Dear Diary: 20th February 2017

Don’t stroke the Mouse!

Mouse was rushed into hospital last Tuesday with a suspected stroke.

Nearly a week later all we can say for definite is that Thursday night his brain showed no sign of damage.

20 stroke like episodes later Mouse can barely move his left side or speak.

His NHS experience is far from positive but with every reason to be down my brave Mouse is still upbeat and planning new projects for when he finally comes home.

Mrs Mouse

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Monday Night Reflection: Logan

Apologies to those who haven’t seen the film, this will no doubt have a spoiler in it. This is not a film review, instead, Logan, like other fictional works became a mirror in which I could see myself more clearly. Great writing, great story telling, whatever the medium talks intimately to its audience, the very best covertly seduces the audience by first entertaining, and by that means lowers their defences so that the piece can speak to those who are willing to listen.

Some films and works are overt in their message, there are self-consciously preaching and reaching for a reaction and response. Usually they achieve their goal of an Oscar nomination or two, or perhaps the equivalent “art-house” recognition that they were born to seek. However, in my mind, the greatest achievement is to talk and embed a thought in something covertly from the Christian allegory of Wall-E to the crushing grief and loss woven into the fabric of Rocky Balboa, such writing is able to stop us dead in our tracks and cut through all our defences precisely because it hides in plain sight while we sought distraction from our lives and struggles.

And so we meet Logan, the once indestructible Logan, the anti-hero for the ages, moody and broody, reluctant but the first into battle for the right cause, driving a Limo at a 4th rate stripper bar. This Logan has a limp, is clearly old and sick. Our Hero has fallen. When we met Logan he was drinking and fighting in a bar for money, running away, this Logan is working to support and care for his old friend Charles Xavier, drinking to hide from the past. The once brilliant mind now dying with dementia, and Caliban literally hiding from the light, like Logan seeking redemption that he cannot find.

The world has changed, Logan and his kind have become  irrelevant and forgotten, their lives passed into mythology and fairy-tales for children and disenchanted youth. Our protagonists are haunted by their failures, hurts and the death of those they loved, they no longer have a place and are simply waiting out their days till death will release them from their suffering. Logan self-medicating, Caliban obsessing and Charles losing his battle with demntia, needing to medicate himself to keep others safe.

If I were twenty, thirty even these would be characters and perhaps little more than back story giving depth to what is to come. I would perhaps focus on the emerging and the new, but I am forty-five. I have lost loved ones, I have made mistakes I cannot change and I carry regrets. Like Logan, I am no longer indestructible, my body has let me down and broken, my place in the world was taken and I am left slightly irrelevant without a place in a world I no longer really want to be part of. Like Logan, I want to pass peacefully, without incident or drama through the days and I am tempted to self-medicate away the pain both physical and emotional. I am not alone, this is the basis of the rather dismissed mid-life crisis, where you realise you have less years left (statistically) than you have lived, where people get sick, they die and you know why people wear sunglasses at winter funerals. And, while many are peaking in their career, many of us never peaked, never had much of a career and see that their time is passing, perhaps past.

It is not all gloomy and black, of course, there are things to celebrate in life, however, those are fragile. Many of us have had those stripped away through no fault of our own, hard work rewarded by being laid off because we were top of a pay grade. We have achieved what we were told was the best thing to achieve and it is nothing at all. The curse of self awareness. The Power-Rangers Movie or Cars 3,  I don’t get to take my children, while other parents will complain and see this a chore, we squander the gifts too easily, and when they are gone we regret we did not cherish them more.

And so Logan is a reflection of us, we see our lives in the characters or we see nothing. If you see nothing then I am slightly envious, because while there are only elements of crossover with these ultimately fictional characters, they are some of the most painful elements of my life. I have tried to hide away and drink, as well as drug my way through life because it hurt to much to face reality. I am keenly aware that as a choice these are on my shelf and while they are not “go-to” so much as they once were, they are preferred ingredients.

