Bittersweet

And in amongst the senses with little haste, it touches with a sweetness and a dark bitter taste. I feel such joy in the mix of flavour, I enjoy the contrast, I enjoy and savour. My skin tingles with a touch of the mind, a look that tells me that this is a face full with life, a caring soul, sensual and kind.

Stripped Naked

Take away the layers and strip me down

Shawn of all the dressing

No room for any guessing

Damp and grey, a piece of raw jagged stone

Open me up, pull my soul aside

No shades to hide behind

No subtle nuanced smiles

Me inside out, raw deep and wide

Look behind the heavy flattering veil

Tear down the faded curtain

No thoughts so clear and certain

Lock me up in a simple lightless jail

Sink into my senses and leave me all alone

Just as it always should be

With all that was and is me

Stripped naked to the bare white bone.

Strange Days

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It was December when I last wrote and to say that seems so much longer is an understatement.  The world has changed and will never be the same again.  It’s Spring and the birds still sing, the green shoots still gradually unfold, the weather gets warmer but yet this is a different place the the one we all inhabited.

And like all of you, I’m scared, I’m on edge, I feel like I’ve been shifted two feet to the left and deposited in a parallel universe where the scenery looks the same, the furniture a mix of familiar, the sky still blue, the water still shimmering on a breezy day but the air crackles with a sense of fear.

Who knows what will happen next?

Things have been going in a strange direction for a few years now; blond haired politicians with a taste for providing entertainment and a skill for dividing nations have become popular.  A move towards one world, one mass of symbiotic humanity helping and sharing suddenly halted, a change in the wind that reminds some, with long enough memory, of changes of wind nearly a hundred years ago.

Now we have a new world where the one world some of us hoped for is so far away when now it would have had the most worth.

But at least we have some things to be thankful for.  Technology.  The ability to communicate, to have face to face conversations for work, for pleasure.  But what will we have moving forward, when a scarred society tries to heal, to reclaim some of what makes us human?  Perhaps now we will get a world in which we are able to help and share across the many nations?  Where being proud of your community, of where you  come from does not mean you can’t be proud of being part of humanity, can’t be proud of being European, of being whatever you are.  Where you see a human as a human be they black, white, fat, thin.

In the meantime we are in the middle of a badly written watered down dystopian imagining.  Even the best books in this genre do not dwell on what happens next.  For the whole world, that big unknown will be the rest of our lives.  Thank you for being on that journey with me, even though its a journey we didn’t expect or want.  Good luck to you all and stay safe.

 

The Best of Torment

Sometimes when the soft whisper of night lingers too long, and I have time to let my demons drive me, I think that all there is left is to let the dangerous rhythms lead me.  I’m a zombie with a willing smile, a shell ready to let self destructive pattern push me down a dark endless tunnel.

I have delusions; I think I am a good man, compassionate, loving but life has a way of flattening me  down, of melting what I could be into mush.  The light is shuttered out, and the dark grey of a life that I could have, of pain accepted, of resignation to be endured.

I’m slowly drifting into that corner, where shackles are my reward, where all I had and cherished, loved, has been destroyed and the way forward has no way back.  But yet I hesitate.  I am more than this, I can be more than this.  I can not lay in the dimming evening with soft living death engulfing my flame.  And once more I can almost taste the last vestiges of something better.

But still the voices peck away, they try to pull me back down, gnawing at my soul,  selling sweet surrender as my only choice.  But I hold steady.  I’ve been here before and I slid again, I fell backwards and dropped feather light but dangerously towards destruction.  This time I keep moving up, I keep that point of light in sight.  But when all is said and done, I am only human.

 

Being Aloof

Am I alone in thinking that it is increasingly easier to be misconstrued in the molevelant half light of modern life? I’m not outgoing, I am not a creature that craves a spotlight but I hide behind a mask and in certain situations I can pop my head out of my shell, blinking and smiling in the glare of the shady light.

Some people can make me forget myself.  Even in a crowd.  I’ll reveal that side of me that is open, that is the inside, a place often cramped and dark and hot.  A safe but anguished place.  I catch myself though.

