Fighting For

(source)

Why are you fighting, why do you foam

What are you fighting for

Why petted pout and tetchy tantrum

The slamming of all open doors

Has someone pained you with their lying

Stolen your toys or treats

Why crocodile tears, the threat of more crying

The stamping of petulant feet

Who has affronted, who has offended

Sensibilities, pride or your dress

Or have you broken fences that cannot be mended

Grow up now and own up, confess

Have you hurt your friends, insulted their name

Been a bully, a braggart, a pest

Are you really culprit and won’t take the blame

Have you really tried what is best

Why are you fighting, what is your cause

And who are you hurting the most

Where common sense in all that is lost

Your brain in meaningless boasts

Time to reflect on the nature and meaning

Why no friends now come to your door

Why are you fighting, what are you fighting

Just who are you fighting for

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By Tooth And Nail

You may write of death, destruction and the dance of seven veils

behead the lies when witnessing pursuit of holy grail

shear the locks of strongest men, deliver their entrails

mine and carry samsonite discovered on the trail

You may scourge systemic flattery that panders while it fails

preserve with crystalled clarity the darkest told of tales

fixate upon minutiae, recalling all details

and balk at circumvention upon the grandest scale

You may write with licensed freedom if no power pressed wholesale

investigate impartially and never truth curtail

bring to public notice and with honesty prevail

integrity of stewardship when sworn by tooth and nail

Trust Held

I almost lost my seventeen year old daughter at the weekend. I let her go to a music festival, trusting in her judgement and in others. Part of that trust was misplaced. She made a huge error of judgement, did something incredibly stupid and ended up in intensive care on a ventilator. No drugs were involved. Except alcohol is very much a drug.

Behaving irresponsibly with it is something probably many of us have done. I know I have. We experiment, we find our limits.

I let a girl – a really good and sensible girl – a really inexperienced girl – go off for a long weekend, out of my reach, out of my jurisdiction, out of my hands.

She failed her own test. Tested her own limits. Stopped breathing.

Her friends, others there – young people – young people who so often get a bad rap – seventeen and eighteen year olds – saved her life with their quick actions. They, the medics there, the staff in the hospital she was taken to – all of them – in the hands of god – returned my girl to me.

She’s fine now, home. She’s shaken, she’s weepy, she’s in some disbelief.

Chris Nelson put life in context for me today. My trust is very much shaken. But also, weirdly, very much reinforced in others.

My daughter, my whole family, owe a huge debt of gratitude to every single hand that reached out and put love and care into action. I can’t ever begin to repay them. I can hardly bear to think of the consequences had they not. But I can’t stop thinking of them.

At least one person lost their life at that festival. How many more ended up in hospital I don’t know. From speaking to the nursing staff and others there I know that two hospitals admitted people – both young and old – with various injuries and complications arising from drugs, weather, conditions at the site, violence.

Eighty thousand people with access to almost unlimited freedoms gives license to act stupidly, irresponsibly, dangerously.

One mother, allowing her seventeen year old to participate in what I never felt quite right about, going against my own judgement, facilitated what occurred.

I’ve made some dumb decisions in my life – like mother like daughter? I’ve been incredibly lucky that none of those decisions have resulted in near death. This was not one of them.

How do I ever trust myself again to…. just how do I ever trust myself again?

One of the reasons I think I have always trusted, despite it sometimes being misplaced, is the belief in inherent goodness in people. Yes, sometimes, I’ll be wrong. But a lot of times, most of times, I won’t.

Rachel fucked up big time. She knows that. She’s learned something it can take a lifetime to learn – that life is precious and we can’t afford to play roulette with it.

I’ve learned that my faith in people is not misplaced. That there will always be people who rise to occasions, go above and beyond, because they’re good people. There are far more of those about I believe than the, admittedly, many who don’t.

I hope Chris won’t mind me quoting part of his poem here, the first post I read today, something I needed badly to hear, the post that prompted this post of mine. I didn’t want to share my stupidity, my daughter’s, our pain, our naivete, but maybe sharing it will help us and others. Chris’s words certainly helped me.

‘With head high

Stepping out into day’s silent arms

Trusting that the wire will hold…

…As you raise your head once more

And look towards the skies.’

