Space

You granted me space and time,
As if those were yours to give
And I was the one who needed them.
Your worlds revolve around you
And you like those who follow
The predictable paths, stuck
In the same orbit that won't
Cross paths to interfere with
Yours, the way we asteroids
And comets do.  I have been
The moon that predictably
Circled, faithfully in tune
With your patterns, even when
The repetition started
To grate in its tedium.
Now my instability
Impedes your progress to stay
On course, unchallenged and so
Unaltered.  This galaxy
Is not vast enough for the
Both of us, else I pull you
Into the black hole of my
Despair and consume you whole.
Yet in truth, although your path
Is set, you delight not in
Its certainty, secretly
Hoping a planetary
Body will cause disruption
To your cycle of sameness.
This celestial being,
Moon, or comet, or black hole,
Will forever emit more
Light and energy than you.
The space between us is best,
For this star is on the verge
Of turning supernova
And what will be born from this
Is too beautiful to bear.

An End

You appear in my thoughts more than I’d like.

I wonder if you are happy, knowing that you most probably are.

Even if you weren’t, I doubt I would feel better. 

Did you meet Irene?  Maybe she saw your family and friends instead,

If you are living your own West-side story the way my snooping suggests,

Living in the birthplace you swear you told me about, but I know you didn’t.

Has she made you a dad?  My heart stops.  The final nail.  But a bittersweet happiness.

Life has separated us in so many more ways than one.

Do you ever think the same, wonder about me?

Am I a distant shadow from the past, a long-faded memory,

Or one you have locked away to keep from your present?

Did you hope for my safety when my home was ablaze?

Wonder how much I witnessed or how close I came?

Or perhaps watched in horror like anyone else,

With objective compassion, like you had no connection.

You didn’t stop moving the moment I left,

The sadness ignited you rather than froze you in time.

Progression suits you, I would just hold you back,

Stagnating in my own self-pity.  I am still here.

No news to share, no achievements to laud,

Same as it ever was.

You believed in me, at least for a time,

A flash of light in the gloom, until you shone elsewhere.

But maybe you never did.  Infatuated with an image,

An idea, an ideal.  The truth wasn’t as beautiful as she,

The reality more difficult than the fantasy.

In the end you took your bird in the hand by the hand,

Over any potential prize out in the bush.

How shrewd and sensible, a timely escape.  

I still feel the fool, but at least I am my own.

You deserve a happy ending, you worked hard to get it.

I will settle for an end to this.

Get Me Through December

Vocals: Alison Krauss
Lyrics: Gordie Sampson & Fred Lavery
Based on the melody 'Neil Gow's Lament For The Death of His Second Wife'

How pale is the sky that brings forth the rain
As the changing of seasons prepares me again
For the long bitter nights and the wild Winter day
My heart has grown cold my love stored away
My heart has grown cold my love stored away

I've been to the mountain left my tracks in the snow
Where souls have been lost and the walking wounded go
I've taken the pain no girl should endure
But faith can move mountains of that I am sure
Faith can move mountains of that I am sure

Get me through December
A promise I'll remember
Just get me through December
So I can start again

No divine purpose brings freedom from sin
And peace is a gift that must come from within
I've looked for the love that will bring me to rest
Feeding this hunger beating strong in my chest
Feeding this hunger beating strong in my chest

Get me through December
A promise I'll remember
Just get me through December
So I can start again

Courtesy of www.nataliemacmaster.com

Islands

I still stop by your place every day,
Wondering if you still want to play.
I hear the song, which words I penned
Back when we had made amends.
As I walk, I wonder what will fill that space,
Look each passing stranger in the face,
Hoping to feel the buzz of familiarity,
The sense of recognition, not disparity.
I see you in every single game
And flinch each time I hear your name.
You are the city that never sleeps,
Yet my slumber and my dreams it keeps;
The skyscrapers that shade my light,
But illuminate even the darkest night.
If I am this one, I lead the way,
But still mourn the ones that got away,
Reaching across the expanse of sea,
Holding my own torch of liberty.
Offerings of peace should not be mine,
You gave them back too many times.
But still I always stretch my hand,
Perhaps why you don't understand?
Maybe the drawbridge has been raised,
No more foreign passing trade,
To reconcile the islands two;
No man’s an island, not even you.
I heart no yieldless sense of pride,
That holds you back and stems love’s tide.
You did too little, I felt too much;
I’m out of luck, you’re out of touch.
Your town’s too young for this to be
And mine has too much history.
Lands that were once completely whole,
Were severed by a misjudged goal
That pushed you back to set you free,
Making no end to misery.
And now, new bridges must be built,
Despite resistance to the hilt.
Maybe the new world is not for me,
And with the old one you disagree?
A new fabric I’ll weave so tough,
If nylon is not strong enough.
I only wish it could be more
Than the same ocean on different shores.

