Let’s Chew Gum

Let’s fling fuel on the fire

Stand right back, watch it burn,

Let’s all hope that missiles and bullets

Know which way to turn.

Let’s all pray that mass destruction

Stays far away from here,

Let’s all be brave from a distance,

Fan those flames, show no fear.

Let’s cover their cries with a pop song,

Drown their tears with a gin,

Let’s do some Christmas shopping,

Let’s all concentrate on him.

Let’s buy Jesus an x-box,

Call of Duty would suit him well,

Let’s make sure to be good Christians

Or we might go straight to hell.

Let’s all get our priorities straight,

Buy shares in industry,

Armaments and camouflage,

Now turn on our TV.

Let’s all watch some chewing gum,

Drain our moral code,

Let’s all believe that what we do

Comes gospelled via God.

Let’s all do what Albert said,

Repeat, repeat, don’t learn,

Let’s fling fuel till we raze the lot,

Insanity, asylum.

La,la,la, some chewing gum,

Play station and a game,

Let’s all grab a life controller,

Virtual, reality, all the same.



Virtual Conversations

Too little time to gather each memento,

Tokens only, second best, it’s true,

Each a valued part of all our yesterdays,

Virtual realities of you.

Here’s the service, china that you cherished,

Inside the case of glass so worldly old,

Incongruous among the modern,

Patina still polished, burnished gold.

There’s blue Willow Pattern, studied paintwork,

Aladdin’s lamp that took your fancy too,

Books on every subject that you purchased,

Read, shared, discussed, in nights where me and you

Sat up in the small hours drinking whisky,

Passion flying in between debate,

Nothing ever vetoed in discussion,

We didn’t know then time was running late.

Time, the bastard child of loving parents,

Belonging nowhere, orphaned while we muse

Each and every small memento looked on,

I’d swap them all for one more night with you.

My mother died five years ago, it’s not the anniversary of her death but she’s been in my mind a lot this while back. Dreams of her, conversations in the dreams, looks I know so well. Whenever this occurs I know there’s something I need to listen to, something I would have discussed with her, something that’s eluding my full understanding or something I’m ignoring. She was good on the somethings and the everythings. Nothing ever vetoed. Need to listen now. Or she’ll skelp my arse! And I’d welcome it for one more real conversation.


Pillowcase Presence

Memory in the touch that calls to reason,

Abstraction just a place where stars collide,

Disjointed dreams, some fraught with lesions,

Others merely shelter deep inside.

Some there are as pivot, giving warning,

Advancing cause, regulating mood,

Semblance of the real restored in morning,

Sonorous with wonder at all good.

Sleep adrift, in darkness, searching moonlight,

Inner eye to sky bestowed, in reach,

Rested in the present, gifted new sight,

How dreams in darkness touch, to lovers teach.

Elegance purveyed amid the chaos,

Confusion unconfessed so sweet absolved,

Bartered dreams, reality with no loss,

Unravelled theories, string unwound, life solved

On pillowcase near perfumed by your presence,

A touch to mind, to heart, to memories,

Kaleidoscope of visions void by essence

Of you beside, inside all drowned out tears.

Art of the Possible

From the dreams inside, without, about, all over,

Sensibilities subserve to something else,

A notion of a happy ever after,

Token’d, broken lives replaced on shelves.

Voiceless dreams where nameless heroes muster,

Vanguards to the vetoed daylight hours,

Suppressing fatalistic flawed of futures,

Adjusting life in possible detours.

Probable imbalances all equations,

Unfeatured in the changes that we make,

Possibilities thrive in sleep and waking

When willing spirits dream and undertake.


Trash! Smash balderdash,

Gibberish, all mish-mash,

Masquerading as the news.

Fiction, facts, we’re owed the truth.

Pish! Posh, all that dosh,

Dishing dirt, a load of tosh,

Captivating, cunning plan,

Doled out fodder for wee man.

Big man runs the well-oiled wheels,

Sleight of hand, we watch, he steals,

Steam, press, turn, depress with force,

One-sided justifies divorce.

Free to question, new release,

Biased brethern, big bro’ pleased.

Watch little man as he cuts chains,

Asking why, alive again.

Hubble, bubble, all this trouble,

Got our countries in a guddle.

Ickle, tickle, brand new hatch,

Easy-peasy, stand by, catch.

Fishy fish, caught with intent, by

Fishermen with hearts well meant.

Then we can fry them with some garlic and a lovely lemon zest. Hmmhmm. Smack!