Part of me is happy to pass gently and relatively quickly to a state or irrelevance, I have lost faith in a world where I have never felt at home. I have never felt of a place, and the places I feel most connected to I have only visited a handful of times and never lived. I am disconnected completely from any sort of family and have never wanted any connection, when their lives crossed I felt no affinity or desire to foster relationship. Their concerns and focus alien, and their drama’s and big deals seemed irrelevant and trivial compared to what matters. The tie of blood no bond at all. And so it is with the world, I see hate and suspicion growing with an agenda with which I want no part. Not even discussion, because that assumes they are legitimately objects for consideration, and in my world they are not. #notmyworld perhaps?

I have to walk in this world, despite my intense desire to be apart and away. I find myself dragged in and helping others against my better instincts, and I am no hero. I hope simply that what has happened to me can stop someone going where I have gone and feeling what I have felt.

Leave the storehouse of regrets untouched and gathering dust.

Thinking Out Loud: Monsters

The world of films is a misleading one, TV is not much better, even in true stories, we the audience are presented so much with a simple view. It is all neatly black and white, even when it is being presented as blur, we are in on the secret and the monster of the story never really steps out of that mould.

Life is cruel by comparison. When you are finally out of an abusive situation, free of the monster, you will soon come to ask why you did not see it, why you did not leave, and gradually over time you can come to see what imprisoned you, the poor patterns of thought and decision that got you where you were. You can trace conditioned responses, needs and perhaps look through a pattern that made the abuse appear normal and how life was done that extends into childhood. However, what can defy explanation and what can very well haunt you will not be the abuse, the cruelty, the consequences. What haunts me is the kindness, the love, the good times. These are the ones that did not end badly, where the gift was thoughtful, and you got to keep it without consequence or retribution, where they arranged something for you, and it was ace, you enjoyed it, and there was no price to pay for happiness. It can be the small intimate moment that was just that. It is all those memories that were precious, are precious, that you cannot explain, that do not fit neatly into the context and picture of control and abuse. They look like genuine love, and affection like you were important and mattered.

I know that you can see them as the carrot that goes with the stick, they are how they lure you in, but even when the glow and honeymoon are over, there will be something, something that you cannot explain away. Deep in the years of hurt, there looks to be a genuine moment of humanity. You see the monster treating others differently, and they tell you it’ because you earn it, you deserve it, it is you that is broken and faulty and needs to learn, be disciplined, needs the consequence to be a better person. You see the duplicity, you see them nice and loving to others, the very person that attracted you, but they never switch on them. You alone are the object of their ridicule, their anger, you are who they hurt, and that is something you get used to.

I am still baffled, even accepting that the kindness and love could have been manipulation and control, there are still happy times, happy memories, things I don’t know how to store because I don’t want to lose sight of happiness in those years. It feels like so much was lost, so much was broken, so many memories rewritten by time and the cold light of the reality or infidelity, that I am clinging to what happy memories I have and I am not even sure why. I laughed, and I smiled I have great times at the time; she robbed those years, somehow I don’t want to lose anymore. I want to believe that just once or at some time I actually mattered, that they felt something decent towards me; but I am not sure I can be that deluded either.

Poetry Corner: Regent

With heavy heart and weary soul
My thoughts turned to that cliché
I think of the people who will never know
The truth that haunts me now

The kind, the gentle and warm hearted
Generous of all they gave
I arrived rejected, bitter and weary
Never accepted, never one and all

You took me in and did not judge
Showed me love by your own choice
Let me grow and see the light
No more outside, family you became

I cannot say thank you for it all
No chance to tell you that I did well
The record is not straight
And the truth not seen the day

I must act as if the shame is real
Stay away, no door to darken
The past that is not mine
My present haunts once more

My eyes they leak to think
What you must think of me
I cannot judge nor blame
Were it true I would hate me too

My happiness forever  that shadow casts
A family I can no longer share
Perhaps the day will pass
Once more I am welcome there.

