The Gentleman [Ezekiel's Song]

scottishmomus:

Words of tender love and hope. Ethereal and beautifully expressed by Daniel.

Originally posted on Daniel Swearingen:


In the shadow of modern daybreak he approaches tenderly, a young man with brunette tresses bound by red thread naturally. He is taller than a seraph humble almost shy, and when you look into his eyesight, you see a world that’s born of sighs. In his attitude is passion born of latitudinal rhymes, those words that create mercury that never can oxidize. The wind it flows right through him, all its colors born upright, lest a shadow should be waiting, the sun stands still against the sky. If born of womb and sorrow he would be master of deceit, likewise, he moves above mere element, ages gather round his feet. He strides without aggression, antithesis, of all that is new, his forehead growing lighter, the old woman in his view.

She is three score, nine a lady, with light gray about her hair, she’s been shopping, eyes born waiting, for…

View original 230 more words

Acclimatising

Blame not

the cast of shadows

on corners closed to light,

But flame the torch,

sconced,

awaiting willing hand.

Trip not,

in hesitation,

cursing blunderous steps,

But feel cracked pores, crevassed pointing,

thirsting

for faith touch.

Idle not

in disharmony’s speculation.

Rather, murmur

faint remembrances

Till refrain

makes glorious your voice.

Fear not

the underground passages

dependent on your darkness for existence.

Rather, shelter there,

acclimating

eyes to gloom’s recognisance of faint shafts.

«««««ZOOM»»»»»

I’m doomed, alas!

It cannot be.

6 1/2 weeks felt like 3.

And as I sit

At 12.15

I ponder all these days have seen,

The plans I had

That went astray

As I relaxed, relearned to play.

I did not paint the garden fence,

Nor tidied wardrobes as I should,

I really wasn’t very good

At doing all I said I might

Or sticking to a plan at all

But what a blast! I had a ball.

And so, although

This night right here

Ends liberty of carefree cheer,

Off to school,

To class I stride

Knowing well, deep down inside,

That, even though I love to teach,

«««««Tempus fugit, really fast»»»»»

More holidays will soon be cast.

I love my job!

Blind Ripples

The time will come, as sure it must,

When flesh and bones return to dust.

Ere this happens to mine state

I challenge life, what may await

Round corners I have yet to veer,

On roads and paths that I must steer

As true to self as I can be

While hurting none as best I see.

The trouble with my self-direction,

Modus operandus, introspection,

Is, I can’t see what acts I do

May taint the world for me and you.

I struggle on as blind man feels,

Alerting senses to what’s real,

Believing that my ripples cast

May count for something that could last

Into eternal consciousness

And, somehow, one day I’ll be blessed

By loving light that comforts soul,

Suffuses dark when all is told

In story of my life on earth,

That task completed had some worth.

Posterior Afflictions

You know the way kids can be a pain in the arse sometimes?

Ach, don’t act it, you do so!

Aye, I know we all love them and think that a lot of what they do is pretty cute.

And that we use euphemisms to excuse their behaviour, saying things like,

‘He’s going through a very challenging phase’ and

‘She’s testing boundaries at the moment.’

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that they can still get on your wick.

I’m not thinking so much about that age when they’re brand new and all kind of

fluffy-haired with soft skin smelling of baby lotion.

So, ok, sometimes they don’t smell of baby lotion and the sight of another loaded

nappy makes you wonder what the hell they had for dinner.

But they’re not really a pain in the arse at that stage. Well, maybe a wee bit, at times,

when they wake you up through the night and won’t go back to sleep, despite the

fact that you’ve offered them the crown jewels, if only they’d let you get a bit of

shut-eye, for the love of god.

No, not then. I can cope with that.

I’m not even thinking of the terrible twos that really start in their second year

rather than when they actually hit two. Totally misled us on that one, eh?

As whiny and crabbit as they can be at that particular juncture that’s not really

their worst stage. Granted, sometimes you have to drag them through a store,

smiling fiercely at anyone passing, till you get them outside and give them a piece

of your mind. The bit they’ve not driven insane yet.

That’s still within the realms of manageable because you learn methods to deal

with it and they don’t do it again. Well, not too often anyway.

And there are always other shops you can go to.

I was thinking more about that stage they reach when they want a pet.

You know that stage? It goes on for years. Doesn’t matter what you say, how many

different ways you say it, ‘no’ comes out sounding like ‘maybe.’

And then they’ve won.

They know they can get round you. And they’re not daft, you know.

They wait till you’re all relaxed of an evening, feet curled up on the couch,

glass of wine in hand, bit of telly on.

Then they strike. And you’re caught unawares.

