Passive Listener

I am not a passive listener
I am not a passive learner
I do not deal well with sitting still
Putting thoughts on the backburner

I want to be a part
Of whatever story you are telling
Even if that's just "uh-huh"s and "yeah"s
And one-off interjecting

If I am not engaged
My thoughts will lose control
If you offer a stray thread
I will unravel it whole

And though my tapestry is enriched
With those threads that weave and turn
That I lose the teller's tale
Is a sadness I actively had to learn

So don't let me be passive
In the truth you're trying to tell
Engage me in your journey
So we can share a tapestry as well

Suzie's Wedding Poem

 Dear Suzie and Kyle

It is tradition, on such a momentous event as today
To honour you with an old and tired cliché
Letting you know that I think the pair of you make the most lovely set
But mainly letting you know that I can use the internet

However. You are a unique special couple and we live in unique special times 
So it would not be fitting to trouble you with overused and overtired rhymes
As an example, a truth that everyone here can hold with us wherever we go
Is that we are utterly certain that we rank within the top 15 to 30 people you know

So as you move from the world of fiancés and spouses-to-be
Into the future of "My partner and me" 
I'm not going to joke about how it's now too late to run
Or how you're going to need permission to go out and have fun

Honestly, I consider it a shame
To refer to a loving partner as "the ol' ball and chain"
Because you seem happy with this choice in life
So, instead, here's a celebration of this new husband and wife

To Kyle, it is an honour to welcome you to the family
To have yet another older brother with hair a different colour to me
I welcome your jokes and your good humour too
I look forward to making future memories with you

To Suzie. Ah Suzie, special sister of mine.
Here's a one-time apology for all the many times I was an irritating younger brother and made you whine
I'm thankful for the creativity we've shared with each other
Genuinely, Suzie, I am thankful to be your brother

To the both of you, I wish you more than just a fantastic day
I wish you the strength to support each other over any hardships that come your way
Be unashamedly in love all future years
Reinforce each others' hopes, tackle each others' fears

Be loving and open, as I know you can be
Best wishes from me and the rest of the family
Share love. Share adventures. Always, share a smile.
As you go forth from this day as one pair, as Suzie and Kyle

Unironically Woke

Here is a statement that might confuse some folk
I, unironically, will call myself woke
And I'm not being performative or hiding schemes
I just believe in what the word actually means

Being "woke" seems like classic young person slang
It's lit, it's peng, you get me fam?
And it is a hip word, I know that's true
But being woke is an important concept too

It captures an idea we've needed for a while
And what "woke" represents hopefully wont go out of style
It's an awareness, alertness, to injustices on Earth
An awareness of privilege you've had since birth

But, because the word is non-white in origin
It's mocked by those who are lacking in melanin
Not realising that their aversion to this aspect of black speech
Is exactly why wokeness is an important mindstate to reach

Because the extra barriers to serious discussions
Around wokeness have big repercussions
We'd rather not discuss the impact of colonialism today
So instead we'll focus on how woke is a funny word to say

If this is you, I'd ask you to take a step back
Focus on the idea, ignore that the word is black
Try to ignore the ad hominems that are so easy to tell
And ask yourself honestly if you might be woke as well 

Web of friendship

Don't lose touch
But do loosen grip
Let your clutch
Slide but not slip

You are a web
Of elastic strings
Each one can ebb
Each resonance sings

Cast wide your net
For diverse returning
The more give you let
The greater the earning

You will pick harvest
From miles beyond
No better invest
Than a stronger bond

In Avalon

He lies waiting in restful Avalon
Noble Arthur, the once and always King
Awaiting his final majestic quest
To save this land when its need is greatest
To again rise and grasp Excalibur

So why, my friend, did we not see his steed
Memorialised in the weave of Hastings

He did not rise to fight for either rose
When the most noble north was torn in two

Cromwell did not face the round table's ire
When the line of kings fell before his might

And when German bombers lit up the sky
They were not felled by the lake lady's sword

Some take this to mean Arthur does not wait
He died a mighty but still mortal man
I shiver instead that he does still lie
And waits for a danger beyond his strength
Leaving us without the hope of legend

Slanted Walk

I took a peek outside my door
To a street I thought I'd seen before
Yet my memory is unsure
Small things are impure
Still, to adventure!
Up, you curs
Step forward hims theys and hers
No time to be adverse
Or be fearing the hearse
Things could be worse
As the road still curves
Don't trip on curbs
Or be perturbed
Your echo reverbs
Over weed and herbs
Yet, madams and sirs
We always respond to lures
The small similarity endures
Familiar feelings soon ensure
You forget differences from before
And return to your well known door

On Personification

Let me lay a couple lines about personification
Granting the innate some living characterization
A grand poetic gesture giving insight into creation
That actual people callously disregard without hesitation

A tree will always stand tall to provide shade for the weary
But our mentors will have off days to be quietly teary
Stones will represent the hardest of human hearts in the wild
Yet will not erode in seconds from the touch of a young child

The ambitious sky will stretch on to countless infinites
Which humans circle in a day while watching mini TVs
A beck will spring life eternally, whistling a beautiful tune
Whereas creatives need time for tea and biscuits each afternoon

The moon, they are ever changing, but in a smooth and gradual way
People can stay the same for years, then have two epiphanies in a day
Personification are beautiful, and can be viewed as true when
You accept the inconsistency that resides in every human 

Bubbles

the beautiful bubble is born

it bounds it bobbles it bounces

but by being its best it

Bursts

some second simple suds

structured as spherical soapy shell

stretch and strain suddenly it

Snaps

enter an enthusiastic extra

even though each is ephemeral

exuding elegance ere it

Erupts

perhaps pursuing persistence

permitting the punishing product

of perfection it promptly

Pops

a last lump of liquid light

lovingly leaps into limited life

it leads a lucky lot as it

.

lands

In the online version, I have an image here displaying how I'd like this poem to look if I were a better artist. This is partially to test whether it'll automatically post the image to Facebook, but also because I enjoy my bad artwork. :)

Gatekeeper

Oh, gatekeeper,
Who are you protecting?
Oh, gatekeeper,
Please don't pretend
Oh, gatekeeper,
What is it you're stopping?
...
What is your end?

Now I don't mean to retell a story you've heard before dear listener
I'm sure you've all heard many a tale of the noble gatekeeper
They who earnestly seek to preserve a label or community
Not trying to be exclusive, encouraging new members earnestly

No, dear listener, I instead speak instead of another.
One who is a bitter and overly-jealous lover.
One so infatuated they become resistant to change.
Forbidding entry to anyone who isn't "their type of strange". 

Oh, gatekeeper,
Who are you protecting?
Oh, gatekeeper,
Please don't pretend
Oh, gatekeeper,
What is it you're stopping?
...
What is your end?