Life is trust. To live is to trust. We hope, we pray, we fail, we fall, we rise. We go on. Trusting, because what else can we do?

My trust, overall, was not misplaced.

My belief in others, in love and goodness, in the hand of god in my life was, in fact, reinforced. Mercifully and with thankfulness that will last my lifetime.

I asked my daughter’s permission before posting this because it is not my wish to humiliate her or to cause her more pain. But, what happened at the weekend, how many people were involved in saving my girl, how much I appreciate the NHS, how grateful we all are for the final result and the care shown, is a testament to love and trust in action. My thanks to Rachel for allowing this. Our whole family’s eternal thanks to each and every one. My trust is held.

Household Tips #2

Not quite household. Unless your household includes kids. Kids who are going to their first music festival.

Certainly disrupts the household, so I’m including it here.

It’s now after 2a.m.

All kids of various ages are in their beds. Hubs has been in his for hours. Gotta work, gotta sleep.

Me. I’m sitting with the last glass of a bottle of red wine wondering how in the hell I’m still sane.

Tomorrow, at early o’clock, child number five heads off for five days, four nights of a musical extravaganza known as T in The Park. Known as this because  it once – many moons ago – took place in a park not too many miles from here and was sponsored by Tennents lager.

Now.

Now it has had so many changes of venue to accommodate the ever increasing number of young ones wishing to embrace their feeedom that no park can hold them. This year it’s T in Strathallan. I don’t know where exactly that is either so no sweat on your part.

Where it is doesn’t perturb me. What it is leaves me shivering somewhat.

Thousands of young people dying to embrace their inner hippy will converge on a swamp, in a tent, with alcohol, a few basic essentials. And sing and dance.

I’m good with the last two.

Basic, also, I can do.

But.

Seventeen,  on their comparitive lonesome, at a venue ideal for every criminal recidivist known, not so hot with.

Any evidence of that? None to speak of.

But imagination. Plenty of.

My answer.

Lots of food.

Lots and lots of snacks and protein shakes and bagels and all sorts of shit guaranteed to sop up any and all amounts of alcohol.

She’s a good girl. She’s a sensible girl. But she’s seventeen.

And I have to keep reminding myself of being seventeen. Honestly. And with some credence for common sense.

Her baggage has more food than alcohol. I’m resisting the temptation to go and remove all traces of the offending liquid with a love note in its place saying, ‘Mum was here. Love you.’

But I haven’t. And I trust her.

It’s every other bastard under the sun I don’t trust.

I have closed my ears almost, and now nearly my eyes, to some of the stories, only this evening, being recounted to me by older kids laughing at the fun ahead.

I daren’t think. I don’t want to know.

Tomorrow, in about five hours, I’ll kiss her goodbye. On her return, all being well, and previous experience (plus now current knowledge) in place, I’ll be glad to see her home safe and sound. And I’ll listen to all her adventures. Even knowing they are, undoubtedly, censored.

I must have been a nightmare for my mum. Belated apologies, Mum. Hope you can hear me from here to heaven.

P.S. Does a big bag of Haribo count as food?

PPS. Why is seventeen that liminal age? Sweets or/and booze? Babe or woman? Don’t anyone say the two are synonymous. This might be my fifth time around but it doesn’t get any easier.

The Catch

One brought flowers

charmed in sellophane

but love was wanting

resistant to the 

easy grace

his poise

Another loud

no bouquets

but found daunting

too brash, too flash,

empty

but for noise

Other

graced a table

and alluded

to fortune, fame, fast cars

a catch

he thought

The one who won

brought love itself,

exposed, denuded

stripped of artifice

The catch

well-caught.

Without A Kiss

May we still remember tender moments

Though shattered fragments lie like broken glass

Reflecting willful spent, patent torment,

Decried the future as denied the past.

Might there be a time when softer feelings

Arise to surface, no need to protect,

Shall there be a union, desired healing,

Hopeful, if undetected as of yet.

When the pride and pain have both subsided

Could neutral ground be found where meeting claims,

After we have shared and each confided,

Hearts and souls, truce sincere in all loves named.

Love there was and nothing can forsake this,

Though world of love betrayed without a kiss.

