In Praise Of Unique

Before there was liberation

There was salutation,

Supplication,

Fear.

Before there was liberation

There was sadness

Mixed with joy

And some tears.

Before there was liberation

There was angst

Filled with worry,

Too much noise.

Still, with the liberation,

Sadness, tears and worry

Don’t depart

But now they’re voiced.

 

For my beautiful daughter.

Heart of my life,

One of the seven.

One of the world.

Unique.

For our children.

All children.

All unique.

Do Tell

There’s a wide-eyed wild woman in my house this morning. I’ve met her before and given her short shrift on my way out to work. My husband commented on her presence this morning with the words, ‘What time did you come to bed last night?’

‘Late’ is a perfectly valid time on the writer’s timepiece. It is just vague enough to have been reasonably early or heading for the hay as the birds twitter.

I wasn’t that late last night/this morning. But, good grief, I have to get this writing malarkey under control. Truth be told, I don’t really want to because too many years have passed wishing for just such dedication. And now that I’ve found it I’m scared to jinx it by being too controlling.

And I’m not so hot on the discipline thing anyway with regard to certain activities. I know myself well enough for that. I would have made a lousy soldier. I prefer to rely on impulse and compulsion in some areas of my life. Too much of it is dictated to by routine and rote. So, sensory pleasures must be allowed to flourish whenever possible. A more regimented routine is difficult to imagine at the moment.

But when I viewed myself, looking and feeling somewhat like a vampire – all white-faced and red-eyed seeking a good blood source for a much-needed feed, I have to consider whether I’m not neglecting my health in the name of the written word and thoughts.

So, I have to make some sort of effort to exert some discipline and self-control and rejoin the land of the living. But I don’t know how to switch it off without switching it off! Up too late writing, then thoughts disturbing my sleep. And hubby’s, I’m told. I’ve always talked in my sleep. Apparently, now, I also knock hell out of folk!

No selfies on this one but think Macbeth and three crones. I’m not Macbeth. But Shakespeare must have had a peephole into my future when he wrote that one. Maybe that’s why it was set in Scotland.

What do others do? Give in and go with the flow glad to be pouring forth on paper words that might never see the light of day anyway? Take pad and pen everywhere? I already do that. Try for a timetable? Take up running? I hear that’s good for keeping the thoughts flowing while getting fresh air. But that’s hubby’s love and I didn’t like it when I tried it. More than once, I might add, to give it a fair crack.

The weather’s picking up so maybe garden writing like last year. Sun and words, a wonderful combination. But it’s so hit and miss yet. And I can see clouds rolling in from here. I’ll never make my first year blogging anniversary at this rate. And I don’t like the coffin look. So do tell.

May Music, Day 7 – Memory’s Going…going…not quite there yet…

First, I want to apologise for this one although I don’t know why I’m apologising to you. For all I know you might love this song. But it sets my teeth on edge. I can feel a twitch starting in my right shoulder and my eyes are screwing up as if I were squinting against last year’s glorious sunshine. I had a real job trying to remember any songs from last summer to answer Twindaddy’s question of which song reminded me of that time.

Getting on a bit now, at 53, my poor brain finds it difficult to remember what I was doing an hour ago or what I walked into a room for. Ask me about thirty years ago and I’ll regale you with in-depth detail on colours, sights and sounds. But last year feels like a bit of a blur.

Apart from my age then, oh to be 52 again, there was the problem with vitamin D levels that was uncovered and went a long way to explaining why I felt like crap all the time, falling asleep at the drop of a hat and limbs full of aches and pains. I thought it was decrepiticity (it should be a word) arriving and was just about to break out cod liver oil for impending brittle bones and was preparing snide comebacks for a family of ingrates that think seeing their mother keeling over on the couch in snoring oblivion is a great hoot.

Thanks to frantic research on the internet I found out what was wrong with me all by my lonesome and requested additional blood tests. Bingo. Guess what you need to up vitamin D levels that have plummeted to below 20? Huge doses of natural source and supplements.

Now, as it happens, last summer was a beezer here in old Scotia. Marked in calendars everywhere as one of the best. Sun. Sun. And then some more. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when the doctor signed me off work and told me to get as much as I could. Minus the sunscreen for part of the time. Parts of the time? Aye, like that was gonna happen. I lay in a lounger, read some, dozed some, turned over, baked myself and turned and then basted for browning. Done to a ‘T’ I was. And I love the sun. Worship wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

Anyway, what this has to do with music and what I’m about to post is a bit vague, I know. But I had to write something. And, other than beginning blogging last June because my sister told my brother that I was vegetating in the house, unable to do any chores or even concentrate on TV, there’s not a damn lot else I remember. Brother set me up with a blog. Ta da! Go Phil. Go Veronica for telling him in the first place.

Sunshine and a new interest and huge supplements did the trick.

So, to the song. I’m trying to delay the inevitable here.

I’ll give you some clues. As some of you may know, I’ve got 7 sprogs of my own and I teach primary school kids on a daily basis.  As much as I can’t consume a whole one at a single sitting, I do love weans. Except.

Except when they inflict things on you.

Anyone with offspring or nieces and nephews knows what I mean. Whatever is flavour of the month for them becomes your viewing, your listening. I sat through so many demos of this in school. Each kid prouder than the last that they had mastered the art.

My own wee yin, 6 then, had practised with her older sisters who’d seen the movie and nothing would do but that Anna should display her skills to her class. Whereupon the teacher sent her around the rest of the classes to show just what she could do. And she did. Song and actions.