I'm sure you know the type -"You're not a real fan"
Or even "You're not a real woman", "You're not a real man"
Unless you prescribe to their certain type of notion
There's no way you can match their level of devotion

Always be careful with this type of entity
One whose gatekeeping has become their identity
So it's all or nothing, no room for deviation
Or they'll label you a flake without hesitation

Oh, gatekeeper,
Who are you protecting?
Oh, gatekeeper,
Please don't pretend
Oh, gatekeeper,
What is it you're stopping?
...
What is your end?

Oh, gatekeeper, I've been like you before
Loving something some much I closed tight the door
But that thing you love, that way you live so religiously?
It'll still be the same even if others do it differently

Oh, gatekeeper, I know you're protecting what you love from hate
But, dear gatekeeper, don't forget what a joy it is to open that gate
To see someone, slowly, come to love a thing totally new
Maybe they'll even evolve to love it in the same way as you

Oh, gatekeeper, you must allow this thing to independently grow
Even, one day, into something that you no longer know
All things end, so why not choose to become a foundation?
Rather than cast aside, become the welcoming gate of a new infatuation

Tommy's words

 Let me tell you a tale, if you'll allow me the time
I'll tell it with flair, I'll tell it in rhyme!
A tale of a fellow in a difficult scrape
A tale of a fellow with an uncertain fate

Known as Thomas, Tommy boy, or Tom
Who realised one day that his words were the bomb
That he could, with a mere uttering of sound
Blow someone away in a way most profound

(He was reckless, our Tom, it was always his undoing
It didn't matter if it was money or a girl he was wooing
Once he figured out a rule he'd set it in stone
Forgetting any other life lesson he'd known)

So Tommy went to bars, and Tommy plied a trade
Displaying his words and leaving victims dismayed
For his golden voice could often sooth a fighter
Or charm someone to leaving with their pockets lighter

But one day the day came, as it would always do
When Tommy would have to pay his due
His friends gathered round, sensing the hour
That Tommy would pay for his gathering of power

Would he be bested by some superior words?
To strike Tommy boy until he was interred?
Perhaps someone who couldn't hear at all?
Leaving Tommy exposed and bound to fall?

Well, these were good guesses, but all missed the mark
For it was Tommy himself who would light the spark
For he had engaged in a battle of phrases
With someone who only wanted to sing Tom's praises

"I've the best lexicon, no one could ever match me
There's no limits to what my words would allow me to be!"

    "You're very right, dear Tom. You speak the truth!"
    "You could do the profession of everyone under this roof!"

"Of course I could, for the world is just lines
And I've got the best, so I'd be just fine!"

As he spoke, Tom gestured strongly
Although maybe I should say he gestured wrongly
See Tom didn't notice as one hand knocked over a candle
Because his other hit his firefighter friend with a tankard handle

The fire took hold, and like Tom's words they spread
And while Tommy turned his tail and fled
Turning only once he was on safe ground
He realised his friends were no where to be found

Tom stood rooted, coming to terms with the bravery he lacked
He tried to aid once or twice, but just as quickly backtracked
When his comrades emerged he celebrated without refrain
A euphoric moment, despite the concussion obtained

But later, when they would come together again
They would remember that evening, they'd remember when
Tommy boy was unable to live up to the reputation he'd built
For though the right words can have a gorgeous lilt

Do not forget, dear reader, what gives words their power
What makes them more than a light sonorous shower
What gives stories the morals and poetry its appeal
It is our actions, my friend, that make our words real

Sunlight

Sunlight splashed lazily on fertile ground
With warm golden rays painting the soil
Look! Look! I don't know if you can see it
We can start to see strange sprouts emerging

Good feelings are beginning to blossom
Born from pre-sewn seeds of optimism
Flowering into sweet unbridled joy
To all who venture into its aura

Braille

Two dots wide by three dots high
A six dot block known as a cell
A cool little trick to encode 'u' and 'i'
But also, well, also the entirety of an alphabet along with the rest of human literature as well. 

Even though there's only 64 things that a cell can say
Together they were the facts and they were the fiction
A means of access to the culture of the day
Once the only lifeline for those with low vision

How odd it is, such a wonderous invention
Was, like sadly many things, born of war
Derived from Napoleonic means of night communication
Though rejected for being too complex at it's core

Step up Louis Braille, who took it, improved it
And then three years late, at age 15
Took the first Braille alphabet, and used it
To allow him access to a world he'd never seen

And though now Screen Readers have taken hold
I hope that Braille will still not be forgot
There is such beauty in the simple embedding of old
In which different worlds are encoded inside each little dot

***

I couldn't find a way to sneak it in, but it's apparently 200 years since the meeting between Charles Barbier (inventor of night writing) and the young Louis Braille in 1821 at the Paris institute for the blind.

Laughter

I adore how many words the Greeks had for love
To recognise how expansive a concept it can be
From selfless Agape to passionate Eros
Ludos for the flirtatious and Philia for the friendly

We lose touch with those things we cannot express
To generalize something can be to cause its un-birth
Think, for instance, how easily we can lose touch
With how many types of laughter exist on this Earth 

So let's remember the sensible chuckle
For a silly quip that's fun and never too mean
The belly laugh from the man in the pub
At a punchline that was certainly not clean

The uncontrolled giggle from a gaggle of schoolgirls
Planning drama and antics for the day ahead
The infectious yet confident cackle 
From a viral joke that can't help but spread

Do not forget the nervous snicker
That can act as a valve on unbearable tension
Or the guffaw of a cheeky father
Who told some wordplay of his own invention

There is cruel laughter, there is kind laugher
Yet we often think of it all as one
Squashing dark humour into innuendos
Wrapping it all up together with puns

It seems ridiculous, doesn't it?
When you think of all the laughter you've heard
But it's impossible to keep it suppressed
Because laughter is far more than just a word

Travelling Alone

Travelling alone can be great to unwind
A tranquil delight, an utter joy
A chance to reflect, to clear your mind
What a privilege, for any boy!

*cough*

I write that latter line with a lot of regret
I wish my words could be more inclusive
But when I stop to listen and to reflect
A collective philosophy becomes elusive

And fellas, I'm not saying we walk without fear
When we venture late into an unknown place
But the scale of the problem matters here
And how often it's a problem we have to face

"But I'm not the problem" you say with pride
"I'm an exception", and that may be true
The issue is enough men have lied
That they don't know if they can trust you

Or me. I need to consider if I'm part of this.
If I've contributed to this atmosphere.
Through missing warnings or making ignorant quips
Because you know what's to blame for this fear?

