It's not far off and to exercises it Is your deed.
Whether you recognise it or not it's there.
Not to give concern or to scare.
It just is that's all.
So if you can't run from realities clutch.
Just deny it exists; .... As such.
If it didn't happen then what's the problem?
If it's not there, there is no fear.
If it's your world you don't have to hear.
Just be wise, because you get what you earn.
One day when a corner you turn.
Reality you'll meet face to face.
That's the way it is in life.
It's always the case.
Why not turn around and look into it's eye?
What does it matter if it makes you cry; it must be better to know the time.
When you have to be strong, a time "you" pick can't be wrong.
Once it's done the shadow will lift.
You'll feel a fresh, a joy.
Like receiving a gift.
A gift from you to you.
Only you hold the key so turn it in the lock.
Set yourself free, face your fears that lay within.
Face reality, warts and all.
Face the truth whatever it be.
Face yourself the hardest of all.
Remove the barrier take down the wall.
Wake up to the truth hear the call.
*****************************************
C!/see/sea
An amusing play on words, I was a bit off my head at the time. Not a bit surprising.
I look to sea
To see what I can see
But all I see Is sea
in front of me:
A bare expanse,
For beating fish
from South to
The beating sea
That's all I see
in front of me
I wonder what's for tea !!
We'll have to wait
And C.
*****************************************
Whitehaven
One day I was reading my local newspaper when I noticed what small things bother people, traffic, road-works, even old run down buildings, they don't see what's all around them, what a waste, like that saying, "can't see the wood for the trees ".
It's, Georgian by decree with a castle.
A church up a hill and it sits by the sea.
As a port it was second only to London town.
But the tall ships stopped coming.
It soon became run-down.
The way silted up.
A bar was to form.
The castle of Lawther was no more a home.
The Father of the Navy, (That's USA).
Left these parts for life anew.
Soon to come back, marauding one day.
He spiked the cannon one cold night.
He came with his navy all set for a fight.
His victory was hollow.
No one knew, and there was no one to follow.
No one knew he'd concord the UK.
All alone he couldn't find a fight.
So he stopped off in the Paul Jones and drank a pint.
When he returned to the USA.
He told of his victory.
And; why he didn't stay,
"The roads are appalling;
the traffic's a joke.
There's word of better things.
But that's just all talk."
Then on he went.
"I asked for the town centre,
The hub!
That's when I was sent to the pub."
How then?
Asked the matlows.
The eager young men.
"One night in the Jones, and my crew were inebriated.
The bar staff kept serving and the town just waited.
Until that is;
the tide did ebb away.
I thought it best to leave that day."
Whitehaven folk good as they be.
Held him no malice.
The Admiral of the sea.
If only he said what he was about.
He could have stayed after time!! Instead of last shout.
Now the paint is bright and new.
The harbour now wet and what a view.
From the top of the beacon. Out to sea.
On the arisen a sail I see.
Is this again invaders from afar?
Nearer and nearer the sails appear.
As the image in the glass reveals the sheer; delight.
The Ensign is white.
The crew!
But boys on the training ship Swan.
They berth in the marina and on the ebb-tide their gone.
The Lawther castle is now a mess.
You don't know who's to blame?
I'm sure you could guess!!
It's a prime site in the town.
And the plan of the owners? Is to knock it down.
Tesco, or the Coop would love the site.
Don't let them have it without a fight.
Custodians of this world we are.
And not everybody has a car.
So think of the future.
Remember the past.
Nothings forever, the dye it is cast.
Like the paint on the "pram-shop" Some thing's just won't, Forever last!!
*****************************************
I see an Angel
Written for every angel wherever they are and whoever they are. To wait for a man to come out of prison has got to be the sign of an angel.
I need to forge a new alphabet.
To help describe the feelings, emotions.
The new things inside, the new sights I see.
The new version of me.
The lover, the carer, you and I, we.
Inside jail or on the street.
Every morning I wake, your name passes my teeth.
As though saying your name;
somehow may make the illness of prison blow far away.
Like a cherry tree blossom.
On a warm spring morn.
If you'll be the rose;
I'll be the thorn.
I'll be the one to support you through troubles.
To help you float through the air.
Like fairy wishing bubble's.
To help you sleep through the night.
Whilst stroking your hair.
