Fledgling In Hand

Fledgling_Bombycilla_cedrorum

(source)

…and in all dreams

I soar

and risk

and shelter

alien to life

awake demands

be there, do this, 

must do better,

in dreams

another life

in different hands

gentler hands than mine own

more forgiving

big and soft and strong enough

to hold my all

fledgling am I

not yet born to living

in dreams

I’m free

to risk

and fly

and never fall

Reading a poem by Paul this morning and immediately agreeing with its sense of other worldness. I recall a lot of dreams. Not sure why. But I love them. It’s a whole other world where I’m almost a different me. The essence of self perhaps rather than the shell-encased. Or not. But most enjoyable.

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Curse or Cure

As one who buys into the curse of honest self-reflection,

I ponder ruse that briefs process, selective recollection,

Doughty effort, spirit voice, appraisals for collection,

Doubts regale, does truth prevail in analysed introspection.


And say what should the truth reveal in all the moments pensive,

Would aught be learned or changed withal or rejected, I dismissive

At risen thought and actions wrought, words that I have spoken,

Accepted, viewed, for change previewed, or merely selfish token.

A gesture only, naught confessed to mind and all that matters,

Hidden guilt, a comfort quilt, then tossed in pieces, scattered.

No perfection, no, not here, nor nearly, though aspired,

Appraisals made, some darker shades of earthbound, deep desires.

Very much a worldly way in living here below,

These thoughts that haunt, as spectres gaunt, a valve restrictive flow

To missives from my spirit born, my better half, by far,

Reflections thrust, my heart unjust, life and time to scar.

But still, I ponder, recollect, review and hope rebounds

That thinking ranges, plans the changes, till spirit voice resounds.

Matins’ Bell

‘I’m tired now’, he said, by light of darkness,

mumbled into night his waking thoughts,

a plaintive sort of fatigued exaltation,

no defeat but crushed by earthly knocks.

A glimmer in the darkness listened keenly,

spluttered into life to ease his pain,

descended on his forehead as he struggled

pasting joys in desiccated pains.

In dreams he saw a dancer up above him,

then dancing on the parquet floor of hairless pate

and, in the gentle tapping of her footsteps,

he traversed back in time through all life’s gates.

To childhood days that merged with church’s bell ring

and infant hands so soft within his grasp,

sunshine holidays and harder times when

they’d pulled in belts and wondered if, perhaps,

the work and want, the endless, restless passage,

fraught with cares and doing all he could

were worth the love of all that gathered round him.

He sighed in sleep and smiled at all the good.

The dancer danced and then lay flat upon him,

impressed herself, as light, into his mind,

bestowed the recollected visions of his voyage

and whispered tunes he’d carried deep inside.

His breathing eased and slowed to mellow movements,

shallow sighs belied the deeper well,

exchange of life, the price became apparent,

sleep on in peace or ring aged matins bell.

Light maintained its presence in his mindset,

centred on his soul when he awoke,

he smiled at love that lay asleep beside him

and whispered thanks to angels when they spoke.

Reunion

Cry gently, my love, in parting,

loud tears mar the time we shared as one.


 Weep softly, to music,

errant chords plucked at only just begun.


Tread lightly, my sweetness,

fragile heart may break at one more tap.


Embalm me, my angel,

fly to me, wing’d aura be your guiding map.


 Know nothing need part us,

no distance, time, nor space created in between.


 Be ready, alert to

my sighs arising, soft slowness pitched to keen.


 Stand steady, my fortress,

strength of Everest to your scaling feet.


Awaken my dreaming,

shift silken drapes, in dawn’s rays we meet.

 

 

May Music, Day 9 – Wings of Hope…..and mercy

OK. NOT he who shall be obeyed, but the pussycat with ‘the helmet that scares the bejaysus out of me’ is asking, for question 9  of the 25 day music challenge, which song I associate with hope. Oops, hold on. Need to insert a little image here. Every other bugger has it.

25-days And I will figure out how to put this fecker in my side bar. Makes life so much easier when things are organised. I aspire to organisation. Aspirations. Got to have them.

I thought about this all day.

I did.

Back and forth. In between other bits of things like work and weans.

And, at first, I thought of ‘I Will Survive’, because most hope is a wish for something in the face of adversity. And that particular song is a kind of ‘get-it-up-you’, sort of finger to the north wind type of song. Well, it is if you live where the north wind raises your kilt and blows round your nethers, irking every part of you that should be warm and cosy.

Then I came home from work and had a rethink.

And do you know what? I changed my mind. Woman. Prerogative.

Now, I’ve posted here before about my wish that if I could be any sort of creature I wanted (apart from a woman which, obviously, would be everyone’s choice) I’d want to be an eagle. Mainly because it can fly. And it’s gorgeous. And it is master/mistress in its own world. Why would anyone not want that?

Then. I had another thought. I’m not really worthy of being an eagle. Eagles are powerful, magnificent wing-beaters of immense proportions in their world. They are majestic. They demand and command the skies. They are the pinnacle of birds. And answer to no one.