You’re really watching Coronation Street and you thought they said,

‘Would you like me to fill your glass?’ and you say something that sounds like yes.

And it did sound like it because you did say that because you thought they were

the waiter. Only they weren’t. And it’s out there now. And you start laughing at the

funny mistake that was made.

Then you look at their wee disappointed faces and you say, ‘Maybe.’

That word, that one word out of all words, should be cut from a parent’s vocabulary

at the same time as the cord is severed.

That word gets you hung by your own whatsits.

To cut a long story short, we got a dug. A dug, as in a dog.

A dug’s just our way of saying it.

And he’s quite cute. And everybody loves him. And they’re all fighting to see who 

can take him  out for a walk. Kids are voluntarily getting out of bed before the 

school bell rings and  going for walkies with poo bags in hand. And everybody’s 

smiling and making goo goo noises to a dug! Fights are breaking out at whose

turn it is to have him in their room for the night. 

I didn’t. I’m not stupid. I had weans. Why the hell would I want something else

to wake me up in the night? If it’s not the Jackman or some vague resemblance

to him known as, ‘ma man’, I don’t want to know.

We’re a complete family now, the kids would have you believe. We have our very

own Lassie. Only she’s a he and he’s a Border Collie. But you get my drift.

There are smiles broader than a Hughman fan when confronted with him on their

doorstep in their dreams. I’ve heard.

Except that all of the italicised paragraph should have been written in the past tense

because that was two years ago.  And now no one wants to be bothered any more

when it comes to the going outside in the rain bit. Or the last thing at night bit.

Or the please feed that animal bit.

Then the pain in the arse raises its ugly head again.

Do arses have heads? Well, my arses do.

And not one of them wants to walk Mutley anymore. Not that we called him

Mutley officially. That’s just what I call him when he’s being the pain.

And he gets called that a fair few times in any given day. So I suppose

it’s kind of his nickname with Peeta being his dress-up Sunday name.

So between the barking of Peeta in the early hours of the a.m.

and the reluctance of any of my brood to drag their behinds from bed

I’m aware of a lot of aggravation in my nether regions.

So, yeah, the pet years are a big feature in the posterior affliction.

But it doesn’t end there.

You know the way there comes a time when your kids start to leave home

(if you can get rid of them and persuade them that independence is a

good thing) and you get an office to yourself because there’s now a free room?

Then, you know how sometimes they want to come home for a while and they

look at you like, ‘Well, you’re my mum, you’ve got to’ ?

And then you let them move into your office because there’s a single bed in there

and nobody sleeps in that room. Like it’s a spare room! And not my little refuge

for wordsmithing.

Or whatever you call it.

That’s quite a big pain in the arse right there.

But do you know what adds insult to injury in the arse hurting stakes?

It’s when said daughter returns with a kitten in tow that she nurses like a baby.

Except when she’s at work or going out.

And then many hands are offering to nurse said kitten and feed him.

Till they go out.

And then do you know who gets to look after and feed the wee bugger?

Aye, me.

And I’m not a cat person.

I’m not even a dug person.

I’m only barely a people person.

That is a pain in the arse. Especially trying to stop the dug from eating the kitten.

And stop the kitten climbing the curtains. Dogs don’t do that. Why do cats do that?

And climb on your bed and try to walk across your shoulders when you’re writing

in bed because you’ve lost your office?

Yeah, so, pets are an afflicton but not nearly as much as weans sometimes.

Anyone want a dug? Kitten? Wean? Just askin’.

Risk

In, through,

of time, we came,

legates from legions

by and gone,

across realms and empires

marched we, stolidly,

emblems held aloft,

heralding new dawns.


Eyes front, we stared,

saluted all

who primed

our noble task,

conquer, our mission,

advance, attack,

civilise,

plunder mask’d.


Frail force subservient,

power

to the proudest

in each land,

patrician rule,

plebeians cast

in roles,

as statues stand.


How the mighty fall,

destitute of grace

unclaimed

from distant shore,

hear our footesteps thump,  

old rules arise anew,

history repeated

evermore.


Harken

to the trumpets’ blast,

adversay

worthy of the name,

enlightened hosts

call forth conscious

liberation,

upend risk game.

Credo

Do you believe in laughter held in truth,

In knowing that words spoken find their mark,

That a look, a touch, the gentlest hand may form

A smile that grows within, ignites a spark?

 

Do you believe that gladness grows inside,

Overflows to others open to

Receiving joy as recompense for living

When its trials and labours overwhelm and threaten you?

 

Do you believe that hurting ends in time,

That inner worlds are balanced by all love,

That questions yet unanswered cause a thrill,

Their discoveries a golden treasure trove?