Not people going out alone or dressing a certain way
Those shouldn't be things that lead to danger
And if I want to believe that the truth of a future day
I need to make sure I'm a better friend than stranger

Because, without realising it, I have more freedom
Based on, among other things, being male
And I don't know if there are past things I could have done
If I had a chance to rewrite any sad tale

But, well, I look at stories and stats as well
How it portrays a world I just don't know
So, if I believe the stories that my friends tell
There's only one way this reflection of mine could go

Fellow men, I'd simple ask you to reflect too
Especially if these words seem unfamiliar or strange
For whether this due to the actions of many or few 
We need to do whatever we can to help things change

***
***

Written in response to many things, but particularly dedicated to Sarah Everard 

Free versE

Let me write without structure

or rhyme
or insight

This is my free verse

and iT wiLL BE FREE!!

Formed through love and chaos

    with a dash of tiredness

"Free the verse!"

We will chant, with some prominent personalities joining our the cause de jour
Not understanding what we're asking for, but with heart in the right place

Too long have we been held under this rule of meter
Until our verse is free, our minds are not
So restricting is the page on which we write!

Some surgeon poets insist we must carve every line
Not realising the scalpel pen they use is still a tool of butchery!
Carefully controlling which parts of themselves are allowed to bleed onto the page

Be vulnerable and open, poets of tomorrow!!!
Un-couplet yourselves from these shackles

Tell this story in whatever form you can
and forget every cast you have poured your molten ideas into before

Who. Cares. If the form is hard to read
        as long as it is honest
        as long as it is genuine

You will know if the pause is right
And whether the correct word is left
We are winged wordweavers 

    and we are 

    out 

    of 

    our 

    cage!

A restful quiet

...

...

...It was quiet
But in a restful way

...Not a full rest
Just comfortable

...

...Every thing is
"Not right now"

...Deeper breathing
Inhale. . .Exhale

...

...Muffled silence
With mind-fog shield

...Nothing forced
Simply accepted

...

...A tiny smile
For the peace achieved

...It was quiet
But in a restful way

...

...

UK research

UK research? It isn't really a thing
At least, not in the way you're probably thinking
Nor in the way certain politicians like to portray
When they talk about UK research leading the way

So why does the phrase "UK research" leave me irked?
Well, when I consider all the different departments I've worked
I reflect on the wonderful diversity of colleagues of mine
Which collectively create the research these politicians find

While we have our biases, and we need to do better in many ways
There are men and women, old and young, straights and gays
But, importantly for this point I'm trying to probe
I've known wonderful people from all over the globe

Who all contribute, with different background and philosophies
Each adding different drops of water to the academic seas
Collaborating, discussing, debating, preaching
Helping us make leaps for things we'd never otherwise be reaching!

I will give credit, for the many UK-based funds and grants
That work in tandem with others to help our work advance
But here's the ground truth in case you haven't realised it before
The reason UK research is so good is because it stretches beyond our shore

Glass

You may be glass
    But glass is stronger than you think

We were taught glass is fragile
We all have seen it break
 
You see yourself being fragile
You know how easily you break

But glass is also strong
In many different forms
In many different ways

It is hard to compress
It is hard to stretch
It is also beautiful

You may be glass
       But you are stronger than you think

The Perfect Brothers

The brothers wished to be perfect
Thomas, Tommy and Tom
Unlike most of us, they got their wish
And so their problems begun

***

Thomas was the eldest of the three
He was perfect, but also proud our Thomas
So he sought the company of a perfect partner
And frankly he would accept nothing less

So he searched and he searched
Able to woo any person he met
Successful every time with the perfect line
But he hasn't found romance yet

All he encountered were the rest of us schmucks
Flawed in almost every way
Blessed with perfect persistence, Thomas continued his quest
And continues in fact to this day

***

Tommy was fun, the middle kid
Always the most popular in a crowd
Enjoyed a laugh or battle of wits
Would seek any attention he was allowed

Soon he found himself the alpha
With people laughing at his every quip
No battle of wits was a challenge
No listener's attention would ever slip

Tommy soon came to realise
That his old tricks had lost their thrill
When you're guaranteed perfection
The craftwork needs no skill

***

Tom was the youngest in many ways
He followed Thomas and Tommy
He saw their highs, and then their lows
And thought "So what's the solution before me?"

Thomas searched for someone else
Who could match up to who he now was
Tommy struggled to adjust
To people who would cheer him, just because

Tom thought long, Tom thought hard
How can a perfect person find purpose?
What is a life without our flaws?
Am I doomed like dear Tommy and Thomas?

***

Tommy and Thomas opened the old classroom door
Seeing Tom for the first time in years
Trying not to interfere with the lecture
They took a seat and opened their ears

"Remember, teachers of the future
Why it is we do what we do
Yes, you improve by teaching others
That is certainly true"

"Yet even the master, with nothing to learn
Can find joy in helping another in their path
It can be frustrating, it may be slow
Watching them take one step, then back another half"

"You must put your trust in their progress
Though I know that is a scary thing
To let them falter as they learn to walk
To hear them stammer as they begin to sing"

"One day, on a distant wonderful day
You will realise they have become your peer
Then, celebrate and rest.
 For a new student will soon appear"

Tom dismissed the class, walked to the back
Took both his brothers in his reach
"Welcome dear brothers, new students
Do not worry, let me begin to teach"


***
***
***

This was inspired by a writing prompt at https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lav9pu/wp_perfection_is_boring_you_never_thought_much/, about a person being granter their wish to be perfect. I tried to reflect on what a perfect being could do to find purpose. And I wanted to write about how a perfect being could interact with imperfect people. The first brother seeks an equal, something impossible in the circumstance. The second seeks superiority through competition, which one would surely find lacking. The final realises seeks to elevate others, which I found the most fulfilling of options.

You are still worthy

Here is a great secret, if you promise not to tell
A secret that They Who Know guard very well
One which is counter to all the lies they feed
An antidote for the pressure that make us want to recede

You, yes you, don't have to be an extraordinary individual
Even if you don't end up being an athlete or intellectual
You are still worthy of love, of compassion, of kindness
You are a human. You are flawed and you are blessed.

You have the potential to do earth-shattering things
To shape the future that the universe brings
One day you may end up soaring through the stars
Maybe you'll write a best seller or design self-driving cars 

But maybe you don't want to. Maybe that fills you with stress.
Well, if that is the case, don't let that fill you with duress.
Don't give in to the dissatisfaction they want you to invent
If living a simple life would otherwise make you content

We need staple foods in life as much as we need treats
We need simple forest paths and old cobbled streets
We need a "how are you" as much as lectures and prose
You are still worthy, no matter where you life goes

You can be extraordinary. If you want to. That fact is still true.
But the more radical thing is that you are worthy, just by being You.

Extras

In some stories, there are extras in the scene

People on the side who flicker in and out

There to fill out the background of the screen

Doing there own thing, just walking about

If they're good extras, they react to events

Show the opportunity or danger of a situation

Acting without any sort of pretence

To allow you time for pause and hesitation

But here's the thing, life doesn't work like that

In real life, the rules of the screen fall flat

People don't behave in the way their supposed to

Of course, that rule is true for you too

So take a second and recognise the extras in your story

And think to yourself "they are not there for me"

They've got their own hopes and ambitions and dreams

That cause them to react with their cheers or screams

So make sure you acknowledge them as the people they are

Even if your interaction is brief and doesn't take you far

Maybe they'll become a more major character to you

And realise that you are not just an extra in their story too.

