Planning For Change

sunset_tree_grande

(source)

Poised and pointed skywards

Long time standing

Alive within the earth’s

Nourishment

Numbered with the angels

Intervention

Gods join in

For actions with intent

Open to the seasons

Rising meanings

Calling on the strength of

Heaven lent

Answers on the winds

Nearest companions

Grateful for the 

Energy that’s sent

 

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Kingdom of Auld Fartdom

I have come to the conclusion that I have now become a tax-paying inhabitant of the kingdom of Auld Fartdom. I have visited its environs from time to time and peeked over the city walls, even ocasionally entering its gates, sometimes shaking my head at what I’ve seen inside. People, old and young and some of indeterminate age, cautiously going through the motions of life or, contrarily, completely knackered by their exertions in the fray.

I’ve always hastily withdrawn from these forays, accepting that some there are who are old before their time and others whose age has caught up with them, lassoed their legs and brought them down with a yeeha!

Lying in state upon my king-sized, coffee at hand, kindle on lap, I’m trying to recollect the last time I really felt like moving myself on a Friday instead of succumbing to end-of-week syndrome. Looks shattered, feels shattered, is shattered, shattered I shall be. Let me be.

I’m thinking back to my youth (pre-marriage and weans) and recalling how I was always first in from work, way before my brothers and sisters. I had first dibs on the boiler and didn’t even think of needing or stopping for coffee or any other sustenance such was my anticipation at the evening ahead. Getting shifted had priority over everything else. Leisurely hours of prepping for a night on the town were punctuated by the sounds of my siblings arguing over who needed access to the shower next. How many times one or other of my brothers would play the self-same trick of pleading an urgent calling for the bathroom, forestalling my sister’s ablutions, only to hear her roaring at them for stealing her towels and toiletries as the emergency apparently required immediate use of the goods laid out.

I would be listening to music, applying makeup, drying my hair, happily distanced from the melee if not the noise. Teachers’ hours were in my favour then.

The school day has changed somewhat, the hours have even altered a bit but not enough to signify the turnaround on my Fridays.

Supposing I had a heavy date lined up with Wolverine’s alter ego I’d be hard pushed to rouse myself with anything approaching the same cheery demeanour.

Want the shower? Have the shower? Need my toiletries? Wire in.

Trying to recollect when exactly it changed is proving elusive too. I still remember three nights out at the weekend in early marriage so not at that point. After kids? I could still have moved myself with gusto but opportunities were limited. Whenever they availed themselves I was like a dog out of trap two. So not then either.

Recent Friday forays into the city have been prepped for with fucks and grumbles at having to be there at a certain time, the inconvenience of getting there and the bigger one of getting home. But I’ve gone and enjoyed it despite myself.

Tonight though, supposing I was offered chauffeur-driven luxury each way, a slap-up meal in between finished off with dancing and a spot of tongue-tangoing with wolfman I’d have to decline.

Because I’ve taken up residence in the royal burgh of Auld Fartdom, just within the walls of the city, very much part of the kingdom and I can see people peeking through the gates. I’m mouthing, ‘fuck off’ at them with the gurniest face I can muster and I think I might like it.

 

One coffee has boosted my reserves and I’m contemplating a glass of red to remove the sound of children’s voices from my day.

If anyone does have a spare limo at the ready I may, with the help of some lubrication, be persuaded to step outside of the city walls for old time’s sake. But you can still have first dibs on the boiler. It’s a combi. Bit like myself on a Friday.

Begging The Minstrels

Don’t play those songs for me that set me weeping,

Keep your lyrics locked inside yourself,

Don’t write the words that set my pulse to racing,

Hide them in some pages on a shelf.

Don’t pen the poignant notes that make me shiver

You’re strumming on my strings and take me higher,

Out beyond mere sound and softest downstrokes,

Way out somewhere where the air’s on fire,

Set to flame by rising pyrotechnics,

Your words and music, tone and then your voice,

They play upon my sweetest keys and whisper,

The music flows right through me, I’ve no choice

But to harken to the chords and let them wander

Deep into my soul and give them wing,

You play your words and music, I’m rapt listening,

Don’t stop, keep on, it hurts but let them sing.

