Toes Grown

There’s consolation and some comfort in the knowing

That streets I’ve walked upon they’ll walk on too,

That rivers I have known, they’ll feel in flowing,

Their gift of life transporting, they the crew

Forever destined to new embarkations,

New destinations, some far out of sight, 

Predestined in unknown determinations,

Forked with choices they believe are right.

There’s sympathy and empathy in feeling

That those who venture forth to find their route,

Deserve the trust and onward love they’re stealing,

Travellers whose first steps falter’d, as I put

A hand to hold, support the risk they took then,

Determined but with dainty, tiny toes,

Kissed in days I never saw when

New shoes would grow and feet would wander forth.

There are tears that now the door has opened wider,

While heart is closing round the children grown,

Seeking yet to hold a little longer

Even though they, like time, have flown.

I’m counting heads and reeling from the impact

Of emptier nest while four will still remain,

Pretending joy, acceptance of a life fact,

That children grow. And I still have this to feel again.

Nemesis

Are you my Nemesis?

Raining righteous

Vengeance from above,

Quelling hubris;

Dark companion star of man?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Tempting me till

Right has lost its path,

Echoing Narcissus;

Smug vanity?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Purposeful but lost

Into the world,

Pleasured life;

Epicurean here and now?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Pop-cultured

Neutrality;

Champions lost

for weak and weary.

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Inescapable

Fortune beheld in victory,

Armed to flay and weigh;

Impartial justice.

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Goaded goddess,

Implacable;

Unmitigated

Truth?

 

Are you my Nemesis?

Elusive, fatalistic, flawed of countenance?

So I’m asking.

Are you my Nemesis?

Or am I my own?

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.

My Weans

When my 20 year old daughter said she wanted a ‘family tree’ picture I thought she meant gathered around the Christmas tree. Nope. IN the apple tree! So we did. Down the garden, through the wet grass, up the tree. Not the adults. We’re not stupid! We loitered around the trunk.  My 24 year old daughter and 23 year old son started on their patter and my jaws ached from laughing. All my kids about me for Christmas. Sister and her three, brother, future son-in-law. Magical times. Fifteen gathered to eat, drink, chat, laugh and celebrate. And all to do again for New Year. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I’ll be needing a holiday at the end of this.

To chat a while –

an hour

or ten –

and know you understand.

And in the understanding, know

that you are understood.

An implicit sort of knowing,

born of love’s connection.

Blessed,

Acceptance,

Joy,

Amazement,

Proud,

Privileged.

In awe.

These,

my own.

I am unworthy,

but not.

I must have had

something to do with

who they are,

how they are,

the wonder they are;

their personalities,

characters,

humour.

Thanksgiving,

we don’t have,

as some do.

But I have,

in measure fullest.

Blessed,

Acceptance,

Joy,

Amazement,

Proud,

Privileged.

In awe.

All twice.

And again

tomorrow

and every day hence.

Forgiven Not Forgotten

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/21/prompt-forgive/

Maggie really messed my mind

I couldn’t focus, couldn’t find

She played with my full deck

The eighties were a nightmare ’cause

I hated all she said, no pause

In drivel. Flippin’ heck!

 

Such a feeling in my heart!

My first to loathe, an awful start

To hate another person

Hearing her on my TV

Could fill my soul with misery

I had to stop from listening

 

If only just to stop the tide

Of hatred that I felt inside

So angry at her reason

How could she quote St. Francis when

Her charity was stripped barren

All I felt was treason

 

That such a one should preach to us

Say she knew because she was

A simple grocer’s daughter

Stripped industry, denationalised,

So many hated and despised

When her minions said all ought to

 

‘Get on your bikes! Go find the work!’

‘No shysters here! Don’t try to shirk!

There’s work for those that matter.’

Of course, the truth was underplayed

Really it was not relayed

That employment was all scattered

 

Across the country far and wide

Leave family and home to find

Or else you get no dole

Humble men with working pride

In earnest, they began to fight

To make themselves feel whole

 

For ethic of the working man

Is so important in their plan

To feed and house those closest

Being called a layabout or worse

Felt like Tories had all cursed

Those who work the most

 

In Scottish land the hate was great

We felt it. God, we filled with hate

At woman and her peers

I shouted and I walked the streets

Demonstrated, fought for weeks

And months and many years

 

Eventually I tired of

The hatred fuelled by her because

It drained my spirit so

I stood at last in public forum

Relinquished feelings of all harm

I really let it go

 

Repentance, no, well not as such,

More preservation for self, so much

Hatred breaks a heart

I let it be and fought with might

Focused on a better fight

We got our brand new start

Love Is All

 

That level of strength could be viewed as a weakness;

Never succumbing a pinch.

That level of pride could be deemed as fruitless;

Never giving an inch.

That much virtue could be perceived by some

As really more of a vice.

So much poker and ramrod straight;

Always thinking thoughts twice.

That much angst belongs with the youngsters;

Idealism for teens and youth.

Sometimes life is just what it is;

That’s the God’s honest truth.

That much hope, you flout and dismiss;

Strange and futilely wrong.

Hope and love spring always eternal;

That’s what it says in the song.

That much hurt needs love to heal it;

Love, unconditional and true.

There’s someone for everyone; believe it or not.

Someone loving for you.

There’s pride and honesty, virtue and worth,

Thoughts that go on for miles.

Then there’s love, just love; that’s eternally truthful.

Remember. And make yourself smile.

My theory is really simplistic;

Bold, with a side of plain.

There is only love and light that’s eternal;

That’s how we ease all our pain.

 

Thoughts that diminish

Love and then finish

With hearts, broken and sore.

There’s something far wrong

When love seems too strong,

We repel. But still look for more.

 

Be wary and chary of thoughts that disease,

Determine to flout your desires.

Not all that glitters is made from garish;

Some are treasures. Aspire.

 

Stop looking for one who is all you desire;

Look for the one that is true.

Look to the north, the south, east or west.

Then look for the one that’s for you.

 

They may be a stranger with thoughts like your own;

They might even have your own name.

They could be someone that is ready to give

Bountiful love; without seeking fortune or fame.

 

Some trust is required, some measure of faith.

Some reaching without too much thought.

Hold out your hands, believe what you hear,

Hold on to love; all else is naught.

 

Reach for the stars,

Recall all you’re worth.

Stop thinking you’re nothing at all.

Give with your heart.

Receive what is offered.

Love before pride. That is all.

 

Video reading. Love Is All

 

 

 

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.

I’m Sorry

I’m sorry

Isn’t hard to say.

It’s easy.

I said it twice yesterday

And once, so far, today.

It’s easy.

 

The hardest part is reaching

To the place where

You know you’re way off mark.

Not easy.

To decide to rectify

What you’ve done wrong.

Not easy.

To judge yourself

And find the faults,

Not easy.

To resist

Justifying words and acts,

Not easy.

 

I’m sorry

Isn’t hard to say

Once sorrowful

Has found its sway.

So easy.

 

I’m hoping that

No more today

I’ll have cause

To have to say

I’m sorry.

But, if I do,

Be rest assured

I’ll swallow

Pride

And reassure

The one to whom

I have caused

Offence.

So easy.

 

To see

Relief

Within their eyes

And know that

I have realised

I was wrong.