Post for new readers

Hi! Welcome to my poetry blog friend.

In 2013 I made a new year's resolution to write a poem a week. Because I'm bad at quitting things, I'm still going. This has lead to me having too many poems.

So, here's a suggestion of a few cool poems to read. I also have a "10 best" post I do at the end of each year, so if you like these then that's a cool place to look next (search the "End of Year" tag). :)

If you ever want to hear an audio version of any poems, I'm slowly recording them over at https://anchor.fm/dashboard. Alternatively, I'm always happy to do a performance for people.

Also, if you ever have any questions or thoughts about any poem, no matter how old, then I love to be messaged to chat about them. I have lots of others I enjoy, and I am always happy to perform a recording of a poem for anyone. But these are the some that I figure serve as a good introduction to my work (and aren't overly long). Hope you enjoy them!

A short and sweet poem about poetic inspiration - Poem Catcher
A poem expressing my amazement for my bilingual friends - Another Tongue

A poem about personal bravery - Brave

A poem about the hectic pace we tend to approach life - Is Life a Race or a Dance?
A poem about the beauty in weirdness (and one of my first poems!) - Monsters
A poem about enjoying the moment - If Today

We've been through hardship before

We've been through hardship before,
        as humans, I mean.

I know some, well, maybe most of it was self-inflicted
        but there's still goodness to glean

In some of the plagues of days gone by
        we survived by sacrifice

Villages working for a collective good
        through an elder's advice

In times of war, we banded together
        the young volunteered their future

The smartest gals and guys we knew
        invented things like the computer

So now, in present day, just look around
        take note of what you see

The long hours. The struggle to succeed.
        all to help all of humanity

The nurses, the shopworkers, the careworkers    
        more professions than I can go through

As well as every person who has stayed safe and distant
        it's thanks to you too!

And I know it's tiring, that you have fatigue
        when you forget what it's all for

Just know that, eventually, we will succeed
        just like with the hardship before

Audio Mission Statement

So, here we go again. Another mission statement. The audio version of this statement (along with the rest of the podcasts) can be found at anchor.fm/harryisapoet, or on spotify.

Here's the quick version - I'm planning on trying to record my whole back catalogue on a semi-regular basis as a podcast. Probably one/two a week - I'll update this once I get going and figure things out.

I've been wanting to do this for a while. After all, if I have a choice of performing one of my poems for someone or sending them a written link, I'll pick performing every time. And this was less work than making them videos (which is still a future aim).

So, here we go. Another poetry adventure. I'll still be writing a fresh weekly poems  over at harryisapoet.blogspot.com. I've also made a facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/harryisapoet/) that will automatically post my new written poems, and hopefully will be set up to post my new podcast too.

A small extra note. For the next podcasts, I will record the poem, then I'll add any extra thoughts/context at the end. Some small insight into how I was feeling, or any way I would differ in approaching the subject now. In this statement though, it feels right to end again with (a slightly abridged version of the) Ira Glass quote that helped start me on this journey way back in January 2013.

"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through."

Statement over. If you're still with me, I look forward to the journey over the coming weeks.

Signed,
A somehow still naïve Harry, who is now a little more certain than seven years ago that he can call himself a poet.

The Difficulty of Not Putting Off Important Tasks

Past the point of pontification

He holds in his heart no hesitation

STRIKE! STRIKE NOW!

Ready he's ready to begin flexion

Finally found his focus and fixation

DO IT! DO! IT!

More time has tumbled to this decision

He has to act to avoid any derision

SO CLOSE!

Almost there it's tantalising ambition

The fates decree this is the end to his mission

...

He can't do it. Thwarted once more.

The cost of this loss shakes him to his core.

He shakes his head, closes the laptop, and walks away.

Falsely convincing himself he'll click "send" on that email another day.

Resisting Apathy

It's odd what happens, when shocking images are paraded before us

Don't get me wrong, initially there's no way they bore us
We feel all the emotions a human should feel

We are shocked and mortified, our sadness is real

Life is depressing, we lose faith in humanity

Questions rise regarding our planet's sanity

Even though we know the validity of these horrors to be correct

We push them to one side and build a disconnect

We don't let ourselves dwell, and move subtly on

Forgetting these kids were all daughters and sons

It would traumatise us, if we were to constantly dwell

On one of those times humanity turned Earth into Hell

And yet, we find the world still spins

We've paid our dues and move on with things

"It's not right, but what do you want us to do?

They've already lost their lives should we lose our minds too?"

We've forgotten, moved on, ready to be shocked the next time

We decide to relearn of humanity's crimes

Relearn how the world became bitter and frayed

Relearn of the sacrifice so many had made

But a similar struggle exists for many today

Even if we stop watching, atrocities don't go away

We still find ourselves far from a united Earth

We've still committing atrocities over resources and turf

It's tough, but you can't let the reaction of apathy tie you down

You can't just walk away, even if you walk wearing a frown

You see, though you walk away, there's millions who were unable

So you ahve to remember this as more than a fable

Avoid hyperbole - remember the trauma that was actually there

It's your duty to do more than briefly show you care

Be aware of what happened, hold it close in your heart as

motivation for those who became unwilling martyrs

Live a life stronger, as a voice for the voiceless

You can make decisions, fate is not choiceless

There is more than just the façade humanity likes to portray

We are not yet at peace, we can fight for that day

History books of the future will tell the present's tale

About how we reacted, and on what scale

Did we take heed? Did we try to learn?

Did we step back to help the world burn?

Or did we take steps we haven't taken before

And say that, finally, we will take this no more

We are more the same than different, all human this day

Let's finally change, and not walk away.

***

This was an old poem I found, reflecting on how we all seem to care about to Holocaust for a couple choice days a year and then forget things. Since it wasn't on here, I wanted to make sure I recorded it (with some very light editing). So, here it is for posterity.

The poetry grind

I've been on this grind for quite a while
And you know what? It still makes me smile

You'd think after so many words and lines
I'd be sick of the thought of repeated rhymes

Yet, I'm pleased to say, for what it's worth
I'm still finding new poems to which to give birth

I'm still finding out new things about my self
Still working hard on that eternal wealth

I wont pretend it's easy, that the lines always flow
Or that every week tells me something I don't know

Sometimes it's hard, and I'm not that proud
But it's worth it for the poems I want to shout loud

So here's to another year of poems I'll find
Here's to (at least) one more year on the poetry grind.