When you awaken I brighten like a flare.
When I think of you,
I smile; my insides go warm.
As though your the African sun.
I'm the south pole storm.
I start to blush though I'm thinking nothing wrong.
When I feel weak, your smile makes me strong.
You give me strength, I know I know you.
Whether lover or friend I'll always stay true.
When I kiss your lips my aura glows.
You can see the admiration through my eyes it shows.
I ask myself is this true?
Because I've seen an Angel.
That Angel is you.
*****************************************
Set sail
I had a dream, l have a dream, that one day I'll sail off into the sunset on a tall ship all alone with no destination and in no great hurry, having, no destination I will never be late and I'll never be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Weigh anchor me-lad.
We're slipping away from this bay.
At the dead of night when;
the tide is just right for clearing the river mouth at best height.
Full moon shinning on the black sea top.
Eddies whirling beneath the Bow-Spit; balustrade.
Ship's masts all in a line. Like sailors on parade.
Slowly we slip past in the light breeze that fills our sails one by one.
And moves her heavy hull seaward on.
The light on the p
oint stands on watch.
like an anxious mother searching for lost children.
Flashing on and off it shows the way home;
it shows danger of rocks in the storm.
Set the main her the bow rears up.
To ride the waves like a thoroughbred she in alive!
Cutting through the tops of the surf onward we strive.
Five fathoms below her keel
As we head into the western night black.
The ship she heels over on the starboard tack.
Water lapping over the gunwale wall.
Such a vast ocean and we; so small a thing upon it.
West we go for day after day.
Never stopping once, along the way.
No ships appear upon that sea.
No one in sight but my ship; and me.
And all around nothing but water;
blue and vast.
I see far from the button on the top of the mast.
I see far into the distant haze.
No matter how long I look.
Nothing fills my vacant gaze but water.
This is the spot.
This is the place that now.
After all this time looking I've finally found.
The dolphins that swim off my bow-spit end.
I can truly call them my friend.
The stars that shine in the night sky.
Show me the reason why we are here; at all.
The universe laid out before me.
So vast, me so small, truly is an impressive thing.
Like the light on the point in that bay far away.
Showing the safe water under my keel.
The stars tell me which way to turn her wheel for "haem."
Heading back the way I've came having found the spot.
I've fulfilled the aim of my desire that to be all alone on an ocean.
Far from land and under a sky of which I'll never tire.
*****************************************
Depression
Lunatic comes for the word lunar, meaning, of the moon and a lunatic is some one that changes with the cycle of the moon. Women are said to have a twenty eight day cycle, is it not strange that the moon also works on a twenty eight day cycle? If you think you know depression and you've never been in jail, you’re deeply wrong.
Night sky black.
The world on my back.
The walls of my pit steep.
My mind deep inside itself.
A chink of light shows through the night.
As the door slowly becomes ajar.
All friends seem so far from me.
I can't see anyone.
I don't know where they are!!
No one comes near.
For fear I may hold.
Eyes downcast in fear, of questions asked.
No room in my pit for anyone but me.
Walls so shear no one can come near my world of doom.
The door to my room opens more.
In comes a little stronger the light, in the night-sky I see.
A glimpse of the moon; growing every night.
And the door revealing, more and more light.
The pit's walls, I see the top.
Are not that shear, to hold me back.
Now people have faces, they don't lack the warmth now.
That once the moon it comes, will shine on their faces.
I see in the night-sky.
A crescent moon waxing, a welcome sight and not to soon.
The walls of my pit are not that high.
Then for no reason.
I breakdown and cry myself to sleep.
Still trying; my sanity to keep intact.
If that's what you call this desperate act of will.
And the door revealing.
More and more light.
As I look to the sky this night.
Half moon is in my sight It shines like a new life.
The people I know by name.
They’re all around me it's not the same as before.
And more and more light comes in through the door.
Today is good.
Happy am I; laughing and joking.
I no longer cry.
Friends I have many.
They’re all around, I look to the sky.
A resounding light is my delight, the moon is big.
Round and from my position, here on the ground.
I can see the place they call tranquillity.
It lights up the night-sky, moves the tides.
But why has it the ability, to influence my humility?
And more and more.
Light comes through the door, filling the room like never before.
A room so vast and the walls, of my pit do not exist.