Monday Night Reflection: Blog On

Every-so-often, I do look back at this Blog, read my squeeks and contemplate how things have changed. As the New Year approached I started to think about the future because material has been gradually accumulating, I even downloaded and printed out a blog planner, and started a blog ideas notebook just to help me on my way.

Any look at my archive shows that I started slowly; the issue was that I had started an abuse survivors blog, a valuable enterprise. I am not entirely sure I had any idea what that would entail or even if that concept had any real meaning. In all honesty, I really didn’t have a clue. As I came to review what I had been doing and think about what I want to be doing. It is fairly clear this is not a blog about how to survive abuse and has gotten further away from being obviously abuse related. I do, fairly often, feel a little guilty that my pages do not have links to helpline and resources, perhaps they should? I am not convinced that what I am doing here, and I because I did not really use any particular resources to get away or even really start the journey of dealing with my abusive past, I cannot personally recommend any particular resource. At the same time, I feel woefully unqualified to write any sort of how-to guide, I didn’t diary the journey, and I don’t think I have much to give on the practical side over and above the great stuff that is already out there.

However, while this blog is not an abuse survival blog in that it contains any practical guidance whatsoever, any resources or even useful links, it is a blog written by an abuse survivor. I had to explain this to myself, because this differential was far to apparently self-evident Which meant, when I thought about it, like many apparently self evident concepts, I did not see any immediate content of substance in that category. While a blog about abuse survival is going to explain itself quickly with its practical focus, a blog by an abuse survivor could be anything. I have seen those that are accounts, almost diaries of what living in an abusive situation was/is like for the victim. Without that central theme, the experience of abuse in real terms, not the rather glossy euphemisms that make it more comfortable, what exactly makes a blog, or anything, different because it was written by an abuse survivor?

In a sense I could be searching for my unique selling point; but there is something actually very different driving me to the distinction. By having the category, blog by a survivor of abuse, I am creating an explanatory framework which a reader can use to quickly locate any problematic material. Or in other words, when reading my material, and in that I have particular piece and poems in mind, knowing that their inspiration and root is in an abusive past explains what is going on so the reader can make sense of the world in which they suddenly find themselves. Hopefully, knowing the origin of the blog as part of my journey via the creation of a persona, Mr Mouse, who is in charge of trauma processing, and is a major part of the creative production team, gives context. It explains the lack of my favourite recipes, personal pictures and tells my reader exactly, I hope, what to expect.

Early on, I realised quickly that this blog had to be something growing rather more organically with me and so to be genuine would need to follow my journey. For me to be happy with this I had to have material I would be at least happy to show people. Looking at early postings I see mistakes and errors that make me cringe, I do not change them because the development of my skills is a core element of my creative journey. I am consciously developing my craft through reading and practice at a level that keeps the process enjoyable and spontaneous. Every entry is written on the move; I have no store house or prewritten material scheduled up to post. The closest I get is scheduling something written late for the next morning or separating up posts in the day when the have been produced at the same time. Monday Night Reflections often start the week before and come together over the Monday, where I schedule the publication time as a deadline to meet, other times I barely keep it posting on a Monday.

I guess I have been squeeking organically; I enjoy working on this blog. Ironically, if all I did was create for the blog I would run out of material to create for the blog because its not all stored up. To have a blog I have to live, to travel, to do life and do my life. My life – still a difficult concept to pin down too. Looking to the future, that is the problem. In blog life as well as life, I am happy where I am, the changes are really making what is good already better, making me more happy rather than dealing with problems. In my life I feel problems are either in process, or they are not able to be processed and I class as not in my control. If I cannot change or control them then I work hard to keep them out of my view and out of my thoughts or planning. I am contented with what I have, it is truly amazing on every level, and something the little council estate boy would never have been able to dream about. Which is another unique aspect, and another thing that gives me twinges of guilt.