Top 10 of 2020

2020 was a rough year, globally. For me, I felt that was true from a creative standpoint as well. Yet, looking back at what I manged to make, I am glad I made the effort to make myself keep writing. I have a number of poems I'm very proud of, and I adored getting one final live performance in February before things began to change.

2020 will always remind me of a few things. I managed to hand in my thesis, do my corrections, and finally pass my doctoral degree. As such I had to start looking towards the future. The stress and uncertainty is reflected in a number of my poems for this year. Additionally, Covid-19 caused a worldwide pandemic, and much of my poetry during the first lockdown reflects that since I couldn't think of anything else. It led to me travelling a lot locally, and a lot less travelling beyond that which I could cycle. 

More than any other year, I look back at my poetry in 2020 and I see who I was reflected in it. Here are the 10 I want to most remember.

1. When the History Books are Written

Written as my first response to the pandemic. There is optimism in this poem that I still want to hold myself to. It is odd to think that the world is going through a historic change - we are often prone to hyperbole, so sometimes it feels like we are *always* going through world-changing times. I was still writing up at this point, so my thesis still held a lot of my focus and attention. The sheer impact of things wouldn't hit me until later.

2. Refugee's Pain

As the pandemic went on, you saw every hot take imaginable. Fresh perspectives became hard, particularly ones that were actually useful. As such, I am very proud of this poem. We all lost privileges we had taken for granted in order to keep others safe, and so we were closer than we had ever been before to many in the world. 

3. Through the Wires

It feels odd that this was written in February, but this pre-Covid poem about the wonders of electronic communication captures a lot of the feel of 2020. We learned how limited our energy was, despite how easy technology made it for us to stay in touch. And, as such, how vital it was we used well the energy we had.

4. Planets don't Think

I found myself doing a lot less of my classic hip-hop-y style this year. Maybe it's because I've been taking life a bit slower. However, it's still my favourite style to write in and I do life both the rhythm and theme of this poem. The first of a fair few end-of-the-world style poems.

5. If the World Does End

A short, sweet poem about optimism in the face of uncertainty. Can't think why I was inspired to write this poem in this of all years.

6. Peace is not the Absence of Noise

I like poems that help me express my philosophy on a subject more clearly, and this was certainly one of those times. The idea of peace as a harmony rather than silence is very appealing to me, and a concept I'd like to hold myself to.

7. The Mountain

I wrote a lot of poems about future jobs and prospects, but this is the imagery I like the best. I was fed up with CVs, and trying to big myself up. Seeing us all as climbing a mountain - and realising that just looking at the people highest up the mountain can be misleading - was a refreshing way to view the struggle.

8. How to Rest

A big theme for my year, and one I wrote a lot of poems about. How to make myself rest again after being tuned so high for so long. Not a new theme for me, but for when this poem was written I think it'll still hold a special place.

9. Ow, My Legs Hurt

Speaking of rest, I ended up doing a *lot* of cycling this year. This is a short, silly, and quite sweet poem that I really enjoyed. Sometimes the only thing on your mind is the pain in your legs, and so that's what you write about.

10. Stretch

A final one, from a theme by a friend. We all are feeling a little cooped up this year. Remembering to stretch - in all the ways you can stretch - has been a useful thing. And a nice thing to end on.

Honourable mentions: Matchsticks, a lovely poem about the different forms of human potential; The Early Bird Gets the Worm, a re-telling of a very popular idiom; and Sport is a Fantasy, a concept I really liked that I may revisit at some point in future.

Christmas 2020

To my nephew and my niece, Theo and Rosie

You probably won't remember this when you're as old as me

But I am spending a lovely Christmas with both of you

So this is a poem written just for you two

It was the Christmas that we all spent on our own

Encouraged to stick with those within our home

There was your Mum and Dad, and my Mum and Dad

(or, if you prefer, your Granny and Grandad)

It was my first Christmas in a long time that was work-free

Having (finally) wrapped up a very stressful degree

The previous year I had writing my thesis

So this year was always going to be a comparative bliss

So even though you were as loud as kids should be

Hanging out with both of you still made me happy

Figuring out the basics of how to walk, talk, and eat

Hankering for any melon or mince pie treat

I don't know what you'll both find as your future groove

But, once both of your conversation skills improve

I hope we reach out to each other and don't be lazy

And then, providing my memory isn't too hazy

I can tell you how much love was there

How your parents doted with tiredness and care

That, despite the circumstances and winter weather

I can remind you of a lovely Christmas we all spent together

With much, much love,

    Your Uncle Harry

It didn't have to be this way

It didn't have to be this way

The circumstances that led up to this day?

We could've done this thing, that thing there

Something different, somehow, somewhere

It has to be this way

The situation we face today?

It wouldn't be right if we didn't accept with grace

The actions that took us to this time and place

It doesn't have to be this way anymore

We don't have to act like we did before

Let's take our medicine and sow the seeds

To give the world the future it needs

I can't be part of everyone's story

One of the hardest challenges that I've found before me
Is finding out that I can't be part of everyone's story

Everyone one I meet, no matter who or how

Is weaving a fantastic tale that crests and bows

A tale of survival, heroes, and so much more

A tale each like nothing I've ever heard before

Filled with rich characters, complex motivations, and breathtaking twists

You, dear reader, are one for whom I'm sure this description fits

Each story is told in a unique way

Told differently on any given day

And it's a struggle, for each story and age

To not want to get involved in the next stage

To help them achieve the next aim or goal

But if I do too much it leaves me less whole

I realise I've begun to leave other stories behind

Because of wanting to help every story I find

So, slowly, I've started to step back

And realise that there are simply resources I lack

That stories, inevitably, will go on without me

But I should treasure those with me more deeply

It is an honour if I'm ever allowed to help form a line

But if I am too stretched already then that's also fine

For the show must go on, and what a fine story that will be heard

A story I'd love to hear, whether or not I will end up adding a word

A pair of socks

In another earth, much like ours

They still sing, measure time in hours

The seasons still change, they build houses from rocks

In fact the only thing strange is to do with socks

Somehow, through a quirk in ancient patent law

One market niche is guarded by club and claw

See, in this particular place and dimension
Socks can only be sold in one location

Travis Q. Sockworth, trillionaire many times

He's technically, officially, committed no crimes

You don't have to do business, can admit defeat

As long as when walking you don't get cold feet

It's crazy, to us, but they don't see the issue

He runs a charity, dabs his eye with a fine tissue

Making people beg for charity every year

You can avoid paying if he just sheds a tear

But for everyone else, you're all a bunch of schmucks

You want wool on your feet better part with some bucks

And the don't come cheap, see from supply and demand

Travis controls the supply throughout every land

Thankfully, in this place, we don't have to worry

At least, not about Travis. We are not his quarry.

Instead, socks are cheap, indeed abundant really

So let me pose to you a curious query

Why is it, in the sock-plenty land we live in?

Do some folk have not socks they've been given?