I do. I answer to life. To responsibilities. To commitments. To so much. An eagle is therefore my metaphor for escape when I can’t cope. It’s my mercy bird. Please don’t eat me. Save me.

Then I got to thinking that I don’t want majesty. I want mercy. For all the times I’ve been a shit. An unhopeful, desperate, fall to my knees, gawd-somebody-help-me sort of shit.

Then I thought I’d have a wee nap cos I was up to all hours last night planning a lottery win with TD. (They’re on, btw, TD! Two nights worth!)

Then my brain went, ‘Aye! You think so?!’ Give me all this gear to work on then think you’ll wake up to a wee poem, ready made? No sleep for you, china. Have it now or not at all.’

This came to be.

shale shifts beneath my tread,

i flail and stumble,

a rumble from beneath, within,

i feel.

this mountain that i scale

pours forth its scarlet

and bleeds its heat through soles.

I fall. I kneel.

raising eyes, i spy a distant image,

nearing, circling, searching for its prey,

its majesty knows mercy

and i mumble, then cry unto its

eye to make its way

to where i’ve risen, on this journey upwards,

on shaky legs, with stoic heart and hope,

and, just when all seems lost to fear and reason,

it dives and lifts,

i’m airborne and i cope.

the wings beneath my essence

are much stronger

than the wind beneath my own

when all seems bleak,

heavenwards i raise my heart

and mind and spirit.

Inner core is known. No need to speak.

So, ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ it is. Only, most days, I fly without wings. Depending instead on the wings of others, in whatever form, to raise me up.

And, on a slight aside here, TD. One of your other contributors commented in a post that it was becoming more difficult.

I know where she’s coming from. Unlike my self-imposed A-Z mythology challenge, music permeates everything.

It’s in every part of our lives, from the first arse-rocking rhythm that a babe sways along to, to every piece ever heard in the course of our lives that ever meant anything to us. That’s a lot of music. Tons of the stuff to try and filter to something that encapsulates your questions.

But, do you know what? It rocks.

From the moment of thinking, ‘This is the one’ to the realisation that, ‘No. This speaks better for me.’ Quite a feat.

And I do so like a challenge that seeks to condense.

How many days left? Apologies to all the bloggers I’m not reading as frequently as I would. Blame the guy in the mask. And my own need to rise to a challenge. Aspirations. Got to have them. 😉

Ball Out Of Play

There’s a game that people play but I don’t get it;

it’s called take offence when none intent is there.

I’ve seen it all, enacted in my family,

with exes; dearest siblings pulling at their hair.

It’s a power sort of game that leaves a flavour;

a bitterness that tastes of dank decay,

when wealth of hate showers forth in spittle

but not for any words they had to say.

It’s for being who you are but they don’t like it;

like you’re happy and they can’t believe that’s real,

so the vitriol or silence seek to thwart it,

expunge the love, let crusty scabs not heal.

It’s a game I see in work and with companions,

as if life is just too easy so let’s fight;

a soap opera to my reality, really,

I don’t get it! How can this attitude resemble right?

Naivete has always been my virtue

and my vice as well, if truth be told at last;

I never comprehend that I’ve offended

for it’s the last thing that I’d seek, so always ask.

I’ll move my knight to your rook and I’ll ponder

the route to trap and check the king, no vice,

I’ll throw the dice and play the cards and wonder

if betting on the game is worth the hellish price.

I’ll move my dog and hope that I collect some

prize or fund for playing my game fair,

but changing rules, anarchic games that some love,

are way beyond the bet I’d ever dare.

There are bastards in this world, please don’t doubt it,

I know god loves them just as much as me,

but I decline to play the games they’re playing

and leave, I hope, with vestigial dignity.

I’ll watch from sidelines when my friends are challenged,

I’ll bite my tongue and pray for some control

but never when I see a bully smirking;

I’ll jump right in and save that goddamn goal.

The penalty of those who play this game; you know,

the one, where winners there are none, or broken souls,

is loneliness forever, never reaching,

destitute in spirit; fragmented whole.

Hunted

fakir flaunts his power and releases

demons, drawing to souls where light has dwelt.

pleas of mercy, screams, no one appeases.

compassion none, despite the souls who knelt.

victims all to stalker on his prowling,

no hiding place, no basement refuge near.

cerebral pain, nerves to jangle, howling,

bitten wounds on worm’d flesh assault appear.

hunted down, unmasked, a scented quarry,

conceptual hounds bay their callous cries.

nowhere on earth prey may pray or worry;

supplication sought, revealed sordid lies.

medicinal, no sugar coated pill,

mouth, ears, eyes now wide open; hunted still.

In Awe

In Awe. Alternative award post. Video rather than written. Well, I’m shattered! And relaxing. And talking is so much easier than writing. Well, it is. 🙂 x

 

Ali And I don’t even know how I managed to leave Ali out of my video. I’m not doing the video again. Are you joking me? It’s tomorrow already. But, Ali, one of the truth speakers on difficult subjects, you’re there with the others mentioned. Blame Friday. And tiredness. 😉

Rene You rock! Hang on in there. When the deal is done you can raise the victory. One direction or other.

