Beauty needs no words or introduction.
And it’s Friday.
And him’s lovely.
And…..
Just because.
And, well, yumm.
My friends,
I find myself so drawn
To others I can’t see
And yet, their souls are visible.
Is this only me?
All week long
I worked and wanted
To share myself with thee
To read your truths and your stories of
Truth and fantasy.
It seems to me
That I now live a lie
In once, choice profession.
Excuse me, please, I know this sounds like
Sordid, mean confession.
It is not that.
It’s just that, well,
I’ve written far too long and hidden all
I’ve thought and felt,
Like BBC banned song.
At last I feel
I’ve found my way,
Words upon the page
Flowing more profusely
Than at any other age.
I love my kids
Inside my school,
I know I do them well,
I, seriously, could do no other.
They’re like my own, myself.
But what to do,
I’m fifty-two.
I know that that’s not ancient
But I don’t know if I have will
To be forever patient
To do what I have always felt
Is so my heart’s desire
To set chosen words
Upon a page
To fuel a literary fire.
I kind of figured
A short while ago
That all this was a dream,
Like fairy belief and flying;
Nothing as it seemed.
Such disarray within my thoughts,
My dreams are running wild
And yet,
I am responsible,
No longer infant child.
May dreams surpass
All aged years,
All human expectation?
Is wanting something longed before
Merely, childish, frustration?
It may be so.
I think it may
Be nothing more than flight,
Imagination, born of dreams
Aurora Borealis light.
But, still,
I see them flashing there
Right before my eyes,
I look forever upwards
At heavenly, promised skies.
If truth be told,
There’s part of me
Still gurgling in my cradle.
I can’t let go, confession time.
I simply am not able.
A galaxy of chocolate
And sweets displayed to catch the eye,
A Marathon now Snickers
At my attempts to pass them by.
Opal Fruits, so once called, add to the confusion,
Call me Starbust, they now say,
Your memories are illusion.
And not just sweets or chocolate bars,
Household products too.
I remember Cif was Jif,
It used to clean my loo.
Markets dictate, me confuse.
Someone stole my youth from me,
My haven, rest and sanctuary.
They stole it clean away, they did
And, in its stead, they sneakily hid
Responsibilities galore.
Bugger!
Some are entrenched in immutable mode
And keep their eyes blinkered ahead on the road.
Others decry all depths of matter
And throw the baby out with bath water.
Superseding notions are all very well
And ideas, progressive, can find places to dwell.
If old marries new and blesses the union
Some harmony exists in this grafted fusion.
But crushing the past causes greatest confusion,
Beliefs left bereft for a newer delusion.
No secretive, unwritten code.
Planning has a purpose;
To house a better way,
To make things clear and visible,
A clearly marked out day.
It’s laudable, desirable
And helps to show the path,
Notable, remarkable,
Creative, structured math.
So, why then, do I make a plan
Then discard the obvious route
In favour of impulsive;
Making planning moot?
I like to see the road ahead,
To mark it in the diary,
Then rip it up and start again,
Do something helical and wiry.
Within this heart, two different parts;
One sensible and planned,
The other very childish,
Takes spontaneity in hand.
Lollipop kisses,
Runaway tongue,
Touched to lip by tip,
Sugar-coated candyball,
Frosted,
Dip by dip.
Sherbet sweet
And coated,
Licked, such pure excess,
Top to bottom,
Tip to toes;
Trails of honeyed bliss.
Lover’s touch exploring
With tender little kiss.
Enlisted and found wanting,
Wandering and haunting
On love’s battleground
They are found.
Wounded and bitten,
Rejects, once smitten
Who persisted,
Now hurt and twisted.
Listed
As resisted.
How daunting.
There’s apt to be
A reason for
Each strange,
Unique decision.
I haven’t found
Them all as yet
But that will be
My mission.
Watching news,
So many different
Points of views,
Seeking all to
Contradict,
Never missing
Any trick
To overthrow
Or undermine
Credibility.
Lying or being
Colourful with truth,
Quite a message
For our youth.
Give us your vote
On ballot paper,
Won’t screw you now,
We’ll wait till later.
Once confidence
And seats
Are ours.
Now we’re in
A Celebration!
We’ll fix this lot
The whole damn nation.
We’ve got a plan
Just wait and see
We like to call it
Policy.
It’s changed a bit
From just before
Election.
The trouble is
Now that we’re in,
We have to deal;
We call it spin.
Shaving truth
From here and there.
We’re cuddly still,
A hairless bear,
With claws
And teeth
That bite.
But, worry not,
We won’t bite you,
You’re one of us.
Well ain’t that true?
I voted, yes,
I put my mark,
My little cross,
My vital spark
Believing,
Trusting in
Democracy.
I feel though, that
I’m standing by
While you get rich
And pass us by,
Pissing up against
Our legs,
Doling out to us
The dregs.
While bankers
Wanked
And walked.
Strange, misplaced,
This trust you urged.
Some view the process
As absurd,
When what is said
And what appears
Mismatch. The policy
Disappears.
There’s egg
On all
Our faces.
Still, better than
Dictatorship
Or feudal lords
Who, fortune stripped
From workers
Ploughing in the field
Theirs the effort
Yours, the yield.
Oh, wait, that
Seems quite
Similar.
A paper mark
Means nothing more
If once you’re in
You shut the door
On faces who
Extolled your worth.
Who’s laughing now?
Oh, you. Such mirth.
You’ve conned
Us all
Again.
Honesty?,
I’m so naïve.
I listen and
Sometimes, believe
The shit you say,
You pose and preach.
We are all
Just out of reach
Of mattering
To you.
And other you.
Not much to choose from
I see that clear,
With clarity
Not dowsed in beer
That’s taxed
To death
Like everything
That’s left.
Which is
Not much
At all.
So, what’s my choice?
Should I abstain?
Refuse to take part
Once again?
Or trust that one day,
Maybe soon,
An upright man
Will fly from moon
And work
To serve
The job and people.
Excuse me if I don’t
Hold my breath,
Not ready yet
For certain death.
Is this what Aristotle
Meant
When speaking
Of a government?
I don’t
Think so.
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Decided to dance a little deeper in life, and wow can spirit dance!
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