#Fuck!

The shakes are beginning!

I’m starting to quake.

No more blogging!

I feel like a flake,

Imagining a world where here I feel I belong

Yet, denying its presence to sing my own song.

Can’t do this, I’m sweating (although I’m quite cool 😉 )

I’m raring and ready but shit what a fool

I’ll feel, if I start this and fall at first fence.

Guess I won’t know lest I try, my defence,

Believing and dreaming that maybe the might

Is not quite so distant as seen at first sight.

2000 I’m sorted! Better than Twitter,

I’m a talker, a writer (sic), I’m not bitter,

To try and not muster is better supposin’

I fail, nope won’t hear that, I try, I prevail.

I’m waffling, excuse me, I’ll miss you like hell.

That’s part motivation so I’ll be back just to tell

The tale of the author who talks and who tried.

Luck wished between us. Feck, I’m so fried!

Nah! I’m not worried. I know you’re forgivin’,

I’ve read you all here and you’re all blessed from heaven.

You get it, you know it, I know that you do,

It’s a drive born among us, I feel it like you.

I can’t do the Twitter though I’ll be tempted if words

Fail me in novel, I’ll just twoot #absurd.

One more this evening I think that’s the score.

Waffling for Scotland #Independence #once more. 😉

Well, you didn’t imagine that my freedom had gone to hell, did you?

#No chance.  On till all the dreams are realised. Feck, missed a hashtag there somewhere. #bollocks!

 

No Dress Rehearsal

Who would shun the chances that life offers,

Negate potential gain because of fears?

Who dismisses what each chalice proffers

But begs with thirst and cries for wasted years?

Why would any soul still fond of living

Draw blinds when sunbeams herald daybreak’s gift,

Huddle down in darkness, scared of shining,

Allow all fleeting moments then to drift?

A sullied sort of existential ruin

That wishes for and prays then barters grief,

Wails their woeful howls at waning moon, with

Persistent yet but absent self-belief.

‘No dress rehearsal’ – words fit to ponder.

Gratitude and action make for wonder.

The Meaningful Key

Minus mic,

his voice still carried,

barely and with just enough humour

to detect genuine humility

and passion.

He spoke

of early sadness,

not being good enough

and

finding meaning.

He spoke

of childhood,

of family split

and dodging school

to fail.

He spoke

of finding

worth in himself

through purpose

and work

and sharing

a shed

with rats,

cockroaches,

scary spiders

and other youths

in a far-off land

where native children

were taught in awe and desperation,

drinking thirstily,

desperate for education.

He spoke

of forgiving himself

and his mum,

of whispered prayer

to find strength.

He spoke

of changes

in direction

to aspire

to doctor dream,

of local service

then returning

to Africa,

giving back

what he had found.

He spoke

of waiting soon

his first child –

to spontaneous applause

at his awed thrill.

His face lit

the stage.

A lad, I thought,

of tender years

for nothing

marred

his glowing face.

But experience

lent truth

to his age

and joy in life.

From sad and broken beginnings,

he spoke,

while I choked back tears

at radiant happiness

and a voice

that spoke

to youths

and adults alike.

He spoke

of finding

the meaningful key.