Toddlers’ Steps

All part of the journey,

tiny steps,

toddled steps,

reaching, wond’ring, touching, tumbling,

tentative steps, tiny steps,

falling down and bumping

and rising once again,

toddlers’ steps, the learning ones,

very little steps.

 

Frustrated tears and tantrums,

cautious steps,

toddled steps,

discovery in action,

wondrous steps, toaty steps,

letting go and trusting with some traction found and then

little steps, keep travelling,

very little steps.

 

Forwards, backwards, sideways, standing,

smiling, crying, up aspiring,

bumpy steps, toddlers’ steps,

fingers flailing, clutching, prising,

stumbling, reaching, failing, rising

step by step, step by step,

little butts keep tumbling, bouncing on and up,

teeny, tiny, teaching little steps.

 

perseverance, motion upright, two-step struggle, backwards,

forwards, ever onwards, sometimes upwards,

trying, failing, hurting, crying, immobilised, afraid,

still trying, trusting, seeing, wailing, weeping,

tempers, tantrums, dismayed and greeting,

pulling socks up, tying laces, ready, steady,

balance handy,

tiny little steps.

 

Eyes on loving arms outreaching,

smiling steps, trusting steps,

supporting, cheering, gaze unwaver’d

encouraged steps, building steps,

loving trust and confidence from others on the way,

little steps, the needed ones,

all important steps.

 

Striding out with self-assurance,

tiny steps,

toddled steps,

reaching for all promise,

swaying steps, bipedalled steps,

steps along the journey never really change their gait,

growth and progress toddle on,

determined toddlers’ steps.

 

Sung of Trusting Hearts

Who do you trust with your heartbeat,

Your friend, your husband, your wife,

The one by your side, do you let them inside 

To caress and keep beats of your life.

Is their touch the soft hand of an angel,

The firm but the gentle with heart,

Can you trust that their love will secure it

And keep it from stopping with start.

Do their fingers pulse to your heartstrings

And strum all your worries away,

Kept alive by the touch of another

With heart massag’d lovingly each day.

So who do you trust with your heartbeats,

Be it woman or man of your choice,

Be it child or a friend or a lover,

Let them play you with touch of their voice

For the touch of an angel is spoken

In the words that fall from their lips,

Their blessing sustains all hearts broken

But, more, they protect it from this.

This feels like a song, it sounds like a song to me. The music is optional. Your own tune fits just as well as mine.

 

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! ❤

 

 

Turn The Lights On

Turn the lights on, daddy,

there’s a demon and he’s scheming

and he’s lurking underneath my single bed,

I know that you can’t see him but I feel him

and he’s scratching round and hatching

awful thoughts inside my head,

I need you for my hero

and I trust you with my life

and I believe that you can vanquish all my foes,

So turn the lights on, daddy, please

and leave a little glow before you go.

 

Turn the lights on, mummy,

for the demons have grown larger and they’re looming

in the darkness all around and

I can’t see them but I sense them

and they follow

and they wear me to the ground.

I know that you have answers for you’ve lived a life

and carried thought and love

and won some battles in your day,

I trust that you will guide me and direct me

with your wisdom,

You’ll never steer me wrong no matter what I say.

So turn the lights on mummy, please,

And show to me the lightness of your ways.

 

Leave the lights on, darling,

to the demons of your darkness

in the night that come to steal,

let me see your demons dancing, I’ll destroy them,

we’ll be stronger when we fight them, both together,

we have power in the loving, can’t you feel.

We’ll spread it out and round and up and down,

we’ll cover corners, every base that comes along

and fight the fight we have to win,

we’ll vanquish ghosts and ghouls and demons,

terrors of the night and daylight hours,

every torment, everything.

So leave the lights on, baby, I’ll protect you,

You’ll protect me, we’re a team.

 

Turn all the lights on, fetch the torches

bring the candles, lamps and shining stars

and blazing sun,

the demons are retreating,

we have power all around us,

they are fearful and we’ve got them on the run.

All these demons, they’re illusion

and their danger is persuasion

and it’s fear all children fear along their spine

and it grows along beside us and defeats us,

all negation, all abstraction

and it subjugates our light to shine.

So turn the lights on, leave the lights on,

we’re all children but, together, with our beacons, we’ll be  fine.