Sunday, 4 September 2011

Monday?

Unhappy dawn,
Morning yawn,
Perpetual motion machine madness,
A delicate balance divided,
Relentless shame succumbing to the crowd,
They all wear the same sadness.

The gentle moon sails into the night of yesterday,
While they crawl from their pits to ignore today,
Like sitcom reruns,
Devoid of surprises,
The automated Monday we are forced to believe,
This alien & man made idea,
The names we condemn our days to,
Lies to our intuition,
Like droids we believe this has happened before,
The self-fulfilling prophecy,
That Monday thing.

These seven days each have a life,
We have led ourselves to believe,
Monday, Wednesday, Friday,
Each one jumps out with a vibe of it's own,
But we made these,
Each second is new,
Never before seen,
Don't demand this conformity of me,
Don't make me believe in this is 'Monday',
It's a new day,
Fresh and true,
But they accept no other way,
You must behave and belong,
There is no choice,
It only works like this,
The boxes our little minds need to believe exist,
And we loose more than we know,
As the days just go,
Short changed,
Deranged and alone,
I want to say no,
Today is mine,
New and bold,
Untold,
Unknown,
We just don't know,
That reality is new and continues to be born,
In us and for us,
but we live in cycles,
Conform to the synthetic reality,
And allow ourselves to be told,
This is Monday again,
Again and again,
Well is it?

Saturday, 3 September 2011

In The Garden...

Here, here, here, here...
It bounces and slides off the massive parasol in my garden,
Above me so sullen,
I Inhale the toxic fumes I once quit,
That alcohol revives in me,
Hey, hey, hey,hey,
It says as it descends and lands, 
The darkness like a blight of my eyes,
Enshrouds the scenery around me.

I don't know what it is I feel,
Whilst witnessing this natural late night scene,
But something in me feels desperate, 
Tap, tap, tappety, tap, tap,
It gets louder above,
And I shrug,
Breathe deep,
No sleep,
But wonder for why,
Again and again why,
The still garden stuck in it's place,
No movement except what nature displaces,
And the rouge in the heavens feels warm to me,
The trees lean to,
And I sink into this ikea made chair, 
Further still. 

The house beyond my wall has darkness,
That contributes to this stillness,
And I feel as of nothing and yet everything is here. 

Suddenly,
I realise that nothing should mean all kinds of thoughts,
And it does,
As my mind races,
And my youth dissipates,
It's quiet death becoming one with all this around me,
I know it's worthless,
At least for now,
Until the song comes and makes it right again,
For if I sing of this,
It brings hope,
This pointless, yet passionate view,
Becomes something deep and real,
Unto you. 

Friday, 2 September 2011

Dictation

t rolls down the window like bees on honeycomb,
The rain dancing around the glass,
It's natural drumming comforting in it's beat.

The grey beyond the swarm, distorted by the gathering,
The sudden intensity driven by the wind to a crescendo,
A song in itself.

The warmth of my old leather chair and it's familiar hug,
My tea, comforting in it's sweet and tasty slide,
And I still demand more.

Sometimes, the tiniest of exquisite divinity,
Is lost in this greed fueled, media driven insanity,
People riot to acquire what the glowing box tells them they need,
This domain of wealth pursuit, 
Never enough,
More and more,
Bigger and better than your friends,
It never ends,
You'll never be on top.

There will always be something more they say you need,
The experts planting the seed you never knew was growing,
Subliminal programming in full effect,
Driving your desires to stretch beyond natural reach,
Living beyond your means,
Ripping the fabric of your natural beauty at the seams.

Each and every day,
Filled to bursting with commands to buy,
To acquire,
Knee-jerk reactions to call up and get,
To fill your home with the pointless tat,
So much out there for free,
But we are never left to just be,
Our beauty drowning in insecurity,
Thanks be to our glossy airbrushed magazines,
The deathly thin skeletal skin and bone clothed horses,
Staring out at us in alleged bliss,
The sweatshop, third world country, penny a day created 'magnificence' shrouding their society craved backs,
The fuel to our desire,
Our pre-programmed needs on fire,
No-one is immune.