Shirley Soul sister fearlessly living and telling it how it is.

Trey Not his funny posts but an insight into a difficult subject. The funnies are well worth a read though!

Morgan Just so romantic! And words worthy of love.

John Afraid. And unafraid. Touching subjects some just dare to.

Desiree The eyes of the world. And a soul.

Poetic Passions Not one of his risque ones! But I love this. My absolute favourite.

Maryrose One of the ones that Maryrose does so well.  Listens to whispers on the wind then passes on truth that free thoughts.

Mike Learning what matters. And proving it in words. And in living.

Kerry Thanks, Kerry. Isn’t it awful always to need a nudge to get going? 😉

 

 

 

 

Coming Out Of The Closet. Courtesy of Suzie.

When I started blogging 7 months ago I was entirely anonymous and felt fairly free in saying pretty much anything. Although I would never identify specific people. Too much of the teacher and private person in me for that.

As time has gone on and I have felt more comfortable within the community and in my writing and strength of feelings on certain subjects I have opened up more about myself but it does give me some concerns.

The more I have revealed of myself the greater the likelihood that I will be discovered and might get into trouble for ‘swearing’ or touching on certain subjects and being identified as a teacher by specific name.

The odd thing is I’m at the point where I don’t give a shit. I’ve been toying with the idea of going for promotion in a particular school and have to make my mind up within the next few days. I then began to think of what impact my blog and posts would have on my prospects and current position if they were connected. And, do you know what? Right at this moment in time I would rather forego promotion and even my job than be shut up.

Now, I’ve just turned 53, Suzie, and you’re just a young thing with your whole career ahead of you so, yes, I would worry more had I been doing this years ago. Now I feel like nothing can shut me up and I need to say what is strong within me. It’s not that I can afford to lose my job. But I feel now that writing and expressing and communication on many levels have become more important and I can’t live another moment, let alone years, not being out here speaking my truths.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think twice about what I post. I review and consider content and ‘flavour’. But, ultimately, I think, see, write and post.

Your post, Suzie, has come at an exact moment of rightness for me because I tonight posted something that was born of an awful day and I thought to myself, ‘Folk won’t like this. Wee Mrs. Sunshine is having an off day.’ But that’s life and it’s real.

You’re real to me, Suzie as are so many of the people I have ‘met’ here. There is a reason why we are blogging. What I am coming to realise is that no matter the blogger, anonymous or otherwise, there is a multitude of people who NEED to communicate to the world. I don’t know all the whys and wherefores of this. But it is a powerfully strong urge and it is important to those doing it. And, I think, to those reading.

It does feel to me like a massive reaching out of hands and minds and souls. People being prepared, even shyly, to open up to others and reveal their truths And, in the process, help each other realise that we are not alone in our experiences and our thoughts and doubts.

There is a world of feeling and understanding and insights to be gained just from the ‘mere’ act of sharing and reading.

I could no more let this go than fly. Although, I do think I can fly anyway. In fact, let me elaborate on that.

I always thought I could fly. Right up until I was in my twenties! If only I could find the way. Then I realised I was being foolish. I stopped believing I could. Although I still wanted to. Now I feel I can again. And that, to me, is writing. If I were to censor too much I would cut my wings. I can’t do that again.

Now I will still do videos ‘incognito’ ‘cos that has as much to do with acting the post as anything else. That and some days I look and feel like shit. And I just want to get the thing done. But, in the immortal words of Meryl Streep, in Mamma Mia!….’for one time and one time only…….

….for those of you who know me a bit and for those of you who know me well or not at all.

My name is Anne-Marie Hurley.

mibbe

I am a mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, godparent, cousin, teacher, etc, etc, etc. And I am a blogger. Bloggers Anonymous!

But firstly, I am spirit.

Then human.

Then woman.

And if I can’t speak my truths of life as how I see and think and feel then I can’t fly. And I won’t accept that again.

If the teaching profession cannot accept that their teachers are people then it does not deserve to be called education. We all bring ourselves to the job. I am not a pervert. I am not a criminal. But I have thoughts and feelings that I am entitled to express should anyone wish to read them. I will always keep private those things that I feel deserve to be kept thus. Those things I am not privileged to reveal because they concern others and would mar confidences. But, as for the rest, my ‘me-ness’, it’s going out there. Because I will fly freely. I will fall. But, by the rights of all ‘to be’, I will rise again.

I’ve had a shitty day. But now I feel so much better. Thanks, Suzie. YOUR honesty and transparency have convinced me that, for me, right now, there is no other way. Thank you.

 

And, further to the note of honesty, I am, within the next week or so, going to do an award post that ‘honours’ those who speak out on sexuality and sensuality and are unafraid to do so. We deem certain subjects to be taboo. And yet they are part of all of our lives. We may couch our feelings in poems or pictures or stories but we feel and we think and we are. Shame and judgement does not or should not come into it. I’ll get working on that one. I have no idea yet whether the awards given to me may be used for sex and sensuality but I’m pretty sure I can work around that. 🙂