Perspective

It is strange
How with so few
Different variations,
The whole Earth
Can shift around
And face you from
Yet one more direction.

As, when the sun is on your skin
You remember the cold as only thought
As if it had never really happened in any reality
But your own.

I have taken the same walk
– Step for step –
Three months apart,
And the only similarity was me.
And even I was only just.

It is a journey we are on; these lives of ours,
Each step along the paved and wild ways
Are more than enough proof
For any man, woman
Or child (who is older than their years).

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You make me the man I am

I am not half the man
I am
Without you by my side.

Every moment’s echo is thrice-trebled
With the resounding knowledge
That when we bask in the warmth
Of each other’s loving presence
Every single passing second
Is a second shared
And a second cherished.

It has been a while since my aching heart
Has held your head in my hands;
Stroked your hair
And felt the gaze of your almond eyes,
But it is tonight we reunite
And I become Thrice-trebled the man I am right now once more.

Redundancy

I used to play

To joke

To smile at jokes that someone once made.

I had a dry sense of humour

And I had many friends in the people I met in my day-to-day.

 

But once my cap and gown were safely packed away

And the next step in life was heading my way

I soon had to face the harsh light of reality

As wages had to be earned,

Egos had to be tolerated

And agendas – both known and unknown –

Pushed me through the plasticine mould that it saw fit for me.

 

And while I worked away, thinking

With only my aspirations, goals and dreams in minds

My voice was shrinking

My chest was tightening

And time was running out.

 

But my goal was there

And I knew what I had to do,

Or so I thought

As the days grew longer

And I grew ever critical of the smallest mistake

That no one would notice but me

And maybe my boss.

 

But my goal was still there, though ever smaller and dragging me on,

As I travelled upstream, seeking that final respite.

 

I was called into the board room shortly after 12.

I could see the sincerity in their faces,

I was just finishing a project.

 

As surreal as it was, I just remember exhaling.

I was free to explore at last.

My work, my life I could have it all back

No more toxic environment and endless tasks.

 

I could breathe. And most importantly, with my head held high.

 

I was made redundant at the beginning of March and have since worked hard to regain everything that gave colour to my life. I am now fully employed again, in an environment that I can live in. I have my weekends back, I am learning so many new skills and have learnt so many life lessons. This empty time on my blog has been the most important of my life and I hope to rekindle my passion for my writing and my connection with the blogosphere.
Happy Writing!

Death’s Stare

When I look forward

I see the eyes of death pierce down

The narrowing stretch between I and he;

His mouth drooling as the scent of my anxiety

Touches his foul nostrils.

 

I am paralyzed with the eternal presence of his stare:

Where is the meaning if all we can do is wait?

But as I look down, the skull is not yet in my hands,

And my breath is still firmly in my lungs.

 

As the intensity grows too infinite,

I turn, using all the reason in my body

And face the fertile past:

My birth, my victories and my losses.

I smile,

As the hearth of my heart

Rekindles once more with the warmth of life.

 

I know, Death’s stare will never be the same again.

Time to Publish

sense cover jpeg

Fantastic news, although I have been incredibly quiet, it has been with good reason. Within the next ten days I will be putting the final touches to a fabulous short story collection. All the news and updates will be published on this appropriately linked blog above.

The book will be called Sense, and touches on what it is to be human and to live in the technologically advancing society that we do. The blog’s homepage shows off a  pre-released cover, with the University of Essex’s branding who are endorsing the collection.

OUT JULY 31ST

Terrorism

A deep message in a hard crime

Leaves us wallowing in our fears,

Our terrors.

 

Blood red hands meet the eyes of every

Internet viewing,

Social media user

And a man who has lost his mind

And tries and be heard,

Butchering his own message

With the blood of a patriotic symbol.

 

I’ve heard weak

And soft,

Enfuriating opinions

Diluted with racism and propaganda

By people who need a man to hate

A reason to boil

And bring the bubbles to the ugly surface.

 

I have heard a petty rhyme scheme

Speculating the victim’s death;

Glorifying the institution of murder

Hiding behind the image of crisp uniforms,

Clean-cut faces,

Keeping hardened souls

And corrupt causes.

 

We are at war,

And yet we believe there is no battleground at home?

We are at war.

 

A British soldier stabbed a ten-year-old boy,

While drunk,

Where is the justice in that?

Our soldiers fight for no just cause,

They are only lost, directed by the madness

Of those above

Who play God with others’ lives

And mislead with their rhetoric and guile.

 

People blame religion,

Fighting the building blocks of mosques:

These are the ones that cannot see the truth in the spaces of the politicians’ words

As it trickles through in the tears over those lost and never found.

 

The war on terror

Becomes only as absurd as those who scream at it.

As fear becomes an excuse

Not an explanation for war,

And retaliation.

Independent Man

Why fight the sheep,

When it is so easy to be carried along

By their soft wool

And steady bleating.

 

You see the black sheep,

And are envious of his wool,

But he still follows the rest

And fights for a place amongst the rest.

 

As you are huddled up

With them all surrounding,

The air thins

Despite the open fields.

 

Every sheep follows the dogs orders,

But it is time

– Finally –

To step out on your hind legs,

And test who you are

Against your own wits

And temperaments,

Accepting the judgements of others.

Take a breath of fresh air,

Feel your own surroundings.

 

Escape.

Silence

How can a forced silence

Ever be power?

 

Shouting, screaming

Bashing and breaking

Blood in your eyes

When you call the other man a savage.

 

How far can violence progress

When our lives,

Societies,

And beliefs are all built

On words

And their logic.

Who are you to tell me what I cannot hear?

You think I will ever support murder,

You think I cannot fight for myself

And keep my heart at bay?

 

I will not bow down

In front of your ideological train.

Ordeals and Obstacles

With each of our journey’s bump,

We need to build speed,

To conquer it:

But gritted teeth,

And short determination can only take us so far,

As a leap of belief

Takes us over, the rest of the way.

 

I can’t help but think

It would be better

– and safer – to simply have

No bumps, or hurdles

At all?

 

No rushed leap.

No pained landing.

 

But…

If life were a flat road

Would we ever really know

What flat was?

And wouldn’t we still

Have soft complaint

And painful joints

To carry us just the same?