Field of Dreams

There’s a clearing in my mind where I can wander,

Like a field of dreams was planted long ago,

Sown by whom I’ve met and all I’ve felt there,

Waiting for the crops that had to grow.


There’s a feeling that I’ve been this way before then,

Like someone gave me glimpse then left my side,

Notional directions then abandoned,

But – not really – more as if they ran away to hide


To see if I could unearth in the threshing

Or the harvest, whenever it should come to pass,

If teasing, in a tempting sort of measure,

Should balance books bet or if I’d come in last.


I feel I’ve failed the test before I started,

Like the race was rigged before I left the block,

Like someone changed the rules and I, as usual,

Was writing or just reading some strange book.


There’s a field of dreams I guess we all get lost in, when

In a semblance of a future once glimpsed past,

We entered name and limbered for the race and

Hoped against all hope we’d not come last.


Strength to muster, this was all we asked for

Strength sufficient and a well-kept pace,

Sweat and toil, all that work notwithstanding,

We thought, believed that we could maybe win this race.


I never was a runner in my dreamings,

Nor in life – I’ve always walked with ease –

Sauntered through, feet always planted firmly

Though my mind has gone its own way as it pleased.


I s’pose, like most, I’m just some kind of farmer,

I trudge through day and work and fret and always feed my sheep,

I sow and reap and gather where I can do,

I rest my head and pray for easy sleep.


But the voice inside my head that keeps on saying,

‘Arise, awake, you’re sleeping when it’s dawn,

Get up and move, the day is almost over,’

Urges me to seek a brand new morn.


One where fields are harvested with fairness

And work’s a task we gladly take in team,

Singing, laughing all the while with gladness

That this is real and not another dream.


I guess I’m dreaming even while I write this,

The status quo exists for world and also me,

The race is almost over, I’m exhausted

And weeping for we all who just won’t see.


I wish I didn’t care and love was easy,

The way it was when dads and mums were glad,

Once upon a time, in some strange dream land,

In field of dreams where none are ever sad.


I can’t believe I’m writing and not hoping,

It’s the news, you see, I really shouldn’t hear,

All that goes around and races onwards

Fills my dreams and field with crop of fear.


But, listen, I know I can’t leave this foray

Into dreams and fields and races and this life

Without one, at least just one, little seed sown.

In love and light, the work is cleaved with sharpest knife.


I guess that what I’m saying is I love you,

Bizarre, I know, when all of you are figments of the light

Cast across my screen like all the seeds sown

Filling field of dreams in day and night


 I wish that I could write in brief, a haiku,

Syllables all counted and best said,

Time being of the essence, that would serve well,

But, alas, that knack in me, bypassed my dreams and head.


I’ll go on dreaming just because I have to,

I know no other way to make things real.

Arise, awake, enact, forgive my earnest ramblings.

I call it, tell it, dream it as I feel.

Voyeured Charm

I love connections – might have mentioned that before. 😉 In my blog reading this morning – long overdue – I wrote of a dream on waking, read of a dream then, inspired by Simon’s lovely poem, wrote this.

forgotten times, alternate rhymes,

dreams within the dreams,

suspended reality, sweet illusion,

nothing as it seems.

escapists’ art, all words impart,

dreams returned to dust,

daytime serves frugality

to dreamers, as it must.

but, come the day, the sleep it holds,

serving all our need,

our nightly visions, voyeured charm,

providence will feed.

Lid Flickers

I close my eyes easily…

A drift of my lids to all dreams…

No slumber, mere silent communion, where

Nothing appears as it seems…

Where ease is no burden, no offering

To idleness, no easy aspire,

No guarantee of all happiness

But freedom to seek out desire…

No moments of misery for any,

For one, not even a few,

Not licence but liberty needed

To seek, to fulfil what is due…

From purpose for lonely existence,

Entrenching the cause of a soul,

Harnessed to physics and chemistry,

Released on completion of goal…

I close my eyes easily…


All of life but a dream,


One moment’s causation,

Light flickered…gone…never seen…


Only Sometimes In Dreams

For many of us, the mental anguish came first; the sliding scale of madness on an undiagnosed spectrum. I had thought it was only me. Not until the The Glazing did the truth begin to reveal itself in the concordant pain of all the others. We all began to awaken then, struggling from a dreamed consciousness, wisps of the ethereal floating out and mingling all the components of perceived reality. Pixels of knowing merged and began to take shape, the emergent visuals clearer before opened eyes. Hazy awareness fought to rise amid the desire to sleep on in blissful ignorance where haunting occurred only sometimes in dreams. But only sometimes.