When I read survivor stories too often the situation of the writer has broken away from the abuse at a huge cost, losing everything material and having to start a new life from the bottom. Something I identify with, although without children I cannot know the struggle that situation brings. More significantly than that tho, I had a means to support myself, at least in the short term. I managed to rent a beautiful furnished starter home only three quarters of a mile from where I worked. Although I had to sell my vehicle, I was able to finance deal one before it sold, so again my situation was significantly different. Finally, while it would be soon to say how even if we had a statute of limitation, I was able, in a fashion to generate enough of an income for me to keep going. Lucky for me the days of a meal every other or 3 days did not return and I could have the heating on. I firmly believe that my lack of material deprivation contributed massively to my ability to get through the situations I faced constructively; that and a well timed text message in my darkest days.

As I was declaring bankrupt I was already being welcomed into my new life, one where I no longer had to earn anything at all to be materially looked after, I was being gifted a circumstance that I had deeply desired, worked hard to create, but ultimately did not actually possess.

I cannot write a survivors story, there is nothing dramatic, in my mind, to tell. Detailing what happened with a blow by blow account would be a fruitless act of storytelling. Instead, I am focussed on building up.

Clearly, I am not using a reflective model here. This is what I have been considering, I have a blog, I enjoy creating and sharing, so I could just have a blog that is me sharing my creative output. That would be wrong, because I sincerely hope that I am adding something different to the picture. At the outset of blogging, I really wanted somone, even if it was one person, to know that there is a through, an other side to get to. Because I definitely felt that there was no end beyond continued darkness and suffering, that there was no through it for my situation. That darkness and feeling of despair was my path to suicide, I need to know there was a way out, any way out, when they were absent, my mind found the only left. Not healthy, not constructive, and not something I would want anyone to have to face. Statistically, I know that men in particular will make the same choice as me but unlike me will be successful. Suicide is the largest single cause of death for men between twenty-five and fifty.

From this I developed a mental manifesto, or a wish perhaps, but definitely a core message that drives me to keep blogging and around which my future plans are centred. I want to say that having an abusive past is ok, there is no shame, you are not alone. But also that trauma while it may haunt you, is not only faced by locking it away and never opening it again. Trauma does not go away if you ignore it, and that there are a multitude of ways of constructively making trauma something you live with without undue pain, suffering or distress. And that trauma definitely does not need to control your life and how you make decisions. However, at the same time that trauma needs to be constructively handled, it can also be a source of drive. Let your pain drive you to greatness is a cliché, but there is a hard-core truth right at its heart. For me, I write poetry exploring my feelings, I allow myself to relive emotional moments deliberately. I find, for me, this form of expression gives me back the controlling power. I also find the act of reflecting and facing elements I from my past helps me better marshal and rally my thoughts coherently. When I thing coherently trauma and reactive behaviours lose their control because they stop being amorphous scary unknowns. The spotlight I see them for what they are, the reality they no longer possess and the consequences they can no longer deliver. I believe that paralysis by analysis is a constructive tool and well as a destructive force.

Which leaves me with what was I thinking, and what are my plans. I do have things I want to creatively, I have already said that, and I want to share that, or at least some of that, and I have ideas of things I can do to enhance or add depth to this blog as an endeavour, while bearing in mind that blogging is not what pays the bills, and that while it is constructive self development there is more to me and life than what I can publish. Which at times, actually gets more difficult that it should, I tend to see creative finished product as the measure of my productivity and therefore my worth.

That is a practical answer, and is ducking the real question. When I think back at what I was intending to do when this all started, its clear I had no idea. I wanted to do something; no idea what, where or how. I wrote a few things and found myself in a black hole cornered with only one real direction available. I was going to be writing an abuse blog and spending hours immersed in creating a valuable resource, or I was going to be writing graphic reconstructions. Neither appealed, and I while I am confident I have the academic ability to produce a useful resource, the graphic story telling, not confident at all, and not something I would want to be learning and getting deeply into. What I did was open up, change things and then run with it to see what happened and did what felt right along the way. Very much how I had done things as a young man lacking purpose and direction, waiting for opportunities while working at something and moving along a road to see how the landscape would change. I feel it worked well, because, it was not as ambiguous as it probably sounds, it involved learning and working, and because I was open to suggestion, change and opportunity rather than making myself fit a certain model based on external expectations.

