Time and a tree

Time. A commodity that has much value and one that I’m rich of having. Though I’m poor and sad for it I’m sadder still that the fruits of my time are unwanted. Time, like a tree overfilled with ripe peaches but treated as if they are rotten lemons. I often wonder where the fault lay and so many times have I blamed myself. But how can a tree asking for nothing and willing to give all that is good be so neglected. Every moment of the day and every day of each year I wait to be picked. My biggest torment is worry that the taste however sweet is simply undesired by those around me. People can admire a tree without a taste for its bearings but if all the tree can be, is a peach tree. What hope of it being picked when those in the garden would rather watch me grow and take the fruits of another. Only a few from a neighbouring garden know the joys I bring and for their time. Their fruit. I am forever grateful of the fill.

Musical Moving

In awe of your dance
your song and your sound.
The mysteries of heaven
have finally been found.
Each note that you play
moves Angels to Earth.
Your sweetest of voice
we do not deserve.

Now that your talent
is filling the air
lifting the spirits
of those in despair.
A place amongst stars
waits twinkling for you.
Coz of what you are
and each thing you do.

Keep colouring our lives
between darkest of lines.
Your voice, the paint brush,
creates in our minds.
Each memory a landscape
of musical notes.
Each word from your song
a glimmer of hope.

Your minds world

A rushed poem for a friend.

There are no walls that trap you. No prison bars that keep you away from the world. Instead you are the cage, a cage you can never escape and always take with you. But are you? Are you not free to imagine? Can you not take yourself to wondrous places or even magical worlds that only exist in colourful minds? We are all rooted somewhere but what shame if we are rooted by the limits of our own creation. Let’s escape from the world where the pressures bring us down. Where people strive for wealth and power. Where the rich bathe in pure water but don’t realise the bath is a cooking pot and where the poor look to the stars and trip on their shoelaces. Let’s go to a world where every breath is like our first and the air is crisp and clean. Where the yellow of the sun meets the blue of ocean to create mists of green. We can run across fields of heather and fall in a heap, gasping for breath taken by the laughs of joy. And when the sun hides from the moon let us talk for hours and wish on the many stars that float across the darkened sky. You can never be trapped because your soul is free to wonder, free to think and free to imagine all possibilities.

Corridors and Memories

Why after all this time do you still walk the corridors of my mind? Corridors that go for miles but however far you’re always in vision. I might not see you but shadows flicking in the light that remind me of how you moved. The way your body swayed when we were together and how your chest quickened at end of passion.  I wander into different rooms and I know you’ve been there. The smell of your perfume taunts me like a hidden spirit. A ghost sometimes seen but always felt. Each room you’ve left an unwanted gift. A memory, some beautiful and others distorted and horrifically ugly. Moments of our lives recorded in my brain that for a moment make me smile unknowingly. For a little while I’m there again. So, content. So, joyful. Completely unknowing it would eventually come to an end. Then I’m knocked to the floor and sucked into the ground where I fall endlessly. It’s my most loving memories that speed my journey to hell. I try to lock doors as I pass but when I wander back they seem to have unlocked again. That spirit working its supernatural magic in my mind. I shall continue to spring clean my corridors, continue to lock the doors and maybe, just maybe this spirit that plagues me will tire.

Tree Brief

A number of us were given a brief to write an inspirational story about trees. Here was my attempt. I may have to remove it, should it get used.

We live in a miraculous world where against the odds life exists. The tree plays a part in this epic show telling the story of beginnings, growth, partnerships and life. To think that a seed could morph into a giant tree is breath taking but it needs the ESSENTIALS to start. Without food and water a seed will never start its journey and will lay dormant. So, a creator of dreams tends to the seed and helps the roots to push deep. With a solid foundation, a tree can GROW, its leaves basking in the sun and its branches reaching for the sky. Working together in SYNERGY and in a nurturing environment the tree gives LIFE to all around. It becomes a home to others, gives us air to breathe and sceneries that light up memories. When you think of a tree, don’t be complacent. They live as we should. Partnerships grown by working together, fuelled by mutual understanding and established on fundamental knowledge.

Forgotten Poem

People in the world,
not many like me.
Who act on compulsion
to call a girl pretty.

But sometimes something
special and unique
can jumpstart hearts
and shine on the bleak.

so……..

How do I explain
my good intent?
When sceptism creeps
and intentions are bent.

A few meaningful words
to describe a view.
A picture of heaven.
A picture of you.

so……..

