Santa’s Little Shopper

In quieter moments, calm descends and peace prevails.

Time slows down, actions terminate and silence hails.

A blessing on an eve of pleasant pastimes,

Moments stretch and fill, a sweeter lifeline

To all the busy days that lie ahead,

Reposed, reclining now upon my bed.

 

December’s come and Christmas days are looming,

Excitement builds in kids, their faces blooming.

Activity so manic, all things pending,

Trees and decorations, all that spending

Time in frantic towns, in busy stores.

I’m really not excited yet. It bores.

 

To think of shopping really is no pleasure,

I’m gonna cheat and really will endeavour

To buy the pressies all upon the ‘net.

I hope I can achieve my aim. And yet,

There is a little frisson of a thrill

To join the hub. I maybe will.

 

But only for a day or two near Christmas.

Until then I’ll shop online and bypass

All the feet and sweating bods and trains.

I’m good at panic shopping! That’s my aim.

Achieve so many stockings full of wonder

But do it from my bed, no fear of blunder.

 

It’s not Bah! Humbug! to avoid

All the bizz and too much hectic noise.

I just prefer a calmer sort of retail

Where I can browse online and never fail

To buy the stuff. I have to make a list.

I’ll even check it twice in case Santa’s missed

 

Any sort of person that needs giving.

With kids, so many friends all need serving.

A token for the neighbours, this as well.

I’d really better start. Oh, bloody hell!

I do this every year. It’s how I am.

I wait and then I rush and try to jam

 

A month of work into a couple of days.

You’d think by now I’d learn that planning pays.

But no, it’s true, I never can be arsed

To start Christmas any earlier. What a farce

I feel it is to bring it so far forward.

I’ll get there just the same. You mark my words.

 

Video reading Santa’s Little Shopper

Ease The Pain

Will my loving ease your pain? Do you need?

Does what I say make a difference? Will it feed?

Can anything matter if you ache?

I weep at hurts. For you I’ll take

The pain. Believing that it helps for you to know

That someone, I, care and want to show

Compassion and a willing open heart.

If it helps, pour it out, then restart

To find a better place, a loving state to be.

I’ll hold you in my arms and set you free.

I only promise love. That’s all I have.

More than I need, so let me give.

If anything is troubling, share it out,

Spread it wide and rest your mind from doubt.

There’s a world of love awaiting if you seek.

Don’t be afraid, alone. Trust and speak.

Rhubarb, Apple, Humble

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/30/prompt-humble-pie/

 

Not my favourite type of pie. I much prefer rhubarb

With a touch of ginger. Tart but warming.

Or apple, sprinkled with cinnamon. Sweet but spicy.

 

Humble pie is bitter, sour tasting.

No matter what flavour it is topped with.

 

I swallow it with dread. And it goes over in lumps,

Choking on the way down.

But, once consumed,

It tastes sweeter, more full of flavour

Than any other.

For it means I had to say,

‘I’m sorry. I was wrong.’

As tough as that is to do, as hard as the crust may be-

It cuts at the throat –

To move on, it is necessary.

 

No matter what pie you love,

Swallowing pride,

Revealing inside,

Alters taste

And relationships.

The Circle

I have been reading a number of posts on abuse and bullying. There has been some coverage on TV about the same. The impact of child abuse or bullying on the child and the later adult may never be fully understood. One such post I read had a huge impact on me. The author speaks of her own experiences as a survivor. http://nae50.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/might-have-could-have-was-abuse/  And links to a video and song ‘Committing Slow Suicide’ by Scott Stapp from the group Creed. The video is harrowing to watch. It may even have been taken down by now.

The levels of abuse and types suffered by children enrage me. I cannot thole bullying in any form. My reactions are visceral when I read or hear of it. I was bullied by someone as a child. I stopped it. No one else. I took control. But. It left its imprint. I will not and cannot tolerate any sort of control of myself. And view others who seek to exert control as similar to monsters. My experience, however, was as nothing compared to the suffering of others. If people suffer more, they hurt more, it takes longer to heal. And their methods may be quite different and not always effective. The struggles of survivors to heal and find understanding and reasons for the actions of others leave a lifelong mark. And it may break them or make them stronger. Those I have been reading are among some of the strongest people I have ever encountered.

I’m drawn to hurt like moth to flame,

Others’ pain fills me with shame

That angsts I feel, though deep and wounding,

Hold no candle to some depths of hurting.

 

Mind sets, altered in early days,

Fight with nature’s inherent ways.

A struggle then, a lifelong one,

To come to terms with what was done.

 

Comprehension and forgiveness

Demand some reasons, any answers.

Dependence on an earthly crutch

May transfer or hide so much.

 

Seeking some oblivion

From hurts performed by some or one.

That child of then exists right now,

Trapped in time, until somehow

 

Someone, you, maybe another

Comforts, absolves, helps uncover

What was hidden or openly done,

Unobserved or viewed by some.

 

Abuse of child in any form

Is not so rare but is not the norm.

Many kinds or types there be

Killing, suffocating, we

 

Who know the hurt a bully causes,

Inflicting pain, causing losses

Of memories of childhood pleasure,

A time when all should build as treasure.

 

But stolen by the hands of one,

Abandoned then to struggle on

In adult life with child inside

Who seeks still love, approval, pride

 

In being who they ought to be

Not discredited and forced to flee

From inner mind where sanctuary

Sublimates or sets them free.

 

Acknowledgement of all who hurt

From childhood trauma. Not your fault!

Beating, words or actions done

By other must be owned by one

 

Who perpetrated such a crime,

Robbed innocence, God’s divine

Gift to child and all the world

To view with wonder when beheld.

 

Those who steal such gift away

Will answer, surely, come the day

When asked, ‘How did you fill your life?’

To answer, ‘I killed a child, as if with knife,

 

By stabbing at the hearts of pure.’

No one escapes! But some endure

An endless query. Why me? Why then?

To ask those words again, again.

 

No answers here, I cannot claim,

But trust that love always reclaims

The heart of child for loving much

Is what they do so well, with such

 

Belief in trust. May, then,

Trust and love, regrow again.

And pain depart or recognise

That no guilt attaches in your eyes.