In Praise Of Unique

Before there was liberation

There was salutation,

Supplication,

Fear.

Before there was liberation

There was sadness

Mixed with joy

And some tears.

Before there was liberation

There was angst

Filled with worry,

Too much noise.

Still, with the liberation,

Sadness, tears and worry

Don’t depart

But now they’re voiced.

 

For my beautiful daughter.

Heart of my life,

One of the seven.

One of the world.

Unique.

For our children.

All children.

All unique.

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Pluck And Fuck

There’s a weed grows wild in my garden,

I kill it but it still survives,

No poison or potion imagined

Can quell it, it lives though frequently dies.

It buries beneath to find nurture,

It spreads out, could take over the land,

But I prune it with shears every morning

Or else it would get out of hand.

It’s a bugger that haunted my growing,

Taunted whenever it could,

I bought all the pellets, I cropped it,

I did what I was told that I should

To stifle its errant persuasion

For no one can live while it feeds,

It sucks all the flavour from living,

It thrives as can only a weed.

I looked again, freshly, one morning,

I hated its sight in my eyes,

Recognised world and its worries

And my nature combined fuelled its lies.

I wept at the weed, strong despite me,

Forgave it its nature and face

But begged for the chance to grow flowers

In most of the wide-open space.

I became gardener to flowers,

To roses and riots of blooms,

I decreed weed was unwelcome,

I accept it but it gives me some room

To be all the me that I can be

For inside of the weed there’s a charm,

Understanding its nature, accepted,

I refused to be controlled or be harmed

By the power of depression that fixes

Into crevices, people and place,

I chose to be happy, I still do,

In spite of the weeds that I face.

Its not all a garden of roses,

It’s not all a wasteland of weeds,

I plant what I can, where I can,

How I can, and hope is the best of my seeds.

Now I see gardens where both grow,

Possession is nine-tenths the law,

I pluck them, I fuck all the stranglers,

Rose-tinted with a hopeful hacksaw.

 

I recognise that there are many types of depression and that not all can be addressed by a shift in perception. For me, it worked. It was either that or live on anti-depressants. The world depressed me and is still capable of doing so. I choose not to let it as best as I can. With hope and fight. And every tool at my disposal – sharpened.

 

Strength

Give me reasons. I need reasons.

Sometimes love is not enough.

                        Give me choices. I need choices.

                        Sometimes fear makes choices tough.

Give me answers. I need answers.

Sometimes answers are hard to take

                       Give me peace, please. I need peace.

                       Sometimes peace is a welcome break.

Take my mind, please. And my heart.

Take my hands and show the way,

                        Take my freedom and captivity,

                        Take my feet and lead away.

Give me patience. I need patience.

Take my restless spirit and hold.

                        Give me balance; equilibrium,

                        Calmer life, but with actions bold.

Leave my worries and my thoughts, please,

In a lake that’s deeper than miles,

                        Remove the fretting and the workplace;

                        All the trials that forsake my smiles.

When it’s written I feel better,

Like an ocean has subdued, consumed

                       All the reasons that in life I

                      Have been wound up; upon presumed.

Now the melee is behind me

And my refuge is in sight,

                    Quieter moments, pad and pen here

                    Soothing words I have to write.

Gentle thrumming, plucked in time, the guitar chords

Within my mind, music strumming, tempoed to my written words.

                   There are reasons why we suffer, moments lost that crush the soul,

                  Angry thoughts blurring serenity, fragments chipped from what is whole.

I can do this, just like you can, I can rise up after fall.

Time to think, pull together, remember why I’m here at all.

                   Too much doing, no time to think, too much action, moments lost.

                  Days like this, in life so chosen, I stop, at last, to count the cost.