At the same time, I have grown into wanting this blog to have purpose a little more than being a repository. I sincerely hope that anyone who is going through a tough time, or is dealing with trauma, abuse or not, can draw constructively from what I have done to deal with what has been traumatic for me. I have felt that I can offer up the, if he can do it, so can I angle. Because I am not a superstar, I am not at a level far removed, and my attainment being accessible, I am able to be of a little inspiration. I would like people to enjoy what I do, spread a little happiness and find practical utility and insight through my contribution.

Monday Night Reflection: Reflecting on Reflection

 

The last week, aside from the Monday Night Reflection, was very much centred around both the discussion of prisons of the mind and the practical development that comes from recognising them. The thought from Elliot Wald was an expression of a deeper collective consciousness, perhaps due to new year introspection, that how we think is how we live out or lives.

I am privileged because I have the opportunity to talk to people in a meaningful way, small talk is limited and our conversations, often online, are rewarding and thought provoking. On the one hand, it is absolutely awesome to share any wisdom and insight I may have, and for my story to be a useful platform from which to help others, however, the most rewarding part is hearing other people’s stories, their insights and their lessons learned. While we all walk our own paths, we travel with others for parts of our shared journey, and to stretch the analogy a little, we are traversing the same terrain.

By talking to others, leads me to marshal my thoughts, in the same way as when some one simplifies and explains what you are doing back to you and saying out loud reveals the rather ridiculous nature of what you are doing (think the plot of Skyfall), when you talk ideas over with others, these conversations make me think through what I am doing. This process extends long past the end of the conversation and this week I stumbled into a behavioural road block which is very much rooted in the life I no longer have. I never planned anything for weekends, when I did I always had them approved a long way in advance and where possible would purchase tickets long in advance to ensure that plan would happen. However, the activity had to be worth it, very worth if it was something classed as just for me, I had to be sure what I was doing was worth the consequences that it would bring, both in the lead up to the activity, during and after. I never left for anything without being in the wrong about something, there was always at least some sort of making up to do.

I rationalised this by saying that weekends were ring-fenced family time and how important it needed to be to sacrifice family time. I would talk about how this was the time to give back for the support of my wife and child which they gave freely without really knowing all the time how much they gave up for me. It sounded great, and I had the line down like I was giving a BBC interview, the reality was I dared not to think about not doing what I was told when I was told at weekend. What happened of course, is that I believed my own lies, and I believed the story to the point where the reality was lost.

In my new life I kept the sanctity of weekends because that is what you do, that is what “good husbands” do. I had no pressure and it was never an expectation, it was just how married life works. This week that behaviour was challenged, because my illness has changed how I do life, and how I am approaching everything I do. In some ways the difference is subtle, in others the change is marked. In my wife’s words, I have gone from hoping to qualify for a British Championship, to retired, to planning my assault on a World Championship Podium. What hasn’t changed through the process is my ability; the change is simply how I am thinking. Instead of hoping small, somewhere I managed to start dreaming much bigger.

Part of that change has been reflection, not just this blog diversion, but generally. The move towards what I called living intentionally. In a sort of irony, the onset of health problems, and in particular this latest bout which is now approaching 6 months in duration with no end in sight, led me to a different place from which to make my evaluations. Previously I was, at first, firefighting and in the immediate present, with the transition to life as it is now, its calm and supportive environment, the welcome of a new family and the warmth of acceptance of me as I am came a focus on the baggage of the past. The ongoing task is, much of it done by Mr Mouse of course, is that of ordering and understanding both what had happened, and what I am to carry forward from those experiences. This blog is a reflection of this, and it mirrors my development and journey in that sense. The past definitely needed facing and dealing with, and it will always be my past, so in that sense it may be like a garage, just as it approaches done, something may need to be done, but it can also be parked and sorted out another day too. It would also be a folly not to recognise that for me, my past is repository of material and energy, in the words of Eric Thomas, it is time to let my “pain push me to greatness”. If I am already in pain, then I can get a reward from it only if I don’t quit. So contrary to many memes in internet land, I do not only look at the past to see how far I have come, I go to the past as a library of inspiration, lessons, and even fuel with which I can go forward better equipped.