Little Moments

On the way home last night, I was waiting at the crossing on the main road to get to my bus stop just by work. Tucked just behind the button for the crossing, sticking up, was a good quality piece of heavyweight paper, with writing typed on it. Curious, I picked it up and read the following:


I smiled, loving the fact that someone had purposely left this there. There is an art school nearby and I wondered if one of the students had left it. I wondered whether it was part of some sort of art installation and whether I should leave it there, but I liked it too much to risk it blowing away into nothingness with the brisk evening breeze. So, I took it with me, tucking it safely into my bag. There was something extra special about the thick paper, the kind that you rarely have contact with nowadays. It felt important in my hands and sort of precious. I liked the fact that it was typed, old-school, on a typewriter, in that distinctive font that computers now refer to as 'Courier', but which isn't the same as the real thing. I wondered who had written this little bit of poetry, what had inspired them to write it, whether they had written this especially as a gift for an unsuspecting random passer-by? I wondered if they had printed more, if they had left other pieces of paper in other nearby places and whether the poem was the same, or if each one was different. I wondered whether anyone else had found one of these little moments and had enjoyed being a part of it as much as I had.

I showed it to Big Sis when I got home. "You could do stuff like this!" she said, excitedly.

Aww. I beamed. She thinks I could write poetry good enough for the masses.

"We have a typewriter!"

Oh. She meant I have the means to do it, not necessarily the skills. Lol!

"So, not because I can write poetry, just because we own a typewriter?!" I ask, jokingly, and we giggle, while I play-act offence and pout at her and she hugs me with over-effusive apologies.

Sharing my thoughts with my computer and the minimal number of people who read this blog (lol) is my outlet. But I'm really glad someone took a moment to share their random thoughts with me, in such an unexpected and non-electronic way. So much so, that although the effect might not be quite the same, I decided to scan it in and share it with you.

Pictures Of You

I'm not sure how much life is left in this,
Maybe it drained away each time we tried?
Unlike the connection I hope still exists,
The flowers have long since died and dried.
But the colour remains, richer yet than before;
Perhaps things intensify with time?
Maybe the vibrancy of you and me will endure,
Although it has faded in my mind.
The picture now is crumpled and creased;
Perhaps I held it way too tight,
Not ready for the memory to cease,
Even though it wasn't dazzling bright.
All the words, each single one,
Had etched themselves onto my heart.
Now where you wrote them, far from undone,
Scars have replaced their subtle art.
History is a record on repeat,
But each time the music starts, it's not the same,
So I get caught up in the beat
And don't notice when the tune has changed.
But every time I dance as if
It is the first time I have ever done;
It may take longer to catch the riff,
But by that time the fear has gone.
I started to dance and move with you;
I am still swaying to your song,
But our rhythm is still somewhat confused
And our tempo ended up all wrong.
The steps I lost, I'll try to find,
Those moves that set my heart alight;
The photo is still in my mind:
The snapshot of when we got it right.
And maybe when I've captured those,
In memories that I can't lose,
I'll understand the road you chose
And hope one day the same we'll choose.

InAction

I wrote this poem and posted it elsewhere more than a year ago. At the time, I was feeling demotivated and was frustrated with the knowledge that life had become stagnant, that I needed to take action, but was conflicted by the fact that I couldn't seem to get motivated, partly because I didn't really know what action to take. I am still not completely sure exactly what changes I need to put in place, but I have made a couple of changes already and that's a start. I don't have quite the same feeling of hopelessness or pessimism that I had back then, but I thought I would make a reminder of the pep talk I had written to myself, in the hope that my current feeling of movement won't lose momentum.

InAction

It's no fun waiting.
Wish I was ahead of the action
Or was my own protagonist
Not even the main character
In my own story
How to make things happen?
Hmm.
Inaction leads to uncertainty
Insecurity
I don't fit in.
Or at least sometimes,
In my own world.
I'm a disappointment
And disappointed
How to make them proud?
Hmm.
I just want to be me.
Happy.
I don't give in.
Or at least sometimes,
On my own terms
But at the worst times
Compromise and sacrifice are two different things
It's tough to be your own soldier
When you need someone to hold
Your hand
Only occasionally
But too proud to ask
Don't admit defeat!
Like the Pharaohs of old
Rewrite my history:
None of this even happened,
I was never unsure,
This was no mistake,
It was all part of the plan.
Sort of.
In a quandary.
Waiting for it to happen
But the only one I'm waiting on
Is me.
Get up! Get out! Do something!
Am I a coward?
Oh no.
I'm like an old English king
Whose portrait is much better than the real thing
In my head I'm a warrior
In reality
The armour is on
But I never left the house.
Enough.
Today has to be the day
The first day of the rest of my life
No looking back
No excuses
No regrets
No procrastination

ACTION

Familiarity Breeds...

