's no auto-filter
Removing that which will knock you off kilter
To embrace life, whatever trouble it may throw
Is the only way any fragile mind will grow

This fragile mind may have been through the worst
Want to shut itself out, feel though it was cursed
But this fragile mind will absorb that emptiness
Until it's filled with nothing, and then nothingness

Fill it with wonder. Fill it with joy.
Come out to the world. Don't be coy.
Take small steps. The danger's not fake.
For growth to occur, there's a chance it'll break.

If you can get over the fear - and that's a big 'if', it's true
Then this fragile mind has some growing to do

Mind in anger

I've never seen a man change their mind in anger
Not while they're screaming 'hang him' and 'hang her'
If they hate your message *and* they hate your guts
Do you think they'll ever admit to being a klutz?
Because when they remember the argument on their own
They wont remember the message, just remember your tone
Unless of course, they have thought of some sort of retort
And then they'll be eager to re-enter the verbal tennis court
Only focused on serving you up on a platter
Without being focussed on the substance of the matter
Then you're back-and forth, forth-and-back again
Without any actions of respect or refrain

So, here's what I'm not saying. That you'll be able to do this all the time.
That you can change without delaying and spin your heart on a dime.
Of course you are passionate, of course you care.
There may be more than feelings on the line here and there.
You will of course believe in the certainty of your case.
Just remember that your cause of disagreement has a face.

It may not be nice to have to admit
But this thought is one you'll have to permit
If you want to change a mind
I think you'll do well to find
That the source of words which seem to appal?
That person is still human after all
I've never seen a man change his mind in anger, but I have instead found this:
That it may not happen as often as I wish, but I have seen him change in kindness.

The decision is made

Life is on hold

And feelings are cold

You have to be bold

'til a decision is made

You'll start to stress

Just do you best! 

You can do nothing less

'til a decision is made

So hang on tight

Stay up all night

The future's not bright

'til a decision is made

The time has come

What must be done

Has just begun

'til a decision is made

You're nearly there too

You wont have much to do

If you just choose

As a decision is made

See, now, isn't this so much better

So much freer with every letter

You'll be glad it's over, even if you regret the

Time that a decision was made

Inspired by the blog post of a friend - https://geoxymorons.wordpress.com/2016/11/20/day-one-decisions/

I am not done

I lay dying.
I should have been laid dead. But I lay dying.
I saw Death beside me. I saw her outstretched hand.
She did not force the handshake.
She never normally needed to.
Most accepted it willingly, grasping for her fingers like a child grasping for their mother.
Some, of stronger heart, raised their hand slowly. Controlling the ascent but always determined. They always sped up the last couple inches though.

My hand, by contrast, was forced rigidly into my side,
(Albeit grasped in a fist, to resist temptation).
Death, well, she didn't do anything.
Except wait.
For she had all the time.

I announced to the unlistening world:
"There is a contract.
I do not do this for comfort.
I do not do this for power.
I do this because it needs to be done.
The world would take me.
And I would gladly rest.
But for the fact that I am not done."

Though the world didn't listen, Death stood stoic.
She nodded with minimal movement.
The hand withdrew, and she did not.
She would always be there. Until I was done.
There could be no hesitation.
There could be no doubt.

I started my longest journey, with Death as my constant companion.



http://imgur.com/gallery/6X0s9

Nurture me

I'm a seed, nuture me
So I can grow to a tree
Take my place in forestry
And start to develop properly
As I begin grow into my property
Because when I wake each day I see
This place I live and rest my head sleepily
While I may never define this place formally
As the one in which I form my ideas creatively
I have no doubt the influence it has subconsciously
That we can only ever be defined from our memories
Which can never be created fully independently
From our surroundings and also our inventory
We must realise, what helps us individually
To grow into something so meaningfully
That we must try to cut away externally
(Even if we only do it occasionally)
Gives us space to expand regularly
Beyond our current personality
And into what we aim to be
A tree full with greenery
That grows happily

A lot of love to Popcorn by the Solillaquists of Sound for inspiration for this one http://genius.com/Solillaquists-of-sound-popcorn-lyrics

Lament of the voter

This is the lament of the voter, let me be bold
To experience this just once, before I am old

I don't want to vote out of fear
I don't want to vote out of fear
I don't want to have to vote cause I'm scared if I don't
That I'll be persecuted now and here

I don't want to vote out of fear

I have to say that it does seem recently
Only a lesser of two evils choice has been given me
And it may seem feeble but a vote for less evil
Is one that fails to inspire me

I don't want to vote out of fear

I don't want to have to chose between my heart and my health
Take my principals and put them up on a shelf
So I can hold close my nose so that (as everyone knows)
I can vote for someone I don't agree with myself

I don't want to vote out of fear

You're given two options, a yay or a nay
No reservations or nuance you can display
But we promise we do, next time a vote comes through
You can make a totally free choice on that day.

I don't want to vote out of fear

I get it, I swear, I understand
The last few votes that happened to be planned
It was really vital that I voted right this cycle
It just seems all the ones before had similar stands

I don't want to vote out of fear

It may be I'm entitled, but let it so be
Fear is never my choice frequency
It may be a crime, but I swear that next time
I'm just going to vote for me

I don't want to vote out of fear

Politics of fear be damned.
Let us vote honest.
Let them not scare us anymore.
We are the people.
We are the power.
We are the voters.