I wear my mask well, at least most of the time. But I wonder, do people see me through the mask, do they see the act or the actor?  Do they think me strange, do they think me the optimum of a plain, simple, colorless object?

What am I really trying to convey and do the cracks that weave across the aloof facade open enough to let my nervous soul leak through?

 

 

 

In The Sky

I wish you could see me when I fly.  I spread my arms and soar, the blue sky is my playground, my theatre, my freedom.  I’m an athlete of strength, I have the finest dexterity as I swoop one minute and spin into a slow motion dive the next.

You will think me quite mad when I tell you I only really live when I’m imersed in the pure sunlight that electrifies the air around me.  Up there I have no chains to hold me back, no rope to bind my limbs, no one to stop me from doing just what I want, just what I need to do.

I’m not alone up there, don’t imagine I’m a loner, a hermit.  I’m happy to share the wide open sky with other creatures, the birds that I try to mimic, who play with me, who dance around me.

Everything is possible, nothing beyond my reach when I fly.  But it’s such a shame that it’s only when I lay my head down on a cold soft pillow and let sleep overcome my weary body that I feel the weight of the world drop from me.  Pain fades, the real world of daily routine, of turmoil and people melts into mist.

 

Thank You

Only a short gap this time you’ll note, well four months which in one sense is a grain of sand on an infinite beach (probably Southport), and if we break it it down into milliseconds… Well you get my drift.

And drifting is what I’ve been doing, still working away from my home and though I accept it I still dream of a normal life where I get to spend more time in my own bed, in my own kitchen in my own garden.

Why a thank you?  I’ve been blogging for eight years and I’m by no means prolific, by no means as creative as I’d hoped back at the beginning of this decade.  Sometimes my output is brief, sometimes maybe lacking in passion but through all that there are a small band of people who keep liking or commenting and for that, a feeling of not spilling empty words into a vacuum I am very greatful.

Once upon a time before Bill Gates, or Apple and people wrote or typed personal thoughts which were hidden in books in drawers, and sometimes if luck came knocking those words would one day be shared (though many would have probably wished otherwise).  How many treasures were burned or dropped in a bin when the owner left (died or moved on)?

Now millions of people do this, an open dialogue.  Many more spill forth their every thought and feeling through various online forum or medium.  But I don’t expect anyone to read this so its warming when people do.

So thank you once again.

Muse

Sometimes when the rain falls and the water runs in rivers

The glitter tinged shower captures splinters of light

Sometimes when my heart breaks and I fall apart

I remember that once I was strong

Sometimes it takes indifference to thrust me into the light

But only your smile can keep me alive.

Elsie Rae

Well it had to had to happen, I suddenly got old, I was in an instant in the grandparent category with the arrival of my first grandchild, a young lady by the name of Elsie Rae.

She was unfashionably early (by a month) and with a wonderful name evoking not only the past but the future (she has a name that could, if she so decides, be the perfect choice for an artist, writer or musician).

Of course when this happens all the memories of my baby children come flooding back, the routine that develops quickly and seems to stretch for years and feels as though it has always been the routine.  And now my babies are 16, 20 and 23!

My wife and I worked in partnership and I can see echoes of me in the way my son and his partner are doing just that.

Of course it comes as a big shock to the system, becoming a new parent.  It changes lives and feels such a huge thing to be in charge of a new life.  The first few weeks are the hardest, even for those thinking they have prepared everything to the nth degree.  You can’t plan every aspect of life, especially one so new and they will quickly learn to be flexible, to go with the flow.

We are looking forward to being grandparents (I have had my flat cap ready and waiting for ages) and especially taking her for days out.  Of course the big difference is, most of the time we’ll hand her back and leave the parenting to the parents so there is a little less pressure on us.  We’ll be there to help out when we can along with our counterpart grandparents.

Our little Elsie was lucky to be born on a trip to Wales which means she is Welsh.  she does also have other claims to that nationality with her Great Grandad also being fully Welsh but being born there just adds that extra little bit of credibility.