I've realised something. Not a startling revelation, and one that will seem blindingly obvious when put in writing, but one that I (and many other people, in my observation) have seemingly been unable to actually put into practice in the past. Often we stay in situations, even though they are destructive, because it is easier to deal with something familiar, than to face up to a situation that will force us out of our delusional comfort and throw us into the potentially uncomfortable unknown. It is the cliché of deeming the devil you know to be better than the devil you don’t.

I know this, because I have done it. Over and over. I have stayed in certain predicaments because I was used to the pattern of behaviour, no matter how destructive it was to my development. But despite the fact that it was unhealthy for me, the familiarity and predictability of it at least offered some sort of twisted comfort, in knowing what I could expect and that I wouldn't be confronted with radical ideas or perspectives that maybe I wasn't ready for. I was impeding my own emotional growth, but the potential risk of getting hurt in a way I wasn't used to, made me strangely able to accept being hurt in a way that I was. When you experience the same action+reaction pattern time and again, you learn to expect it and you almost feel lost when what you expect doesn't occur.

I've often wondered if I am an emotional masochist, in that I inexplicably seem compelled to stay in situations that have been painful and unsatisfying. At the time there always seemed to be a good enough reason for it, namely the fact that I was blinded by emotion, was perhaps too willing to accept someone's word as their bond and also unwilling to accept the fact that when someone doesn't keep their word, perhaps you cannot also trust them to keep your heart.

My current special friendship with my BFTP has been a real learning curve for me and continues to be so. We have both expressed that we feel we are building the foundation of something that could prove to be unshakable in years to come, as long as we build it right. But it's not easy. I am finding at times that I have to really fight against my first reactions of jealousy, insecurity or instinct to just run away. I am learning to not immediately baulk at the unfamiliar, to be threatened by the unknown, or be frightened of confrontation with what is real and upfront, especially when it hurts. It is difficult to change the habits of a lifetime, but I know that the challenges I am facing now are going to strengthen the both of us as individuals and consequently, strengthen the bond between us that we are slowly building.

Familiarity, while it can bring us a false sense of security, does not guarantee real security or indeed happiness. Sometimes, the fear of stepping into the unknown is scarier than the actual unknown itself. We can become trapped by our reluctance to try something new, to experience something different, to take a risk, no matter how calculated it may be, just because the fear of the pain we may experience as a result is just too great. But there comes a time when the pain of staying trapped in that destructive familiarity must outweigh the fear of stepping out of it. Growth is not easy and it is not necessarily enjoyable or pleasant. But the pain of growth is eventually replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction when you can look back and see just how much you have grown. The pain itself grows into another sensation, one that is productive, healthy and conducive to happiness. The familiar pain of an unhealthy situation, however, does not grow into anything of any use to us. It simply festers until it becomes so ingrained in our psyche that we delude ourselves into believing that the sense of familiarity we feel is equivalent to contentment and happiness. We shut ourselves off to the kind of pain necessary for positive growth to the extent that we feel too weak to face such challenges and are rendered unable to recognise real contentment when we catch a glimpse of it.

I am learning that sometimes we have to take risks, but that taking risks means really stepping into the unknown, the unfamiliar. I have sometimes believed I was taking a risk, when all I was really doing was inadvertently stepping into another situation that followed a similar pattern to the one before. Same situation, different person. For the first time I am experiencing what it feels like to really jump head first into something unpredictable and unfamiliar. While it will take time to challenge my negative expectations and relearn behaviour that is healthy, I am finding it exciting, exhilarating and positive. Like the fear of jumping out of a plane on a sky-dive, I was incredibly hesitant at first and a little frightened. Previous experience has taught me to be cautious, but has also taught me to keep my expectations low and anticipate problems and heartache as a matter of course. But the fear of jumping and the sensation of falling is replaced by both the adrenaline of experiencing something amazing, the security of knowing you have a parachute and the pride and satisfaction you gain when you land safely and can see just how far you came.

