Rationality

Don’t tell me what I do is wrong, you’d never try it anyway.
Don’t try to teach me how you think, I don’t care what you’ll say.
If I had to live a life like your’s I’d lose my mind within a day.
If you really want to help someone then try a different way.
I don’t care about your sermons, about your common bloody sense.
I don’t care how you choose to live your life, your sensible pretense.
Just leave me be, I’m happy here, where my mind and I still play.
I’ll let you be and let you live when and where ever you want to stay.

Poetic Antidote

And here, in contrast to the previous piece is something more positive in nature, I’m not all doom and gloom, I like to strike a healthy balance of all the main mood groups (although this isn’t always feasible; oh well).

For all things

For all things, a time must come
For it matters not who lost or won
For all those things we might have said
For all the blood that we have shed
For songs and rhymes and stories penned
It matters not, for all things must end

For all things there is a place
For everyone who runs this race
For every life, be it long or brief
For every smile or tear of grief
For everyone who plays their part
Who finds in life a counterpart

For all things are joined as one
For every voice a song is sung
For every heart that lost it’s way
For every soul set free to play
For we are all made of light and dreams
No matter how cold the darkness seems.

Not For Anyone In Particular

I wrote this poem not for anyone who has offended me, nor for those who might. I suppose it’s just an expression of the kind of internal mental pressures that tend to build up and an exercise in filing them in a safe location.

Just don’t

I just don’t want to hear it, it’s never what I need.
I just don’t want to see you, and all your selfish greed.
I just don’t need your whining and your constant derogation.
I just don’t think that I can stand the endless aggravation.
I just don’t want to hear this now, the insults and the lying.
I just don’t think that I can take another damn day’s crying.
I just don’t want to take this, now I know I’m gonna break.
I just don’t think you’re worthy of the life I’m gonna take.

Painted Faces.

We all paint our faces, to hide so no-one knows.
we all dress up so pretty, and hope the pain just goes.
we all with eager footsteps chase the same idyllic goal.
we all pretend through weeping eyes as we slowly lose our soul.

The biggest lie I ever tell is simply ‘I’m okay’.
the smile I paint across my face to keep me lying every day.
the smiles and friendly gestures of the other’s painted grins.
the sick and bitter contents of their thinly veiled sins.

If Inside Were Out.

If your inside were out, would I have fallen all the same? Would I have eagerly tried to own you the way I did? Had I known what lay beneath that overbearing facade, that beguiling disguise, would I still have snapped you up when I finally found the chance? I Don’t like to think that a book should be judged by it’s cover, nor do I like to believe that external perfection precludes the presence of internal perfection but in you I was sold from the start, the second i looked at your divine countenance I was certain you would be mine.

But, as with all things, it was not to last. The changes you went through were drastic it’s true, but the way you changed so brazenly, so hotly at first was a thrill as I watched you rise and colour until eventually after endless, countless time had passed you gave yourself and I knew from the first taste that it was wrong, that I had nothing to look forward to but disappointment and regret but still I went on; I went on until I could take no more and now all i can do is gaze on those sad, grey remnants that were all I left and wonder to myself if your inside were out would I have fallen all the same?

This, dear readers, is why I don’t usually buy supermarket pizza.

Two Good Days.

Well, as the title implies the past two days have been pretty darn good; On Tuesday I was invited to attend a close friend’s twenty week scan of her expected child . It was a truly fascinating experience, I had no idea that ultrasound scanning could produce such clear cross sectional images of an unborn but still strong and healthy child, certainly something to cross off my ‘things I have now done’ list.

Today was an excellent day too, I went to Preston with an old friend whom I have known some twenty five years. For those of you who may not be from good ol’ Blighty, Preston is a city in the north west of England. It was just good to get away from home for a bit, hang with a friend and enjoy some seriously awesome food. We went to a fantastic little sushi bar, had amazingly good sushi, katsu curry and ramune, then hied ourselves to a couple of cool international food markets to pick up all manner of foods that we can’t read the names of and then repaired to a quaint tea house for iced tea.

(shameless links/plugs to the places we went provided in case anyone is in/near/visiting Preston anytime soon)                         As I type this I’m sitting at my computer drinking coke and orange lucozade from a cheap plastic cocktail glass because I can gol’darnit and because it’s the little bits of fun and the awesome days that have lead up to them that make life more than just monotony.

Connections.

In a world so connected we are now, more than ever, utterly alone. We search google for answers from total strangers, we seek acceptance from others based on trivial interests rather just being the people we are. It’s easier to post online than to use the same phone to just hear a real voice or go for simple walk and just talk nonsense and get it off your chest. This world is more connected than ever and yet still we couldn’t be more distant.

There are those who live their lives through the camera, as though a life isn’t real unless every frame is documented for the global audience; There are those whose camera shields them from responsibility, another person being beaten, bloodied and helpless and yet the phones are used to record the event rather than to call for help.

We make ourselves connected across countries, even oceans, but never try to connect with a person sitting in the same room. Our connections keep us in touch while driving us apart.

The Spirit Tree.

The Spirit Tree

In an empty moonlit hollow, in the middle of the night,
The Spirit Tree is blooming; it is such a wondrous sight.
With it’s burning crimson flowers and the jet black of it’s bark
And the leaves like glowing embers, making shadows in the dark

When next the full moon rises and the tree sets forth it’s fruits
And the slumbering angel wakens, sleeping deep within it’s roots
The revellers will come again, to dance and laugh and sing
To eat the bittersweet berries that rob life of it’s sting

For the angel sleeping soundly in the earth beneath the tree
Was once a simple mortal, just the same as you and me
Her name is lost to memory but her legacy lives on
The fruit the tree produces bringing joy to everyone

And though her name forgotten, her life remembered still
And her memory is honoured in the deepest winter chill
But the revellers who visit on the same night once a year
Know that to be a glutton brings horror, pain and fear

The gift of the sleeping angel is to take away life’s pain
And she gives her fruit to those in need time and time again
But for those who take too much of it, the gluttonous and cruel
A fitting end awaits for them, so please be not a fool.

For here we see just such a man, as he takes more than his need
As he feasts upon the berries to slake his needless greed
He even keeps the seeds, which are not the man’s to keep
And as he leaves the hollow he feels his flesh begin to creep

The angel is now angry, in her bed within the roots
As her anger reaches out, the stolen seeds set forth new shoots
The shoots begin their winding, writhing way into his skin
And the man is given pause now to reflect upon his sin

The seeds keep on their growing, through flesh and blood and bone
Until another tree is growing in another hollow all alone
But this tree will never flower and will never bear it’s fruits
For it is not a sleeping angel kept in pain among the roots

So if you ever find, in midwinter ice and snow
A single tree in it’s lonely hollow with it’s warming leaves aglow
Remember when you see the berries growing, so very ripe indeed
The Spirit Tree gives kindly to those who take just what they need

For those who take from others the gift the tree gives oh so kindly
Who take more than they need, so very cruel and blindly
The Spirit Tree will make you pay and forever your bones will lay
Amidst the roots of your own hellish tree until the judgement day.