This is life as it should be lived, without doom or gloom.
But soon time moves on, and the moon!!
As I look into the night-sky.
Why 0' why is it going away?
Why can't it be there forever?
And a day.
Only half the moon now showing.
The door to my room closes.
Cutting out the life-giving light.
The walls of my pit rise up shear.
The darkness is coming near.
Friends afar as the door is ajar.
Eyes downcast for fear of questions asked.
I see in the night-sky, a crescent moon all too soon it wanes away.
Until that darkest day.
When the day is new, and the Moon is, too.
No light comes through my tight closed door.
Inside my head I lay on the floor; of my pit with no way out.
My mind in its own way reels in pain, and drought.
Darkness covers me.
No matter how much I try and shout;
from within no one hears above the din.
Of my deep depression.
For fourteen nights,
I'll wait with expectation, for the time my door,
is opened wide.
And gone will be the nights I've cried.
And gone will be the pain inside.
And gone will be the days I've wished I'd died.
Fourteen days I wish I could miss.
Then fourteen days of pure bliss.
*****************************************
Death by love
When I was in HMP Durham on remand waiting for my trial a young man hung himself, he was one of many that would end up dead in his cell swinging from a home-made noose, a criminal waste, and wrong whatever the prison's excuse.
When the light shone through that hole in the wall.
The shadow of a young man was to fall in a spike along the floor.
A shadow like death's finger pointing to the door.
By cover of dark this young man did this deed so stark.
Full of shame now a man with no name at the bottom of his deep pit.
His decision is to put an end to it.
To take on the job of old Peerpoint, rob society of it's revenge; for what?
The shame he felt in committing this crime?.
For the label he now wears, for the stares?.
For loving a woman and not letting go?.
He's branded a beast even in jail they're the least.
Some kill with the twist of a knife.
Some use a gun to take a life.
Some, the worst of all use a kiss a weapon that cannot miss.
The wicked crime of this poor soul now swinging in the moonlight?
To send his wife flowers, this filled her with fright.
To phone, beg her with all his might to take him back.
To take her in the park walking.
The police!
They call this Stalking.
*****************************************
Gone fishing
Kevin told me when I got out of jail he would take me fishing, I've never been fishing but I can't wait to
go, not for the fishing but for all the other things that river fishing is about. The idea came from a song by Chris Rea . I don't remember the title. PS. I never got to go with Kevin. We thought we had all the time in the world but he was shot dead outside his home. RIP Kevin this one’s for you.
What am I to do?
I could go fishing.
But I know nothing about fishing.
I think I'll go fishing, today.
I'll find a quiet peaceful spot.
On the banks of a river.
Under the bow of a willow tree.
So as not to get too hot.
I'll set up my wooden stool.
Then pitch my large umbrella.
To keep away the breeze blowing cool.
I'll sit, and watch, and listen.
To the sounds of the peaceful river.
As it slowly slips by.
I'll watch the swallows dance.
As they soar.
High into the bright, blue summer sky.
The river water babbles and chuckles.
As it meanders its way over smooth worn pebbles.
In a never ceasing journey to the ocean.
The long grass and bulrushes.
Sway in a hypnotising motion.
Too and fro.
A Kingfisher sitting on an old tree stump.
Searches for it's quarry.
Bright blue with a flash of yellow, golden.
It dives into the river.
With wings folded back.
Long sharp beak poised for the attack.
The expert fisher.
I know nothing about fishing,
but I'm going, today.
The smell of freshly cut hay fills the air.
The fish lay beside the river-bank.
With not a care.
Dragonfly and horsefly.
Skip off the glass-like water.
Playing a dangerous game,
of cat and mouse.
With the flick of a wrist, and the skill,
of a novice new to the deft art.
I try my luck and start.
The fly on my line skips along the surface.
Sending out ripples of invitation.
Nearer and nearer,
my impostor lands to the wise fish.
As my aim improves,
will it be tempted to strike?
To take the bitter meal,
of barbed hook.
He moves out of his hiding place,
for a better look!
Will he be fooled?
Splash!!
The kingfisher breaks the peaceful stillness of the water.
Sending out ripples.
Sending the fish back under the river-bank.
I know nothing about fishing.
But I'm going, today.
Again, I cast my fly up stream.