The reality of the week was one of quiet doing, and return to routine after the Christmas break, it was a welcome calm. The decorations are gone, the kitchen table a working mess again, the fridge less crammed, the slow cooker back on the counter more than in the cupboard and us both back to work. Consciously there was probably not a lot happening, and even trying to reflect I was conscious that there was not an event to focus on per-se, just the settling of life into its new rhythm. However, there is a big difference at a practical level, with me deciding to walk away from my career a little more completely. In fact, the only client from that life left will be a close friend who doesn’t pay anyway, leaving is hard to do. The truth is, I lost a passion for the profession, but love learning and will no doubt be involved, just more detached and more relaxed.

In this more relaxed week I had decided to think about my blog, the direction it was going and any plans to change it, make it better, and if I wanted to deliberately push for more readers, or just let it be and let it grow out of its own energy. Part of that has been Monday Night Reflection. When I first had the idea, it was vague, to put it mildly and I will be honest I have not put a particular amount of intentional thought into what this Reflection segment is about, going to do, the purpose it serves, or how it is different from Thinking Out Loud, if it needs to be different at all. I suppose the fact that it is so much longer could be enough of a difference, not sure. What I did do way back then was get on Amazon (Marketplace) and order a couple of books on reflection.

I finally read one of my books on reflective practice, and what struck me about it was that I got nasty flash backs to my professional training and the rather unhappy time that was. It was about reflection as an academic discipline to be marked. I did persevere with reading the book and it was a diversion, maybe not a great diversion, to look back at trying to fit something I actually tend to do in an amorphous way anyway into a box to get boxes ticked on the marking criteria. I remembered that actually, reflective practice, in the academic sense, was an incredibly false activity, rather like putting on a stage performance of a day in your life. You mash together an amalgam of reality and what you want reality to be so its is presentable and in a certain format. Reflection to learning outcomes had no reality.

We based our reflection on Gibbs (1988) reflective cycle, and as a framework it looks appealing, but in reality to use it and then write about it academically, you are going to have to forget about honesty and transparency and write from the Conclusion and Action Plan elements so that you can tick academic boxes. While I am not deliberately writing to this framework, I am clearly carrying it around deeply buried in my subconscious because every Monday Night Reflection I feel compelled to both conclude and have some sort of

gibbs
Gibbs (1988) Reflective Cycle

point to carry forward. I am looking for something where I can vaguely or loosely go round the cycle, and I know it. As soon as I revisited the damn thing, I knew it was there all along just boxing me in. The question, of course, is what do I do with that. Using the cycle, feelings: horror and abhorrence at using any sort of framework, intrigue that it may be useful, Evaluation: right now, who knows, I need to think on this and do some Analysis: what analysis, it’s a framework what do you want me to say, how do I know if it is useful, it won’t be universally applicable, at best its going to help the publication process, but as a tool for life it certainly has massive limitations. Conclusion: there is no absolute conclusion, it is an open-ended process that can be revisited and done multiple times in multiple contexts, even just the applicability of a reflective framework is going to depend on the material and how far the development of thoughts on that material have progressed, my relationship to anything will change over time and therefore anything within the formal categories will shift too. Action Plan, I will think about it and probably pull useful elements out with a bit more conscious thought; more than likely I will be much more deliberate in my rejection of that which I do not want to do, is not useful to do or is not appropriate to do while recognising the root of any compulsion I feel to do those things.