 

Do you believe that somewhere inside light

The heart of matter hides a great reveal,

That nothing happens without cause effect

And perceptions make our own world feel what’s real?

 

Do you believe that logos is the word

Or that words alone confuse a greater thought,

That lips that speak the lies betray the way

And sometimes guidance dwells in what’s not sought?

 

Do you believe in fairies and in trolls,

In monster lochs where hidden depths conceal,

Do you believe in equine wings and angels,

In many wondrous stories though unreal?

 

Do you believe in suspending disbelief

To enter into fantasies that pleasure

While still inside you know factual from dream

But recognise you owe some childlike measure?

 

Do you believe that living is worth living,

That each breath you take admits a purpose here,

That nothing’s yet decided or completed

And that only you can change your greatest fears?

 

Do you believe in worlds you find in books,

In scenes unfolding on the movie screen,

In comic superheroes who astound,

Unveiling attributes too rarely seen?

 

Do you believe the essence of all stories

Conveys some truth distilled to purest form,

That much of what we honour most in tales

Are aspirations we would wish as norm?

 

Do you believe that children hold the key,

That complications thwart our best intentions,

That simplicity and innocence are essential to all meaning

To underwrite and clarify the best of lessons?

 

I do.

 

Footprints

Reading some blogs I follow today I came across seven words from this one that jumped out at me. What follows is the result of those words.

Tread lightly and lovingly

upon the earth,

Balletic strength in honed

resistance.

Rise high above 

the heavy hand,

Mother wreaks her own

persistence.


Tread lightly and lovingly

upon the earth,

Tip-toe through glens

and glades.

Hold hands and soar above

unscorched,

Partner’d faith to light

and shade.


Tread lightly and lovingly

upon the earth,

Inherent land mines 

lie

In fissures, faults and 

weaknesses,

She breathes 

a weary sigh.


Tread lightly and lovingly

upon the earth,

Her balance guides

the day.

Her storm of fury

in excess

Demands

another way.


Tread lightly and lovingly

upon the earth,

Night’s end should 

herald morn.

Tread lightly and lovingly 

upon the earth,

Erred footprints

trample dawn.

Dance With The Devil

I don’t do dark very well – it scares me! But I thought I’d try my hand at devil’s advocate.

 

Will you dance if I dine at your table,

If I furnish your hearts deepest desire?

Will you welcome my arms twined around you

While I lead you on the dance floor of fire?

Will you sway when promised heaven on earth

Though I bind it to the cost of your soul,

Will you forego nirvana eternal,

Negate elusive Elysian goal?

 

Will you feed from my hand if I proffer,

Twirling you in a frenzy of delight,

Will you swoon at my feet when exhausted

And I summon in Babylon of night?

Will you beg if I torment your spirit,

Abandon you pinned, flower to the wall,

Stretched beyond your every endurance,

Should I catch when you are ready to fall?

 

If I guarantee worldly successes,

As an exchange for a waltz with your mind,

Will you welcome my evil excesses,

Assist me in my most hellish designs?

May I offer exact allocation,

Fetch a price for your hand to my hot touch,

Prostitute values and weaken, survey

Temptation’s acreage, breadths of my reach?

 

Will you sashay in joint admiration

While I false praise you, inflating your pride,

Have my words reached core of your vanity,

Will you unveil as my spouse, stand by side?

Shall I teach you beyond luminescence,

Revealing ominous behind closed doors,

Shall we frolic with innocence and goodness,

Sweep these charlatans from searing dance floor?

 

Can you bide with the devil anointed,

Impressed deeply in the hearts of all men,

Or cast me from task, duty appointed,

To begin asking all over again?

May I rest at your table while thoughts war,

Till you test your resistance to my charm,

May I offer some spirit to savour

As you weigh up the pros and cons of harm?

 

Remember I dwell fast within you, though

You fight me and address as external,

Dance with me, partner, ignore all the risks,

Embrace me as your power internal.

You’ll regret if you shun my advances,

Dismiss earnest request for all your hands,

When my power’s seized by those who crave it,

Destruction viewed and rued  in cast-off lands.

 

I’m counting the minutes of this music,

Tapping foot as you mull my overtures,

I’ve tried, no one can fault me for effort,

Revealed to you the best of all my lures.

You’re declining when I seek your favour?

You won’t dance, you say? I need not do more

As long as you don’t dance with the other,

I have accomplished, completed my chore.

 

Excuse while I move around the tables,

My feet are itching, ready still to dance,

Some among the many gathered hereabouts

Are pining and would welcome, given chance,

To glide round the parquet with the devil,

Grasp my claws, all they offer and bestow,

Unoffended by your blunt refusal,

I have a world to dance with, just so you know.