This is the post excerpt.
This is my very first post. At this stage there is no plan. No structure. No idea where this is going! I am not a natural or gifted writer but for some reason I often get the urge to write. I’ve never shared any of it before but now, perhaps it is time!
it takes one to know one says Dylan
and i’m of a mind to agree
i am one so i know one
good samaritan no one
helping who ever i see
learning how to play the new world role
escaping what we used to call dole
if i buy the big issue do i get abolition
from the poverty road show we know
i pay taxes on money i’ve earned
and i pay taxes on money i’ve burned
i pay taxes on everything I do, and you’re still asking more from me.
fifty nine years old
never written a haiku
perhaps i have now
I search for memories in the dark forest of my subconscious mind. Pictures and sounds, tastes and textures. Reconstructed fable or truth. Making them conscious. I apply the outcome to my present state and arrive at a road map of my future. Only to go off piste to discover my true destiny, over which I can only aspire to control. Then I call this fate and, if I'm lucky, I accept it.
Loose change in a deep pocket countdown for a sky rocket Five four three two one Choose change: Find your voice even choosing not to choose is a choice.
Looking for affection Look at your reflection We all have issues Used all the tissues We fought hard in the fight from the dark to the light There are no easy answers just questions and chancers Sick mouths to be fed men want to be dead dreams peace denies war baby cries.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
My younger brother Ian died.
He died.
In 1990, in a hospital bed in Mallorca
he died, I survived.
He died.
He lived for days after the crash in Minorca, with his family by his side
he died in a hospital bed in Mallorca
He died. I…….
I wish I’d cried.
I didn’t cry,
and that’s why,
today, 33 years after he died,
I cried, and wish he hadn’t died.
and wish I’d cried.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Walk with me to a place where we can make a difference, experience life and dream a little. But what is the point of dreaming the impossible dream? Dream and then act. Turn your dream into reality because when you’re gone the dreaming will stop and the opportunity to live has passed you by.
Dream the believable dream and turn it into your reality.
So there.
Among the chaos of a summer breeze lies an opportunity to fly with the wind.
Where others before me took flight, I fought for glory, sunshine and shade stepped in.
A window turns to a mirror and I see for the first time the man I’ve become.
Winning at life, and then some.
Grateful she said I do when she did.
Grateful for all she has given me.
She’s my brolly,
my sunshine,
my windbreak,
my blue sky.
Her light turns mirrors back to windows to let me see.
So there.
they’re getting me down
the pronoun clowns
Depression is the new fed up
Mental health can bring you wealth
if you monetise it on your socials
Say you’re a cat in a hat
or just be offended
common sense upended in locals
So what does a goose do if you say boo
and anyway why should i care
snowflake terf or small time perv
with the he she they them their
it’s like a mirror turned into a window
Ive no idea what i am anymore
Clocks spring forward and the dashboard in my car now shows the right time. Daffodils, confused by last week’s snow seem more confident. Those on south facing verges bloom like Welsh rugby supporters. Wobbly through the wind, not the drink.
Sunshine suddenly seems sharper. Blue sky peeks through cumulonimbus offering summer feelings only if you’re viewing through the double glazed window of a centrally heated house. The forecast is rain. The log burner season is not over yet.
Grass is being cut for the first time in a while. Mowers, recovered from hibernation, soothe the Sunday air with high pitched droning. Roast dinners halt the noise across the land. Pub terraces brace themselves for bank holiday revellers. The clocks have sprung us into Spring. Bring on the summer.
paultales 