So, what will you chose?

Time

Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways

Time is passing, Never lasting
Speeding fast, forever asking
What you're doing, Why you're waiting
Should be pursuing, not procrastinating
With every falling grain of sand
Spilling onto barren land
As dust turns into rusty crust
Do whatever you must
Time is running away
To your final day

Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways

Time is a resource, of course

One to increase by thought or force

Don't be caught into other thinking

Or your mind will be sinking

Into panic and anxiety

Will steal your time quietly
You need to work in this fight

Create all time, day and night

Realise time is yours to use
Lest it be yours to lose

Tick Tock Tick Tock
Quickly clicks the clock
Millis Seconds Hours Days
Till our ending ways

Time is fluid. Time flows
Where it goes, man, no one really knows
But listen to me, and listen well
If you try to fight time you'll go through hell
Just let it happen, fall wherever it chooses
You'll catch it in moment, drop it in snoozes
But don't worry, man, and don't be so downbeat
You'll find the time once you find your feet
Don't be so arrogant to think you have control
Or so much pride you'll never go for a stroll
Embrace time, and the fact it does what it will
So come walk with me, we've time to kill.

Faff 'til noon

[Verse 1]

Back to this street where we began

Feeling you could have left something, you know

Yeah we're not feeling good

Picking up things you shouldn't need

It looks like the end of the trip as we know

As your bag is unfurled

Back to this street where we began

Feeling we could have left, we should, we can

[Pre-Chorus]

Stuck in this place we're caught by gloom

Into a room where it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And we know that we could be and we know that we should

And you know that you want to leave too

[Chorus]

'Cause it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And you said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should, you've just one thing to do

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should 

[Verse 2]

Back to this street, down to your feet

Losing your shoes and we're turning our cheek 

We don't want to be mean.

Back to this place so we choose to say

"Man, it feels like we've been this way"

Now we wont ever be mean

[Bridge]

Back to this street, back to this place

Back to this, soon it will start again, hey

Back to this, soon it will start again

[Chorus]

'Cause it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

And you said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should, you've just one thing to do

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should 

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

You said that we could leave soon

We're ready to leave and want to

We're feeling we should 

When it's nine and you'll faff 'til noon

Lovingly ripped off "Nine in the afternoon" by Panic! at the disco

Content.

Are contentment and boredom synonyms?
I mean this question only honestly
I'm going to take charge, go out on a limb
And say the answer is no. Well, mostly
There's no doubt overlap twixt these cases
When we no longer have drive or desire
Satisfied we have run enough races
With no need to keep pushing on higher
But I can be content about one thing
Allowing me to finish and move on
Boredom is absolutely engulfing
The most self destructive phenomenon

Without contentment, I'd never progress
With boredom I get caught in the process

Enjoy the ride

"Ladies and Gentleman. Please be ready.
The ride is about to begin.
Get ready for the world to move by fast
Because none of you are strapped in"

I've heard it said, that life is the journey
That was the type of mantra that would never concern me
Because we would try to strip it down to the core
Like - well then what on Earth are we travelling for?

Well let me tell you, plain and true.
That I, quite frankly, have no clue.
I've quizzed the navigator, asked the driver
I've talked to the world 'til I'm out of saliva
We've gone in circles at least seventy times
Life's given us lemons, but also plenty limes
I'm fairly sure we're moving, but no idea where
The passengers around me all seem prepared
But they keep on changing and switching seats
It just seems strange to travel on repeat

So here's what I think is actually the case
Life's not a journey, nor is it a race
While certificates are great to show what you've done
It doesn't make you better than someone with none
We are not competing. There is no "You tried".
There is simply you, 'til the day you've died.

Life is. And every moment, from beginning to end
Should not be a day for playing the greatest game of pretend

You don't know what's happening, nor do I.
Go find the questions, and just enjoy the 'why'
Be amazed at the world, both external and inside
But mostly, my friend, enjoy this ride.


Obvious tribute to Bill Hicks is needed - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgzQuE1pR1w

Were I to give a talk in schools

Being an adult is hard.
Mostly, because you never get a welcome card.

There's never instructions, in pencil or pen
On what to do or who to befriend.

You know that stupid question adults always want to ask?
What do you want to do when you grow up and leave class?
Here's a secret to take with you wherever you go.
Most of them are asking because they don't know.

We all end up in a job, a profession, a career.
But most of us have no clue how we ended up here.
But if it's fairly stable, and not too boring: then, to our shame
We keep at it - as long as it leaves some time to play games

Then, most of those adults stick at that one thing.
We forget how to dance, how to act, how to sing.
Don't get me wrong, we get really, really good at that thing we try.
People make spreadsheets that could cover the whole sky.
They've made numbers spring and contort into shapes
They've written so many notes trees flee in their wake.

But they grow up into one thing, and one thing alone
So here's a note for you all to put on your phone.

Don't grow up into one thing. Grow up into many.
Take every chance that life gives you, if it gives you any.
You will grow and develop, way past adulthood.
You'll keep learning forever, as every person should.