Sail With The Tide

Wake up to the morning with some hope upon your head,

No clouds on day to mar the view,

Soft pillow by your head,

A rushing calm, no winds on high to steer your ship astray,

Just soughing breeze and skies of blue,

A feather’d bed your day.

Let the ocean crash to shore, admiring motion, pull,

Waves are lapping where you lie,

Heart now growing full.

Tempests wreak their havoc on the greatest ships and small,

We set a course by sextant, stars

And rise before we fall.

Plot a course you want to go, a place you want to be,

A mindset mapped before you set

One foot on stormy sea.

Hoist your sails with travel advice ere you leave bedside,

Check direction, finger to air,

Set sail with the tide.

 

 

(No expert here on tall ships, no, nor sailing boats, nor cruise,

Just firm believer in sticking plaster

Before one sign of bruise.

Middle finger to the air helps too. 😛 )

 

Have a great day! ❤

 

 

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Pluck And Fuck

There’s a weed grows wild in my garden,

I kill it but it still survives,

No poison or potion imagined

Can quell it, it lives though frequently dies.

It buries beneath to find nurture,

It spreads out, could take over the land,

But I prune it with shears every morning

Or else it would get out of hand.

It’s a bugger that haunted my growing,

Taunted whenever it could,

I bought all the pellets, I cropped it,

I did what I was told that I should

To stifle its errant persuasion

For no one can live while it feeds,

It sucks all the flavour from living,

It thrives as can only a weed.

I looked again, freshly, one morning,

I hated its sight in my eyes,

Recognised world and its worries

And my nature combined fuelled its lies.

I wept at the weed, strong despite me,

Forgave it its nature and face

But begged for the chance to grow flowers

In most of the wide-open space.

I became gardener to flowers,

To roses and riots of blooms,

I decreed weed was unwelcome,

I accept it but it gives me some room

To be all the me that I can be

For inside of the weed there’s a charm,

Understanding its nature, accepted,

I refused to be controlled or be harmed

By the power of depression that fixes

Into crevices, people and place,

I chose to be happy, I still do,

In spite of the weeds that I face.

Its not all a garden of roses,

It’s not all a wasteland of weeds,

I plant what I can, where I can,

How I can, and hope is the best of my seeds.

Now I see gardens where both grow,

Possession is nine-tenths the law,

I pluck them, I fuck all the stranglers,

Rose-tinted with a hopeful hacksaw.

 

I recognise that there are many types of depression and that not all can be addressed by a shift in perception. For me, it worked. It was either that or live on anti-depressants. The world depressed me and is still capable of doing so. I choose not to let it as best as I can. With hope and fight. And every tool at my disposal – sharpened.

 

Unfollowing

They can lend confusion to illusion,

Fill their bucket up with acid rain,

Erode the hope with holes, always half-empty,

Then whinge the whine to hear themselves complain.

They can take, from distance, and from closer,

Syphon off my positivity,

Tell me I’m a dreamer, they’re a realist,

Well, shucks, that’s rich, I feel their negativity.

So, yeah, it’s hard, ’cause life is hard, no karma,

No luck, no change, ‘no nuthin’, their war cry.

So, suck it up, the train’s the same for all of us,

Just do it, this is life, just do or die.

I’m seeking out the people who have patter,

Some humour with my daily dose of politics,

Poets who encapsulate ideas, without depressing,

Essayists who rarely miss a trick.

I’m looking to the loving and the hopeful,

The serious, the humans in my midst,

Who can argue for a cause and give their reasons

And can do so without always sounding pissed.

I’m looking to the pictures that inspire me,

The photo journalists who see all life

Through lenses, filtered to advantage,

Depicting the beautiful that’s rife.

I’m topping up my bucket, mainly half-full,

Filling it to flowing with fresh hope,

Negating all the negative surrounding

Before I cut myself a length of rope.

I’m finished with the suction they enjoy so,

The leeching from my spirit for their fight,

I’m complaining here and then I’m through, for nothing

I can say or do is ever really wrong but never right.

Unfollowing, ’cause I am done with whiners,

Not the hurt who try and stoically march on!

But the people who can only peddle sorrow,

And share their pain as salve to ego torn.

My own fault, I guess, why did I follow,

Believing somehow I could ease their pain,

I’ve learned that only selves can change their own selves,

My presence there is futile, no one gains.

I must confess a luxury in dissing,

In doling out the lessons hardily won,

I’ve been there, no wish to recreate it,

Embraced a different mindset. Now I’m done.

 

Attitude

Kick some ass today, it’s fun!

Go on, try it, everyone.

Next time something gets your goat,

Grab its metaphoric throat,

Tell it, ‘No!’ Be loud and clear.

Show your mettle, have no fear.

Whip its butt for all your worth,

Be the boss of all your stuff.

Thoughts and feelings, they’re the worst,

Get control, their bubble burst.

Some folk too that won’t be named,

Face them up, let them be shamed.

Bullies, buggers, bums that need it

Kick their butts, just don’t concede.

Be your truth, yourself, with ease,

Knee to groin works too with these.

Masters of our destiny,

No thought control, a new release.

Up and at it, that’s the way!

Kick some butt, with love, today. 🙂

 

Inspired this early morning by John’s fab attitude in this poem here.

Positive Power

Now, Jack and Jill provided stuff for scores and scores of kids.

Mrs Jones cooked ingredients in pots and pans with lids.

Mrs Jones, their mother, oversaw the plan,

Used profits for their holidays, made sure they had a tan.

She quite forgot reinvestment to keep business afloat

So sold the lot for little and let others in to gloat

At all the deals they offered kids, though none as good as hers,

But, what the heck, they had some choice or they could wrap up warm in furs.