Mere words alone can never do this damage,

It takes music set to rhythm, to a score,

Play on, you minstrels, poetry in love notes,

Melodies with muse, I beg for more.

Really!

I’m really quite excited here this avo,

I caught it in the air, I really did!

A whiff, although there’s ice still on the pavements,

A little bit of zing that blew my lid!

I was walking with my dog

(that’s twice today, some other bugger’s turn later),

And he was sniffing round as all dogs do,

I sniffed a bit myself, I couldn’t help it

And that’s when I really, really knew

That Spring is just around the corner,

I can feel it in my waatter, as we say,

And it really, really doesn’t matter

If Winter loiters round a few more days (ok, weeks!)

I can tell, as well, because I feel a surging

In my levels of energy and such,

A driving to be doing and Spring-cleaning,

Though I really don’t like the latter very much. :/

But something’s set my soul to stirring,

My feet are itching, hands as well, to move,

My brain’s on overdrive with plans and whatnots,

And my heart is beating faster just to prove

That life’s a gas when Spring is swift approaching

And I’m running fast to meet her as she comes,

I’m high as kite at smell and sight sensations

And shaking off the wintry and doldrums.

I’m really quite incredibly elated,

I’m talking like a train that’s high on speed,

No ice or snow on scan can diminish what I plan

Now Spring is scented, Spring’s my aching need.

Really!

 

 

Forget Love?

No one forgets; and I don’t forget.

How can we forget when we love?

It buries down deep; infuses our being,

Suffuses our senses; leaves our thoughts reeling.

 

Who can forget when they’ve loved? Even lost?

Why would we want to though love counts a cost?

But the cost that it counts is a price that, once paid,

Cherishes life and feelings we’ve shared.

 

It harbours belief in fortunes they tell

And harkens to kismet and spiritual bell.

It listens to prayers and hears when we call

It values our worth and shares out to all.

 

Hurts they will come from the knife edge of love, but,

Though razored through, we heal and behove

Love to all others, for once we have known

Amity in lives, it must then be shown

 

To all whom we meet, with a zest for our living,

A passion for life, a thought to what’s given

To others who seek a touch and a taste

Of what lies within all but proceeds from all chaste;

 

The fountain of life, with a stream gushing forth,

Channelling energy and life-giving source.

We bless and we keep those moments we feel

The love of another for love feelings are real.

 

Love lasts forever though some may depart

For love is eternal in soul and in heart.

Those gone now, departed, by death or from choice

Loved once, if but briefly, still cause to rejoice.

 

My mind is awash with the feelings I feel

A wondrous reunion with spirits, all real.

Those whom I’ve loved, those loving still.

That’s all. Just a force that works with free will.

 

Love’s never lost. Never I say.

For into the ether love travels and stays.

It lurks in the corners of those ever loved

And grows or diminishes as life takes its course.

 

But once it’s created in hearts and in minds

It flourishes, flies and source it will find

Where all may return to the plain we were born, till

All love shines in splendour, the most glorious dawn.

Growing Young

Something in my body quivers

It’s lurking there

And gives me shivers.

I’m scared to question what it is

For fear it runs away.

 

So armed with map and guidance book

And torch

I’m going to have a look,

Investigate what’s going on,

Discover if there’s something wrong

Or if it will come out to play.

 

I remember feeling this before,

I was younger then,

A different door

For feeling thus, I can’t explain

Why they’re returning once again.

I hope they stay.

 

I think an alien lives here

Eating chocolate

Drinking beer.

Chocolate’s always to the good

But beer I’ve never understood.

I might give that a try.

 

I feel my bod is quite remiss

To not explain what all this is

But all these things I go upon

I feel I might be growing young.

Hurray!

Video reading Growing Young