It’s Not Friday…..

…..but I’ll be busy tomorrow. And I might miss my chance to play along with Steve’s Music Mix. You might not mind. But I do.

So here goes. Thursday’s the new Friday. But just for this week.

Here’s a reminder how it works:

Each week I will post 3 new questions so…

(1) Go to the music player of your choice and put it on shuffle
(2) Say the questions aloud and press play
(3) Use the song title as your answers

Question 1 What I Should do….

Stuck In The Middle With You, Stealers Wheel

‘…clowns to the left of me….jokers to the right….I’m all over the place….please….trying to make sense of it all….don’t think I can take any more….stuck in the middle with you….started off with nothing….slap you on the back…I’ve got a feeling that something ain’t right….’

Well, it’s not as bad as that. But I do get perplexed. From time to time.

Take this week. Well, don’t take this week. It’s pretty much already been taken. And I’ve loved it. Off school. Lots of free time. Weather improved. Kids entertaining themselves. Me reading, writing, blogging. But I’ve taken in so much information one way and another I’m in a kind of spaced out, pass the joint sort of place. Almost euphoric but with a little of the munchies thrown in. Long time ago. But I remember. I also remember wanting to vomit when someone offered me a Mars Bar. Obviously wasn’t going to do the trick. Never mix alcohol with weed. Nor Mars Bars. I, at least, had the sense to decline and thus prevent major embarrassment to myself. Although, I suppose that could be debated. Anyway, back to point. If there was one.

Yes, I do get perplexed. And the more I read and see and observe the worse it gets. Which is why sometimes I hide in the corners of rooms and rock. Nearly. And I was 12 when this came out! Heading to a corner now. 🙂


Question 2 What I Shouldn’t Do….

The Monkees, Daydream Believer

‘…I could hide ‘neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings….cheer up sleepy Jean….what can it mean to a daydream believer….a white knight on his steed…how happy I can be…good times start ….without dollar one to spend…how much do we really need…’

Yeah. A bit of a dreamer here. But I want my own wings to hide under. Then I won’t be dreaming.

Which kind of brings me back to hiding in corners or underneath wings and things. Isn’t escapism a wonderful thing? Now and again. But not too often because then we lose touch with reality. Except what is reality? Other than our own perceptions? See, anyone got some wings till I can grow my own?

Now when I was six I thought I could fly so this is quite apt ‘cos that was my age when this came out. I never wore any of those clothes but I’m pretty sure I recognise a few hair do’s/don’t’s in there. And maybe a dance or two. Btw, did you know Michael Naismith’s mum invented Tippex or Snow-pake or White-out or whatever you want to call it? Google it. I found that out quite by chance some time I can’t remember.

Question 3 What I Will Do….

On A Day Like Today, Keane

‘…I looked at you and I saw something in the way you stared into the sky…..sick and tired…wrong turns….love to tell you….but I ….could never seem to say the things I needed to….on a day like today no other words will do….I saw you…if you only knew….the way I feel….can never find the words….don’t know why…I don’t know why…’

Well, it’s not like me to be short of words. But I suppose there are the odd occasions. Like there’s no way to change someone. People need to change themselves. I know. Sounds obvious doesn’t it? But there’s no changing someone unless they’re at the point where they want to change. I’ve changed. More than once. But I was ready to do so. Fair enough, things had happened, people had said, I had noticed. But in the end, it came from inside me to want to make the change. Good or bad. We’re responsible for ourselves. So yes, sometimes there are times when I’m lost for words because nothing I say may change the heart or mind of someone else. And I think that’s probably true for us all. Gandhi was a smart cookie, wasn’t he?

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.” http://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/08/be-the-change-you-wish-to-see-in-the-world-not-gandhi/

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”  Thoreau?

‘…At least it said the words were Thoreau’s. But the attribution seemed a bit suspect. Thoreau, after all, was not known for his liberal use of exclamation points. When I got home, I looked up the passage (it’s from “Walden”): “I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” ‘  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/30/opinion/falser-words-were-never-spoken.html?_r=0


Funny how we interpret things to suit ourselves. And lose the meaning. Or find it.

Happy weekend when it comes. 🙂

OK. Sheesh. It’s not Friday tomorrow. I was just testing. 😉

No, I’ve lost the plot. But that’s good news for me. I have a whole other day’s holiday. 🙂 See what happens when you’re not reminding kids what day of the week it is. x