How are any sockless, in this day and age?

Does that not fill you with sadness and/or rage?

Socks are needed by many without homes

It doesn't cost much, but like gloves or combs

They could make more of a difference than you would believe

And could be the most wonderful gift to receive

So if you are no Travis, you don't need people to beg

You just recognise some people need some warmth on their leg

Why not consider sending some love their way

And donate a pair of fresh socks to someone today :)



Inspired by Stand4Socks. As someone who definitely has enough socks, it was probably good to take a step back and appreciate a small blessing I take for granted.

Lighter times

Soon, the day will be at its shortest

The night will be at its strongest

And things will get worse until that time

But then

But then

The sun will rise a little earlier each day

    and set a little later

Things will get better and brighter

    even if it is slow at first

You just have to hang on

    until that time

You are so, so nearly there

    although it can be hard to believe

We are nearly in lighter times

And I can't wait to see you there.

Who I am

I still don't know who I am.

I wouldn't be able to paint myself as a painting

Nor sing myself as a tune

I would not know what steps would make my dance

And I don't think I'll know anytime soon

But that is not to say I know nothing

For there are a few brushstrokes I feel are right

Even if I don't know the shape they're making

There are some notes that I keep singing

Even if there's harmony I'm still faking

I may not always be going forward

But I am filled with a desire to leap

I don't know how I'll change in the future

But I know there are some parts I want to keep

Matchstick

People aren't all matchsticks

Waiting for the right friction

To make them burn bright

With a one-time flame

That everyone can see

Until the person is spent

A different set of molecules

And the fire in them

Is a wavelength beyond 

Though the heat is there

For any careful enough

Some people will not light

Despite repeated striking

Yet the chemical potential

Would still be responsive

Yet others need no stimuli

Which can be volatile

In fantastic ways

A few folk may only burn

To share their energy on

You, are more than a matchstick

The land of do what you're told

We were raised in the land of Do What You're Told

The land of Don't Speak Up and Don't Be Bold

The land of Follow This Order and Follow That Order Too

The land of Do As We Say But Not As We Do

And someway, somehow, in a way that struck at our core

We don't seem to live in that land anymore

But maybe, just maybe, we went a little too far

When deciding we don't want to be told who we are

We were told to follow orders, that following order was good

But we were never told to think as critically as we should

How to evaluate options, and what we should do

When more than one option is presented as true

We should've learned how to recognise manipulation

How it is not weakness to think with hesitation

That life is not always game with sides that win

That you will be wrong, that's the reality we're in

We were raised in the land of Do What You're Told

We started to Speak Up, and Be Bold

That was good, but now without meaning to

We've ended up in the land of Don't Tell Me What To Do

Though it follows a very different theme, the inspiration for the title phrasing comes from Cuhmbawamaba's song of the same name

The mountain

Look at the mountain we all must climb it
But the mountain is steep and in a harsh climate
So naturally, we are in awe of those at the summit
"Look at them, they've actually done it!"

So we promote them, dote on them,
Swallow every word they've ever spoken
And there could well be wisdom in what they're spouting
But maybes there's more to a person than their height on the mountain

...

Because some are pausing to put down rope
Helping those who are struggling to cope
Others have set up refreshment stations
Staying stationary providing aid with patience

So if you're carving paths for others to follow
Is it any wonder that you're going a little slow?
Or that those teaching wisely about the path ahead
May end up a little further back in their stead?

...

There is certainly an achievement in climbing to the sky
But remember we need more than clouds to live by
What if instead we could appreciate what we've found
In those that help us all take some steps from the ground

First impression

I

wish that I didn't judge by
first impressions

I

find that I often rely

on assumptions

See
the person before me

and jump to judgement

See

a hint of a personality

and presume the pigment

This
is a sum of all my biases

that I want to change

This

will always be my default unless

I expand my range 

Now

I must see one outfit doesn't allow

you to know the full fashion

Now

I must overcome my instinct somehow

and instead jump to compassion

.
I do not know anyone's struggle or history.

I cannot instantly solve that mystery.

.

I can be kinder, but only once I've made this confession.
If I am truly to stop judging people by their first impression.

Acedia

So we live another twilight day
Where ne'er night nor morn seem to come
Are we to ride the gloom to it's dismal end?
Outlast this acedia to which we have succumb?

As we are driven apart by greater forces
I fear that now each must face this beast alone
This monotonic melancholy of the mind
Drowns us all with infernal drone

You mayn't realise how listless it made you
As the internal fog grasped more solid form
An atmospheric apathy that surrounds
Increasing struggle now a daily norm

We must drive the acedia from ourselves
Though to do so alone is to surely fail
For this solitary plague we now endure
It is only together that we can prevail

I read about acedia at this link, and wanted to try to capture it in a poem - https://theconversation.com/acedia-the-lost-name-for-the-emotion-were-all-feeling-right-now-144058

Advice

The issue I feel that often comes with advice
Is most people only know one way through life

So they can recall they, map that
Then if they need then can backtrack
But it's often a sad matter of fact
You need your own way out when backed into a trap

Do take inspiration from how people who aren't you escape
But some may be strong enough to cause the trap to break
And other may have learnt dismantle it with grace
With one lucky person could be caught in a trap that is fake

Sometime, it's painful, but you have to find your own way through
Ignoring earnest advice from those who want you to feel less blue
Even though they relate to your pain and situation too
They are themselves. You are you.

Don't forget the many times it helps to take any advice you can loan
But also that there are some things you may have to fight through alone

The shell

Break open the shell

Let light pour in

Lift tired eyelids

Stop imagining

The cracks will widen

Goodbye shield

Hello new world

Water and field

Maybe it's danger

Or a new friend

Though risk is real

Uncertainty ends

Break open the shell

Let light pour in

Lift tired eyelids

Stop imagining

Stretch

Dear friend,
I fear you have become inelastic again

It is time to
S t r e t c h



Let's start with the body

Stand up straight
    Touch your toes
Lift your arms
    Wiggle your nose
Bend your legs
    Twist your torso
Crick your neck
    Not too hard though!

Spend more time if things feel stiff
Give your whole body a little lift!



Ok, now for the tough part.
It's time
to stretch
your mind

It's time to ask yourself honestly, was I kind today?
Both to yourself, and to any others who crossed your way?
Are you thinking critically about those opinions you follow?
Remember your heroes have flaws even if that's tough to swallow!

What about longer term, over the past month or year?
Has your anxiety been causing you to act out of fear?
Were you fair to people, or did any biases seep through?
They are hard to overcome, but I believe in you!