 

Which drives me back to living intentionally. Reflection is my own thing, and I cannot escape it is guided and shaped by my learning experience, however, having spent time with the process of reflection I am better able to reflect deliberately in a way that I am comfortable with; or in short, intentionally. Without necessarily changing anything, my consciousness of what is happening is enough to move my behaviour from habitual to intentional. I feel this is okay because by being intentional I am also letting go of the sometimes overwhelming drive to change as if nothing about who I am is worth keeping. Which is coming from the messages of my past and not the reality of my present. By being intentional I can keep habits, behaviours along with patterns of thought and action just the way they are. The difference is that I can now be happy that I am happy with the situation, hopefully, lose the compulsion to change, and ultimately be content with any situation, changed or not.

 

 

Poetry Corner: Open Letter

There is a bed for you in my house
Always was and always will be
You are my son, my boy
I don’t know you like I once did
Your mum made sure of that
I’m sorry I don’t know so much
What picture to put on your wall,
Or duvet cover on your bed
Not your favourite colour
Or what you put between bread
16 is 3 years away, then you choose
I want to know so much
Who you’ve become and want to be
I want to listen, hopes and dreams,
Future romances, hear it all
But I need you to listen
Hear with wisdom way beyond your years
To assess the man sat holding back tears
Look me in the eye and see, find truth, believe
Meet you and let you assess
My past, my present and my legacy
I breathe in the hope you will not walk away
Take my hopes, my dreams, ….
I hear your voice and see your face,
So close but all those miles away
And I die a little as sunset fades,
Hope struggles to last the day
Stays alive my force of will
I wonder will that day come to be
Time will tell me, it may break me too
You grow from boy to man unseen
I had plans for you, for this, everything
I pray my body decides to last
To become your friend,
And havoc once more we bring!
With Love Your Father, … Me.

Poetry Corner: Sat Here Crying

 

Sat here crying

It wasn’t your place to say goodbye

Not up to you to end it all

You stole so much and you stole the end

Took my pain passed it off as yours

My broken bones you supposedly possess

Talk of hurt you never felt only inflicted

I am your picture in the attic

You live unmarked and burden free

It comes from a page in a book

And from my life, come see, Look!

I have the limp, I have the scars

It is me who flinches and fears the night

Only in my dreams of terror do I drown

You survived and made it through

The tortured times you rained down

My sympathies it must have been so hard

To work tirelessly to crush and kill

And see me walk away breathing, still!

Speak the language and say the words

Take the role, wear the robes and play it well

Tell the stories and see them cower

Once again you take from me and no one knows

Take full possession and curate it well

Learn the details, speak my truth, you tell my story dear

You know longer reign, I no longer fear

 

 

Poetry Corner: Supermarket Aisle

You stand looking so very glum
With your wife looking at pillows
No idea how lucky you are

Stood with your wife of oh so many years
Life blessed you to grow old together
Why do you squander the happiness?

Trample on the gift with no regard
Some of you sit in cars and wait
Time lost you will regret one day

Wasted togetherness, wasted years
How many would take your place?
Smiling deep inside, their mum or bride

The moment that never was is lost
I hope you never remember
That way you may never cry

At the time wasted in supermarket aisles
Where you grimaced and moaned
You made it bad just to make it home

What did you do? Did you make it good?
Or did you sit and complain the day away?
Refusing to smile, crush her spirit too

I want to be old, perhaps older than you
With my wife wrapped up warm and going grey
But I’ll stand, smile and cherish that supermarket aisle

Poetry Corner: Me

I’m lost in darkness
I’m walking tall
I’m talking fast
I’m saying nothing at all

My smile is real
My smile is fake
My concern is real
My indifference is fake

My pain too much
My relief too fleeting
My goal is distant
My dream too precious

I’m making sense
I’m blank
I’m riding the wave
I’m crashing down

I’ve lost my voice
I’ve shouted loud
I’ve achieved a bit
I’ve lots to do