Kids grew ill from poorer deals and begged for energy,

Mrs Jones just sighed and said, ‘It’s nought to do with me.’

 

Now parents who were watching this formed a cunning plan.

‘Let’s make our own and share it out, profit everyone.’

Mains suppliers grew quite cross and threatened retribution,

We’ll pull the plug, through others, prior to your distribution.

Some parents feared the threats they made and shunned alternate ways,

Gave license to the bully boys, regret would cloud their days

As pollutants poured in atmosphere from every kind of harm,

Couldn’t see the benefits of water or wind farms.

Instead they let a mighty few, fraught with greed and power,

Reclaim the day, the night, the world, the minutes and the hours.

 

It came to pass that wars were had to protect the source supply,

Kids sent out, on pretexts, to maintain, reclaim or die.

Some there were who saw the ill of world in domination

To power supplies and oil cartels and bankers, multination.

That such a plan so simple, though requiring thought and vision,

Should wrest their power political, their purpose, point and mission

Drove the owners crazy, lost to right and reason,

‘Lose revenue, supremacy, to whims of nature’s seasons!’

Scuttled to the bunkers and scarpered for the hills,

Parents, kids and governments sighed and swallowed pill.

Tholing status quo as if blinkered by deceit,

Change a liability, back falling at their feet.

 

Unless, of course, a chance should come to harness once again

The energy from better source, Mother Nature and Just Men,

To seize the wind and fly once more, to aid and water all,

Humility in simplicity, no pride before our fall.

Reduced imprint in ownership of Gaia and all nations,

Positive power in every way, no less than heaven’s creation.

 

 

I couldn’t figure out how to write this post. No poetry came to mind at first and I don’t know enough about the intricacies of certain subjects to speak on them without getting into a fankle.

So I figured I’d go for what I’d do with my class or my kids when I’m trying to explain a point where the concept is better served by analogy. I started a little story about Jack and Jill Jones, personifications of the two power companies that once existed in the UK under national ownership until, in its wisdom, the government headed up by one Mrs T (can’t really bear to say her name) decided to sell them off for a song to private ownership. This has happened with all major utilities once owned by the people, now serving shareholders first and ultimately corporate finance whose heavy hand wields the stick capable of influencing decision making in the corridors of power, rightfully belonging to the citizens of a country.

A few months ago I was an undecided voter in the referendum due to take place one week from today. I was waiting to hear something that would convince me. I knew what it was but no one had spoken about it that I was aware of. Then I saw and heard this. That was it for me. Someone else was speaking my vision for me.

This morning I saw and heard this. I thought about it all day and couldn’t shift the belief that with investment, foresight and autonomy to do what is right, the people of Scotland have within their grasp the potential not only to decide their own future but to influence the world in a more positive way. That is what this is about. Positive power.

 

Trust

Before the globe,

was there a flat map

of a flat world,

little matchstick people,

standing around,

afraid to fall off the edge?

Is it any less strange than

to think of us teetering,

stuck out at odd angles

from the sides

of a sphere,

like the flares from the sun,

each one

a gaseous wonder

breezing into air

and colouring

atmosphere?

Reaching toward the

Karman Line,

trusting in the lift

and velocity,

to take us higher

than gravity,

further,

outwards,

reaching always;

temporal

to terminal,

thinning into 

ionosphere,

inhaling negative 

and positive

charge.

I know I stand upright,

most days,

when I’m not flat on my back

or kneeling,

praying for

a world where

gaseous exchange is unequal

and trust,

as a commodity

in short supply,

is the only thing keeping us

sticking to the surface.

Astounded

The response to my last post has left me just as my title states – astounded. I have never had so many comments or likes on any one single post. And every comment was so positive.

I have had maybe half a dozen professional massages in my life and, each time, I have been wiped out by them –slept for hours afterwards.

I did this again yesterday. After returning from work I slept. Fully clothed on top of my bed. Woke, changed, crawled under the covers and slept right through until 6a.m. More than 12 hours sleep!

Utterly wiped.

Perhaps there’s a connection between having every muscle of your body eased and having your mind eased. The effect was identical.

If I dreamed at all I can’t remember.

Hopefully, the cathartic effect of ‘coming out’ has left me renewed.

I’m usually fairly quick to answer comments but there have been so many it may take more time. I am on it and will answer every one.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the responses from everyone.

I feel I have been massaged from every corner of the globe!

So much sleeping also means I’m way behind on my post reading. I will catch up there too. This blogging/writing could be a full-time job. I wish!

Many thanks again to all of you who read and/or commented. It truly feels like hands and minds across the world. And that is such a beautiful thing.

Polar Attraction

Two cry together

In separate rooms

But pride holds sway

Till the end,

Neither believing,

Forgiving, forgetting,

Where once, before love,

They were friends.

 

Tears on the flooring

Make puddles and pools

Each drop depicting

A scene

Of words from the past

And visions that last.

What happened to love

In between?

 

Why, when and how

Are the questions they ask

And answers, the two bent on seeking.

But comfort in arms

Rings bells of alarm

When neither of the two

Are yet speaking.

 

Such misunderstanding

When love is confused

And tears blind

What may be seen.

Too often two lovers

Hide under covers

When all it takes is

To say what they mean.

 

The games people play,

Without true intention,

Fear of hurt,

Resisting the action.

Dry all the eyes,

Open doors wide,

Meet half way,

To polar attraction.

Synapses

Quite peculiar chance misfires,

Confusing banalities.

A critique

Or analysis.

Mind mapped,

Incredulity.

A breath of weakness,

Eschewed.

Shun positivity.