Nice, good work - your body and mind send their utmost thanks!
It's vital maintenance for all our inner clinks and clanks.
To avoid becoming vulnerable to stiffness we must toil
And provide all our gears with much needed oil

So to stop yourself becoming a physical and mental wretch
You should simply remember that you have to stretch

A kinder world

Sometimes I wish we couldn't turn away
From those things we did not wish to see
But instead, that were forced to face our actions
In their cold entirety

You saw your ex cry after the break up
Or the long mirror-stare made after a weight joke
Your parent in the aftermath of shouting
The tired neighbour your loud music woke 

Melting ice from a plane trip for pleasure
The animals who were killed for your meals
Infection spread when you ventured out while ill
Worn fingers of the child that made your new heels

The hospital bed of the person you hit drunk driving
The therapy of the person you bullied to their core
The homelessness from sound financial investments
The souls that would be lost if you declared war


Morality is tough, and sometimes tough action must be taken
Yet sometimes tough actions are taken without regard

So I maintain that the world would be a bit kinder
If we made these hard actions just a little more hard

Inspired by this chilling but beautiful short story https://www.tor.com/2019/10/23/as-the-last-i-may-know-s-l-huang/

The early bird

It was early in the day
Yet a tale was quickly spun
A bird and a worm both emerged
But soon there was only one

The early bird gets the worm!
The birds would proudly boast
Let's all get up early
And seek out worms on toast

The early worm gets the bird!
The worms would warn with fear
Do not go out bleary-eyed
For the birds are vicious here

A famous tale you may have heard before
Both sides equally true
But if you pay heed to just one side?
Well, that is up to you

A little lighter today

The world is a little lighter today
The sun is a little brighter today
The air is clear
Right now and here
Things feel righter today

Someone turned up the colour today
My mind is in less squalor today
There is still mess
Just slightly less
I would be happy with another today 

When I leave behind today
I hope I find tomorrow okay
I don't know when
It'll come again
So I'll enjoy this kind today

Ow my legs hurt

 Hello everyone. Here is a poem, called "Ow, my legs hurt"

Ow, my legs hurt.

Ow Ow Ow.
Ow.

They hurt because of my hubris. Ow.
Knowing this does not make the hurt less. Ow.

I regret nothing
    Except that my legs hurt.

Ow Ow.

One day my legs will not hurt
That day is not today
And I am resentful of this fact.

Ow. My legs. They hurt.

No idea what inspired this poem, but on an unrelated note I'm going to try to keep my bike rides below 8 hours in future.

There was a church by the river

There was a church by the river
That held more memories than any will ever know
Some stretching centuries back
Some not too long ago
Through the middle was a beaten track
Worn by many who were weary

The gravestones each stood there dreary
Marking names and not much more
Some stood alone, some stood in pairs
With sadness when one date was 20 years before
Yet now both rest, without cares
With etchings that would fade with years

But it's not just the passed who find respite here
A bench where one could find rest within
A swing marked the path to the river banks
Poems and prayer on a board with pin
A fundraiser, with the church's thanks
The living also walked among these trees

Through the gate, past the monument of memories
Stood the church itself, though the doors were closed
Yellowed stone, a temporarily silenced bell
Ancient figures guarded the windows
Stood this building teaching heaven and hell
A portal to the past and the forever

Though the stones were worn with weather
The foundations stood quite strong
Hidden on a hill in a bountiful garden
Was a place where time did not belong
And any soul could come for a pardon
There was a church by the river

The church in the picture is Holy Cross in Shipton-on-Cherwell. I came across it on my travels, and was struck by the place.

Bottling yawns

Sometimes,
I wish I could bottle yawns

And stop any sleep

So I could be yawnless,

for a good while more

Then,

When the mood took me

I would uncork

Let loose the yawn 

And slumber again

Yet,

Capturing a yawn

Would take practice

It would not be possible

For one too far gone

But,
If my mind were right

The dark were not too strong
I could seize my chance

Capture a yawn

And,
Use my bought time well
Until the debt is due
And I set
the 

yawn
free
.

If the world does end

If the world does end

Please promise me this

That I wont go through it alone

As the stars flicker from the sky

As the sea starts to reclaim the land

As the sun burns brighter than ever before

As the new earth begins to springs forth

Promise me you'll hold my hand

So that we can see the end together

Getting some real apocalypse vibes from the earth this year, not gonna lie. Inspo music for holding someones hand and watching the world turn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blTFetDbWes

The man that built the bomb

He would not touch another soul in rage

If asked for wisdom, his guidance was sage

He tried his best to do no person wrong

He was just the man that built the bomb

Top of his class, best at school

Never unkind, never the fool

He learned his trade with great aplomb

He was just the man that built the bomb

He uncovered ideas never seen before

Then pulled at threads, uncovered more

He could sing the most beautiful song

He was just the man that built the bomb

Without him, the bomb could not exist

Without his genius or need to persist

He could have stopped, he should have known

What would happen when the bomb was blown

And now he speaks in whispered tones

His eyes don't sparkle, now he's been shown

The true cost of knowing all there is to know

Of going where humans should not go

He now remains eternal in the field he sewed

Wondering the cost of the reaping he owed

He tried his best to do no person wrong

He was just the man that built the bomb

I've been reading about the scientists who built the atomic bomb. It's been fascinating, and very haunting. They seem like cultured people, wickedly smart, but having to wrestle with what their knowledge helped build. I don't think many of them could actually have dropped the bomb themselves, but that doesn't matter. Robert J. Oppenheimer's speech is probably the most poignant example of this, but I found this discussion between German scientists upon hearing the news of Hiroshima also very revealing. There is the balance of personal academic pride, moral uncertainty, and disbelief on all fronts.

I want things to return to normal

I want things to return to normal

No

    Wait

I want things to get better, so that we can return to normal

It's wanting B, when first you need to do A.

Like wanting dinner before you wash your hands

Like wanting to drive before you sober up

It's tough to wait. 

It's annoying there's no clear signal. 

And yes, you may get lucky.

    It may be fine.

But it's endangering yourself, and others.

Sometime you need to remember

    Life can require a couple of steps

Try to jump some steps

    And you may fall a great way

Take caution

    And the climb will not be too hard

Crossroads

An old fig tree marked the fork

Where the road branched many times

I stood here with many friends

All of us in our primes

I saw one friend journey to the mountain

A perilous path to a glorious summit

Though the frosty trail was littered

With those the mountain made submit

The forest claimed another friend of mine

A boon to those who knew it well

How to navigate the fruits and trails

Where it was safe to rest upon the knell

Another took the empty country road

Which stretched on for quite a while

They walked a gentle pace

Repeating mile after mile

A few friends took the river

And most of those went with its flow

Accepting where it took them

Wherever it would go

Each path had its own dangers

Each path had its own risks

Some took their path with caution

Others took a pace more brisk

I saw these friends of mine

Travel far as I could see

While I felt glued in place

Beneath this old fig tree

Inspo: https://www.zenpencils.com/comic/130-sylvia-plath-the-fig-tree/ 

What do I want to be when I grow up?