Think ill if you wish.
Think me a strange guy.
I accept I’m different
that I can’t deny.

My heart is where
all hearts should be.
The edge of my sleeve
born wild and free.

so……..

I end my words
that hope to lay bare.
I like your blue eyes.
I like your cool hair!

I’ll remember the day
I came across Lauren.
Her beautiful face
will not be forgotten.

The Joy of Drink

A terrible poem to explain my recent weekend.

Days of grinding torture
that come to blissful end.
My wet and blurry eyes
staring down a U-bend.

The beginning of the night
started unawares.
The following day I’m sleeping
half way up the rigid stairs.

Not the greatest look
to be greeted at the door.
The estate agent bewildered
watching me crawl along the floor.

That horrible day has passed
and now I feel…… OK.
I’m sitting in a Starbucks
watching lives fly away.

I order the ultimate roll
the Sambucca fighting tool.
The first thing I’ve eaten
since drinking like a fool.

A choir of singing angels
start chorus in the shop.
A pretty worker puts my roll
up on the table top.

Her brownish, reddish eyes
make my weekend float away.
My torturers memories
seem to be put at bay.

So if you’ve been hitting hard
the weekends choice of drink.
Come sit and eat at Starbucks
while having a little think.

Kidneys

I’m one of two
who fights each day.
To take the bad
from your blood away.
We soldier on
without an ask.
With quite a few
surprising tasks.
Filtering blood
to make it pure
and help control your
blood pressure.
We activate
your vitamin D
as you lay in the sun
and by the sea.
Your blood wouldn’t
be so very red.
If the cells were made
by another instead.
So treat us kind
while doing our job.
Put healthy things
inside your gob!

Route To Happiness

Tonight I looked up at the stars and saw the infinity of space. The worlds from a far circling in forever rotating galaxies. I cried. I cried because of our insignificance. Each one of us an infinitesimal fraction of energy and matter. The sky only has to abide the laws of physics but we also govern ourselves by man made rules. The creation of an idea using money and having wealth. Our nature, wherever you believe it comes from has made our pursuit of happiness from material things. The planets above do not care of its’ size nor about the colours of the stars around; though Saturn has its rings and Jupiter a giant storm the other floating rocks care little. I wonder if the moon tastes as salty as my tear covered face? or can the sun bleed like a cut on a knee? Are the planets able to grieve should their closest star die? How important is it to desire things in the grande scheme of life? I try to tell myself not very but maybe that’s because I feel I have nothing. Lost like a spec of dust in space and no direction or purpose. At least driving toward the next pay cheque gives the illusion of meaning. But what is life if you have only enough to survive? Would the lights from the Milky Way look as stunning if they weren’t able to twist and turn to a dance? It’s been a while but when I looked to the sky I prayed. I prayed for deliverance or guidance. I prayed for the souls of others. Ha! I’m not sure anything can hear through the sobbing and audible wetness. If I thought depriving myself of oxygen would give me a fresh start you wouldn’t be reading the self pity and babbling of a pathetic man, tortured inside by his own doing. Think I’ll keep looking up though, maybe a shooting star can trigger more of a meaning than the next car or fancy TV. Or maybe the sorrow reflecting from my face will provoke the heart of an ever great being to show me the true way to happiness.

Not Good Enough

Why can’t I put on paper
the aching in my chest?
My sense of inadequacy.
If I could have the years
wasted on my boyish pursuits
would I make good use?
Yet I still waste energy
on things that can’t be undone
and fail to live the now.
What a pathetic creature
that sits and self-deprecates
and that no one wishes to hear.
I’ve been tortured myself
by the waffling crap
spewing from that of others.
I wish I could be self-assured
like those who sometimes
take advantage of the weak.
Maybe instead live grey and cold
like an ancient statue
no one has to listen to.
When I think in 15 years
the mighty milestone of 50
would have crept upon me.
I fall to my knees in despair
and I cry and I sob.
My sticking eyes disgusts me.
No enemy could hate me
more than I do already.
It putrefies in my soul.
I wonder how awful I seem
to those with mightier problems.
Do they pity me or loath me?
Maybe I’m being egotistical
and actually no one could care.
I’m just another walking meat sack.
I don’t deserve to be loved.
I don’t deserve to be hated.
I don’t deserve an existence.
Each breathe I’ve taken has
wasted air that others could use
and instead prolonged my pitiful life.
When God judges me
I’ll have no argument.
Let’s hope I’ll rot peacefully.