It is scary making changes, not knowing what is around the corner in any aspect of my life. But it would be more scary to stay standing without having any prospect that things would get better.

Risk
by Anaïs Nin

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

Forgotten Memory

I'm transported back to the ave
Confused by the loss of years I had
When you sat on the roof to roll a j
And I would watch you smoke my life away
The thanks you gave in speech, but not in heart
How you stopped my words before I could start
The shade I felt I could not wear
The blame I believed was mine to bear
My voice was broken, though I talked much
I hadn't realised I was your crutch
The growing insecurities I gained
Transferred from how you were ashamed
Always shotgun, oh the irony
When all the bullets shot through me
The more I loved the more I died
With no concept of who I was inside
To stretch my arms I needed space
You needed something in my place
And twisted my thoughts back to me
So I resigned to not be free
Until your own cage got too small
I tried to make you ten feet tall
I had stagnated to help you grow
But you had more you had to know
At first it was painful to breathe
Confused like an animal that has been freed
The open air and space to run
To grow and feel without friction
Then I was happy without ties
But some of them remained inside
The lesson not completely learned
I still light up candles and get burned
I love too hard and am too soft
Mislead by being held aloft
The air is much too thin up here
One gets too giddy to see clear
I've fallen down, I'm back some years
Reliving the same old hopes and fears
But now these ties I will undo
And untie the memory of you
I'll write this off as a mistake
We both have insights we can take
I hope you'll love her like you should
And what she needs is understood
I'll carry on with what I know
With time to hope and room to grow

The Gift

You came to us in poorest kind,
No fanfare, flourish, or applause.
Your birthplace, crude and unrefined;
Your virtue outweighed all its flaws.

Yet those from polar social tiers:
The working class and learned men,
Heeded signs that in heav’n appeared,
That they might speak their own amen.

The other worlds watched hushed, in awe
That their Creator and their Lord
Would lie upon a bed of straw,
A helpless babe, by most ignored.

To welcome God’s own Son, no feast,
No esteemed guests to sing His praise;
The long-lost children of the East
Brought tributes which His life conveyed:

The gold acknowledged royalty,
Its value did befit a King;
The wise men’s humble loyalty
Did threaten Herod’s glorying.

The frankincense, a fragrant part
Of sacred mixtures that were burned
In Your own temple’s Holy heart,
While Your priestly role was adjourned.

A poignant final gift to You,
Which pointed to Your purpose, grave:
Myrrh would your burial robes imbue,
Once You had died, this world to save.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two thousand years or so have passed
Since You came down from heav’n to earth,
Your gift to us is unsurpassed:
You gave Your life to show our worth.

Yet now we celebrate a date
That certainly marked not Your birth,
And many do commemorate
With opulence, excess and mirth.

Exchanging gifts, oft rashly bought,
Indulging in all worldly joys;
The day may pass without a thought
Or reflection, amidst the noise,

On what the angels did declare:
“Glory to God and peace to all.”
What beauty in that simple prayer,
Made as You slept inside that stall.

Our hearts have lost the central theme
That should frame each day of our lives:
That love for You should reign supreme
And motivate us to decide

To treat each person as one’s self
And humbly give of what we own,
Regarding not prestige or wealth
Above the ideal you have shown.

Please help me Lord, to ne’er forget
The precious gift You gave to me,
To cherish it and better yet:
Share it with all, whole-heartedly.

The Fortress

You rebuilt the wall.
It took some time, but now it's done,
More or less.
But you're under attack
From the one who should defend you;
Misguided protection of the worst kind.
In he comes, on horseback,
All guns blazing, shooting from the hip;
He will save you, nothing to fear.
But you are not the princess,
You are not locked in the tower.
You are the tower, this fortress, the moat and its drawbridge;
All of this is you.
He tears down the defenses, not realising
He is tearing down a part of you.
Each time he returns is another time
He will destroy,
So you can rebuild.
Carefully repairing each breach, through the tears
Of your frustration.
Each new set of stones, each new foundation,
Each new joint and joist
Will be stronger this time around.
And when he next appears, on his mission of rescue
It will be harder to get past the guards,
Although you know he will.
But one day this citadel will be impenetrable,
Impervious, solid.
He will no longer be able to get in.
But maybe, you will not be able
To get out.