Now I should probably have complained here at the fact that the teacher was probably snickering and using my wee doll for a spot of light entertainment. But what the feck. We teachers don’t get that many opportunities for a laugh in the face of mounting pressure to be everybody’s mammy or daddy. Whole other post.

Have you guessed yet?

Well, I’m not going to post the video here. I just can’t. But I will provide the link. Have at it! And this is a memory of last summer I hope will fade in time. No offence to the young lady in question and the multitude of tween followers she gathered.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmSbXsFE3l8

Fairy Wishes

A fairy in my dreams asked me

Had all my dreams come true.

I looked at her and thought a bit

Then said, as I here I do.

 

‘A lot of what I longed for

I have already here,

My family and love around,

A cup of greatest cheer.

 

The other dreams are in my hands,

I hold them carefully,

I treasure them and nourish them

And then I set them free.

 

If dreams they are to be fulfilled

I have to open hands,

Not so I may drop them

But so they can search the lands

 

That I may have to wander,

The plans I have to make,

The effort that I’ll put in place

So these dreams may not prove fake.’

 

She asked me then and offered

Three wishes I would crave,

I thought some more then smiled at her

And answer thus I gave.

 

‘Three would never satisfy

All I hold inside

And most of what I ask for self

Is really for my pride.

 

If three there are then let me ask

For what I already see,

The health of all my family,

That’s enough for me.

 

The second one I pass along

To others for the same,

Renewal in body, spirit, mind.

Then they can play this game

 

‘And what of number three?’ she said,

‘Now think on carefully.’

‘I would wish that others knew, believed,

They’re the change they have to be.’

Your Strength

Your strength

Astounds.

Reading

Your words,

Your pain.

You go on.

You focus.

And go on.

Not lost

Completely.

Absorbing

Hurt,

Channelling,

Reinventing

Self.

Words

Unspoken

Reveal

As much.

Your

Ability

To be.

Just be.

So much

Strength

Revealed.

So much

Hurt

Concealed.

Sleep and Work Shenanigans

Dizzy with sleep, he wakes at two.

Breakfast and some irn bru

To chase the sandman from his eyes.

Then on the couch, a little lie

To gather strength to start the day

That’s almost done and gone away.

A shake or two, he’s feeling better,

Opens mail, for him, a letter.

A job, you say, to start at nine?

Oh God, you moan, well, that’s not fine,

Awaking with the birds at dawn,

Not something you can depend upon.

A night-shift would be better, true.

Teenage biorhythms grew

To such extent that day is night

And night is when your mind takes flight.

So, what’s the choice? There isn’t one.

Welcome to my world, my son.

Up in the morning, work all day,

Then off to bed, take time to pray.

Set alarm and don’t be late,

Bosses don’t appreciate

Sleepy headed, idle teens

Who float through day in slumber’s dreams.

A little while and you’ll adjust.

It’s called growing up and so you must

Arise and work and earn your way.

Just think, some effort, then they pay

A pound, a few, it’s not a lot

But that’s the way life chose the plot,

Work and sleep and play some too,

Work some more, to plan and do.

Such a message to take in.

Don’t put that letter in the bin!

You start it, when? Oh, late next week.

Well, off to bed, a shock needs sleep.

When later you are full awake,

Your mind’s had time to assimilate

The hardest fact that life will give;

You have to work to earn to live.

Who Are You?

Oh, such is understanding word,

That all you read seems quite absurd.

I get the point for I have pointed,

But, say, my elbow was disjointed?

And what I pointed to was broken

Must I then speak in words true spoken?

Or does a heart ken all it sees

And bows on genuflected knees?

No, truth is quite transparent when

The washer wipes and so reckons

That all they see inside the room is not

All fear and doom and gloom.

But, measured with some point of faith,

Relays the truth and sees the wraith

That succours to a heaven sent

And knows that life is all but spent.

And then,

A future seems so much to clear,

Enamoured, fill their hearts with cheer.

But, truth be told,

There is no heart in those I here now do depart

From, endless war that is so waged.

Engaged I find and, too enraged.

This bastard life that spat

Confusion

Knows not family delusion.

A happy child, a carefree name.

Identity inside the frame

Of subterfuge and grand design

This heart is broken. ‘Tis not mine.

Marked, For One

If memories stir and salt this season,

Visceral reaction subverts all reason;

Pleading quietly in my brain,

To quell such love, so self-restrain.

Regressive journeys, known to mar,

Mistakes we make cause wounds that scar.

But heart and soul are so combined

Pounding, beating in my mind.

That once scorched heart has been refined,

All men I see leave me quite blind.

I’m marked, for one, by lesions.

Thought I would give it a go.  🙂

Lilsawarian Dectet

http://5degreesofinspiration.wordpress.com/2013/08/09/lilsawarian-dectet/

Pain

Enchanted limbs and perfect vision,

Acutest powers of hearing,

Wholesome body in and out,

No need for any healing.

 

But pain, it comes, and haunts our days

In many different, subtle ways.

One, it brings a babe, at end,

This pain, some say, is like a friend,

It can be cruel but moments later,

Love makes all forgotten.

 

The greatest hurt is chronic pain,

I feel, there’s no relenting.

Its powers torture all life’s parts,

In effect, it’s life-preventing.

Mental anguish torn in shreds

From sources in and out,

Debility, all encompassing,

Is worse, I have no doubt.

 

OM http://aopinionatedman.com/2013/08/02/pain-scale/  had a bit of a discussion going today on pain scale and I put in my tuppence worth. It set me thinking.

I want to dedicate this poem to http://busymindthinking.com/ because she complimented me beautifully just a short while ago and she is always so bright despite her own suffering.