When I was young

Or, younger than I am right now

The world was endless

And stretched on forever somehow

There were older people

Who drank bitter liquid from brittle cups

Who asked me, so politely

"What do I want to be when I grow up?"

It's standard question for children #2

Right after "Haven't you grown tall?"

What they meant is "What job do you want?"

But I often had no clue at all

And I'm just figuring out why

What if I don't want to be defined by just my profession?

What if I want to create things outside of 9-5?
What if I'm happy for that to be part of me

but to want to find more reason I'm alive?

And I don't know if I would have had an answer

But I wish just one older head

Had taken young me aside

And asked "What kind of person do you want to grow up to be?" instead

...

I felt the poem ended nicely there, but I'll admit to still not having an answer to that question. And right now I am really having to grapple with it.

I know I want to be kind

I know I want time outside of 9-5 to explore the richness of life

I know I want to not be so tired

I know I want to help others 

I know I want to not grow so distant from friends

I know I want to grow more as a person
But what I want to do?

I still don't know

And I haven't for the longest time

How to rest

Today, I have to remember how to rest

Give my brain some time to itself

To not prepare for any trial or test

Recollect how to be myself

Don't do work. Check.

What else is there to do?

Let's think. There was

a time before 

what I just went through

I remember things

being brighter then.

Even if I don't remember how.

I don't want to

just do nothing

Even if that's all my energy will allow

I've done some exercise

I've played some games

I've chatted with friends

I've gone outside

I've done some cooking

I've breathed a little deeper

Now, I'm at an end

What else?

I suppose I will 

remember

How to reorder myself with time

But to rebuild

myself

I must first

become 

a less structured

rhyme

Written in my garden, after submitting the final set of corrections for my D.Phil

Sound of my name

I'm not sure I've ever really felt that my name is me.
It's just a label, what more could it be?
It's not tied to ancestors generations long gone

Nor to a culture to which I will always belong

I was not named for a hero whose deed were great

No, my name means nothing. It does not determine my fate.

It is not an adjective or promise about who I would be

All my name does is signify that I'm me

Yet I am not even the only one with my name on the earth

So I feel it is not my name that gives me worth

For more than my name, I feel I am the things I have done

Those are the things that make me someone

My name was chance, from people who did not yet know me

So I will not be defined by a few syllables only

One day, I guess, I may feel proud of my name

Or, the opposite, I could view it with shame

But one things for certain, if I am more than those sounds

I had better show it and live a life that's profound

The Other Side

And he turned around like he was going to hit me, but he didn't because this other cop stopped him…All of a sudden that was a very revealing moment to me. All of my life police had been on my side. I didn't think of it that way, but police didn't bother you, you know, in the world where I grew up. All of a sudden I realized that I was on the other side. - Anne Braden

Welcome to the other side

It's been here the whole time

You've been happy where you were

With your existence not a crime

But now you've seen how things are

You're seen the truth behind the curtain

I know that you want to return

To a life that was much more certain

But this world does not go away

Just because you forget it's here

Those in this world still live with pain

With injustice and with fear

You can take up this fight

And try to make things better

Talk. Learn. Protest. 

Rewrite every unjust word and letter.

You have just joined this battle

But the struggle is far from new

Better get ready now

There's a lifetime of this to go through

For the pain may be age-old

But so is the hope of future change

The idea of the world that can be

Is both wonderful and strange

Do not abandon this cause

When it is no longer the favour of the day

Fight so that the other side

Is no longer so far away

In every age, no matter how cruel the oppression carried on by those in power, there have been those who struggled for a different world. I believe this is the genius of humankind, the thing that makes us half divine: the fact that some human beings can envision a world that has never existed. - Anne Braden

I'm tired

I am tired of it all

I'm tired 

of work

of feeling like I'm never done

of feeling like I'm always behind

of the voice inside my head telling me I'm not good enough

I'm tired 

of politics

of people putting party before philosophy

of politicians putting ego before their country

of there being no consequence for lies

I'm tired

of injustice

of reading about continued imbalance

of unfairness in the world

of power being used for an imperfect status quo

I'm tired 

of ignorance

of people not holding themselves to a high standard

of those who think years of research is a conspiracy

of constantly having to double guess myself around confident fools

I'm tired 

of radical individualism

of people just looking out for themselves

of folk who don't realise the hardship of others

of the lack of empathy

I'm tired 

of it 

all

And yet

I'm inspired 

by those who keep awake

by those who keep going

by those who have not given up

by those who are still passionate

And so
I may 

rest a little first

But
I know
I'm not

done

Note: This was written while I was in the middle of my corrections, in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic, and at the start of the BLM movement gaining traction in the UK (although obviously the issues surrounding it had and indeed the movement itself had been present for a while). I was feeling run down, and feeling very small compared to the world. I was chatting to people and trying to do things to help my mental health, but I'm keeping the poem as an honest reflection of the exhaustion I was feeling at the world.

Sport is a Fantasy

Sport is one of life's most wonderful fantasies
And it's time to stop pretending otherwise
That the physical pursuit of arbitrary rules
Is nothing more than fantastic lies.

Fantasies make you believe foolish tales
Of course the world is not about to end
Yet you believe in the smallest heroes
And invest in the great game of pretend

What the best fantasies do
Is teach you things about who you are
That you can be the one to step up
Even if the situation is bizarre

Here then, is a toast to Sport
The most fantastic author of all
Who makes us hold our breath
As we watch the flight of a ball

Sport makes us think it really matters
If we really can jump 1cm higher than the rest
Whether we can keep our toes inside the line
Or wield a bat with great finesse

More than society will often allow
We ride the great emotions
We'll yell and scream and dance and shout
We follow with devotion

Unless, of course, we step into the story
And insert ourselves into the page
Step a foot upon the pitch
Enclosed within the chalky cage

This is when we feel the most
And when we learn the most as well
How much do we really want this?
Are we prepared to go through hell?

To get up early, train til late
We learn the limit of our power
We train for days, for weeks and more
To perform for just an hour

We endure injury and physio
We endure the wind and rain
We buy into this awesome tale
We put up with the pain

Just so we can find a happy ending
To the current chapter, at least
It requires our inner hero
But also our inner beast

Sport has its ups, sport has it's down
It can be tough and cold
It tells the tale of champions
And the sadness of growing old

You must take it all Sport has to offer,
To see how the story plays
Yes, Sport is but a fantasy
And I mean that in the best of ways

Blank Canvas

Here, a blank canvas
Use it well.
You can be patient
Take time. Dwell.

But, eventually
Make your mark
Strike the white
With some dark

Add your contrast
To the page
Strike precise
Not with rage

Take this sheet
Make it your own
Take this nothing
Make it known

You will learn
To make space appear
New blank slates
There and here

If one day you've
a canvas to spare
Give it forward
if you dare

Let another thrive
In what they do
But this blank canvas
I give to you.