Winter

The leaves have curled and fallen;
The trees have closed for winter.
Low rays of sun strain through the frosty haze.
The cold anaesthetises all feeling, until upon exhalation
Visible breath reminds me I am alive.
A blanket of white covers a multitude of sins:
The dingiest city street transformed into a greetings card scene;
A million tiny particles unite as a quilt, to keep the city warm.
Each flake of snow exists in its own space and time,
Never seen before, never to come again.
A crystal for each life on earth, every one unique.
Bare branches silhouette against the sky's pale blue,
Like hands stretching towards the heavens,
Clasping at clouds and teasing out snow,
Until their covering returns.
As the nights draw closer, so we too adhere,
Drawing in for warmth of form and feeling.
The icy frost crunches beneath our feet,
While snowflakes softly bless our crowns,
A gentle kiss with each soft touch.
The cycle of time provokes our retrospect,
Yet hints at what is yet to come:
All has slowed and sleeps until the year awakes with renewed hope.
From this frozen framework growth will spring,
Just like the eponymous season.

MisConception

She is granite.
Be strong, don't cry, pull yourself together!
I am too soft.
My shell is somewhat tough, but the inside melts like butter on toast.
Am I a disappointment? I was made in the image.
I am a sketch, an interpretation, an artist's impression, perhaps?
Not a carbon copy.
I can be hard. My skin can be thick...sometimes.
I grit my teeth and dig in my heels. I will not be moved.
But that's a given; we all have this. All of us, both sides: some whole, some half, all related.
We are all here, not moving. Hmm.
I am not a girly girl. I don't need help. I am not dependent. I am not afraid.
Sticks and stones...
The words don't hurt. I'm cool. I can shake it off, just like you told me.
I am trying to emulate. My hero.
What's that, you say? You are scared? That's funny. I'm sorry, what? You weren't kidding?
I don't believe you. Fearless one. Headstrong, determined. Small but terrible.
She says, I am good at hiding it.
The exterior? Hardwearing. The interior? Worn.
Perhaps you are not made of stone. Volcano-like, your passions burn within intensely, the molten rock frequently errupting. Sometimes it burns, sometimes it makes things new.
The outside remains set fast, but inside exists hot liquid gold.
I'm not sure how I feel. Surprised? Relieved.
I can be soft, there is no shame. Inside we are more alike than I knew.

Collateral Damage

This was never about you,
You just got caught up in the mess;
A civilian caught in the crossfire,
You should have been under house arrest.
Now you're a victim of this war
And I'm the one to blame;
Why didn't you stay where you were,
Then things would be the same?

I knew there'd be some casualties
It is to be expected,
But regrettably, in reality
It's worse than I projected.
To be hit by so-called friendly fire
When you weren't really involved,
Somehow makes the damage higher
And has shaken my resolve.

If I had known the wreckage wrought,
Before embarking on this fight,
I would have stopped before I fought
And tried to make things right.
Any soldier can see the need
For damage limitation;
Now to defeat I will concede
By way of compensation.

Full of regret at this outcome,
Despite tries to disperse the tension;
This calamity would be undone
Without your intervention.
The rescue mission has been revoked,
I've lost what I was fighting for;
We should have retreated when provoked -
I've lost the battle, along with the war.

Space

There is a chasm opening up;
We are on opposite sides.
Instead of clinging on
I am pushing back to survive.
It follows no logic I know,
When I need to get nearer,
To move further away
So that I can see clearer.

I'm still unable to just say,
Although I thought I had made progress;
I choke and my feelings aren't conveyed;
I wait in hope that you will protest.
I dance around and act the fool
To see if you make mention;
Pretend I don't care and play it cool,
Though I'm craving your attention.

It doesn't matter how I play,
You are better than these games;
I'm the one living a cliche,
Knowing this makes me ashamed.
Even though you said I'm not alone,
I feel so very lonely;
I want to find my way back home,
But home is with you, only.

Watch...and wait

Eyes glance at the digits in the corner
Anticipation
I'll give it a while longer
I'm not looking
Tick tock
One digit has changed
That's not enough
I shouldn't have looked
I hate the waiting game
Now fear creeps in
Will this time be the last?
The scars haven't completely faded
What were my last words?
I'll find something to regret
One 't' uncrossed
One 'i' undotted
It will rile me until I let it go
Each time, my heart stops a little
This will be it
No more; the end; never again
Until the notice pops up
The soul sighs
Happiness.
But maybe just as much relief
Patterns of behaviour
I know yours
I have hidden mine
I'm okay, I can handle this
The past is passed
So you think
So I wish
But the memory...
The memory, ever-present, never fading
Always lives in today
Reminding me.
Maybe further along
I'll know the cycle has broken
When many more digits have changed
The heartbeats are regular
And anticpation is no longer a dirty word
Until then
I will continue to pretend
I don't watch
Or wait.