I feel quite privileged that my wife, all my boys and now my granddaughter could all have the choice to play or represent Wales or England in which ever area of interest (usually sport I grant you) they wanted.  I have to stick to England or Great Britain of course which is fine but I always prefer a little choice.

And so a new stage in our lives starts.

The Fun of Family Trips

It doesn’t seem very long ago that family trips were a nightmare to organise, at least on the morning of the event.

I’m thinking here of not only the full blown holiday – of which I’ll count anything from the 2-3 day mini-break to a luxurious two weeks, at least in terms of days booked to enjoy which ever paradise of location had been selected, be that a hotel near the sunny coast or a tent in a forest – but also day trips.

It’s not the actual holiday, though that of course would have it’s thumb screw nerve tangling highlights.  It’s the morning of the outward journey.  The acting upon the previous nights agreed agenda and departure time.

I’ve always been the type of person who can get up at any particular time in the morning and I don’t need a ‘winding up’ period.  I can set my mind to a time be that 5:00 am or later (anything after 6:00 seems like the middle of the day to me).

That’s not to say I’m a morning person as such as I’m equally happy going to bed at midnight.  I’m also not in that small percentage who can get by every day on the sniff of a snooze – there has to be some balance somewhere or catch-up though I have to admit I do seem to need less sleep the older I get.  Perhaps it won’t be long until I can drop my chin for a moment about 3:00am and then be fully refreshed.

I think my oldest boy is a little like me; though being about half my age his nights are a little longer than mine but he doesn’t need hours of bed time in the mornings to attempt getting a limb over the mattress edge.  My other boys are not quite as proficient as him and come somewhere near my wife who lives for sleeping, her day is geared once out of bed, for the moment she is back in and cosseted within the duvet.

So you can imagine the scenario of most trip  mornings with the boys in various states of readiness; usually half asleep and not aware that Dad has a schedule.  Mum keeping her cool (just) whilst Dad gets more and more frustrated by the blank looks he gets when he tries to give his sons (and wife) a timely reminder that in order to arrive by the deadline in the chosen location the car needs to leave the driveway by exactly this time…

This of course leads to said sons rebelling against the dictator and going even slower than before the edict which in turn raises Dad’s blood pressure a little more and gives Mum a slight eye twitch.

Somehow we always managed to set off on time, not always with all the luggage (it’s a tradition in all families I think to leave at least one thing behind – as long as it’s not a family member!).

Our youngest son was the hardest to organise as he liked to take his whole room with him including pillows to make the journey bearable,  a good supply of books, comics, games for his hand held games devise of choice, videos, teddies etc.  This always annoyed his siblings a little who were then squashed into their seats surrounded by his junk (their words not mine).

We did try to make things easier by getting bigger cars with our Chrysler Voyager people carrier the biggest and most luxurious.  The car was brilliant if a little elderly when we got her but driving ‘Bessie’ was like being in control of a small living room on wheels.  And if we put the boys at the back we could barely hear the screams and battle noises of car journey sibling rivalry.

Unfortunately she developed a terminal engine malady that meant our last trip in her helped me develop the skill of watching the road with one eye and water temperature gauge with the other and praying to every deity known to man (and a few I made up just to make sure).  As a staunch atheist this meant crossing a few belief boundaries but it was either that or just putting my faith in blind luck.

She was a very thirsty beast that last holiday and barely made the part exchange date once we were back.  I did love that car but my nerves were a lot better once we’d watched her being driven away and no longer under my ownership!

These days things are different.  We still have the same trips but the boys don’t always come with us – one has a life of his own with girl, car, home and a baby on its way and the other two prefer not to be forced  into days away or holidays where Mum and Dad ‘enjoy’ those shops that sell other peoples used stuff.

I have to say (and I accept this sounds very middle aged, which of course we are) we quite like trundling around charity shops, especially if they are in ‘posh’ towns where rich people give their ‘junk’ away for charity – that doesn’t explain why every shop, be they in Wilmslow or some ultra poor city centre, Daniel O’Donnell is king in the CD selection….

And I have learnt to relax and am more flexible with the departure time which in turn helps smooth the leaving ceremony with less anger and tears; I will at least now allow a one or two minutes variation, well most of the time.