The swarm slows to a gentle patter,
and the grey gives out to a subtle white in parts,
The burning ball of life shining through. 

The array of colours decorating the sky like an arc of silk, 
It cost nothing but time and awareness,
Rain and sun,
I drink my tea and turn away. 

Thursday, 1 September 2011

Madness In The Eighties

She smiles and I float,
She frowns and I fall,
Her brow furrows and I question myself,
Her questions ask me why and I worry deeply,
She once thought she was a healer,
Walked barefoot twelve miles,
'curing' people along the way,
Her feet, 
bloody and dirty by the time she reached her destination,
People glancing,
Internal questions,
Societal English stiff upper lip,
No-one asked,
She claimed to be magical,
She said I was the son of god,
That there were demons all around us,
That there were assassins waiting to shoot me,
Hiding around each and every corner,
In a way, she was right,
Her beautiful long black mane like silky strands of angel hair,
Her eyes like emeralds,
But her stare manic, 
Quick like a hungry protective fox in the madness of a hunt,
She was dragged from our door,
Trying to protect me as I hid upstairs,
Her voice, wild and crazy,
Screaming through her tears,
Her anger sent her arms flailing,
The policeman lost his hat to a right hook,
Then,
From my hiding place,
I continued to watch as she was taken,
Feet dragging on the cold, dirty pavement,
Shoeless,
Bloody again,
The policeman's arms around her neck,
Dragging her backwards and away from me,
The screams fading until nothing,
But the Birds chirping, 
a dog barking in the distance,
My tears silent then popping as they land on my comic,
Alone in the house,
They'd forgotten me,
Cavelike and vast,
Dark and alone.

The hospital visits,
The walking dead,
Shuffling and dribbling,
Once proud and well kept, 
Once a beautiful lioness,
Strong, tall, happy, protective, adored,
Now lost, rambling, zombified, forgotten, drugged,
The outbursts resolved with needles,
Male 'nurses' wrestling her to the floor,
Like a crazy game of rugby,
Slamming her to the deck with a sickening thump,
Her nightie sailing above her head whilst she struggles,
There on the linoleum,
Her nakedness for all the visitors to see,
My eleven year old mind trying to take in this awful sight,
Burnt into my mind,
The needles stabbing her like nails,
The screams, the tears, the shock, the quiet sniffle,
The slowing down of her resistance,
Lock a clockwork doll,
Running out,
Winding down,
Then dragged off,
No excuses,
Just time to leave,
No apologies,
Madness does this,
No questions,
No answers except one,
Madness.

The children's home,
No mother to call,
No father to know,
No hugs for bedtime,
No tears to show,
The man-boy I became,
Chest out,
Eleven and tough,
Skin like armour,
Titanium,
Impenetrable,
But vulnerable,
Tears only a conversation away,
The older girl,
Opening up on her lap,
Her warm bosom surrounding me,
Sealing me off from the madness,
Then away and cold.
Some days good some days bad,
Too many lessons learnt early,
The magic of my mind tainted by the cruelty of this life,
This strange and painful world of extremes,
Feelings like a violent arctic ocean,
Powerless and thrown around like a rag doll in it's surge.
I pushed on.

This world has a beauty behind all pain,
But my mother was never the same again,
No father to pick up the pieces,
No brother or sister to turn to,
Your hope and love is your saviour,
Your words and books your life raft.

The mind can snap in silence,
This world can turn quickly,
Remember your duty to love,
Don't forget inside every action is a child,
Wanting to love,
To be loved,
Behind every cruel word,
There's insecurity and a longing for understanding,
In every bad moment of your life,
There's a divine notion and a tenderness of nature's hand,
A lesson to learn and a compassion to grow,
Never cry for the bad moments,
Turn them into teachers,
Soar above the negative like a bird from the flame,
And fly in all your splendour,
Burst across the sky in your righteous love,
For all to see and share,
Love your lot and question not,
Open your mind and love,
For there's a beauty in every single part,
Share it.