On the Surface

fear

 

You are so much less than

The man you declared yourself to be

So loudly, so insistently

The anarchy symbol tattooed on your skin

Is a lie

When you think that you always know better

 

And although in the daylight

You’re almost convinced

By your own self-image

That fantastic creation

I know that deep in the dark

You feel the fear

You feel the lie

You know you’re falling

 

It hurts to feel the truth

Does it not?

To reveal to yourself through your actions

Not your words

That all your rebellion

Free-thinking

Environmentalism

 

Crumbles away in the face of

Shiny new things

Central heating

Domestication

And a woman who is so much more

Than she ever revealed to you

 

no labels

 

Summer Uprising

xr

Take to the streets

And dance for your lives

Sing the pollution

From your lungs

 

Take to the streets

And raise your voice in protest

Whose streets? Our streets!

Whose planet? Our planet!

 

Take to the streets

Talk to everyone you meet

Eat and sleep together

Share the hope and the love

 

Because it’s love

That brings us here

We do not want

To see you harmed

 

And so

 

Take to the streets

Sing, dance, raise your voice

Wave your flags

And bang your drums

 

Because we love you

We stand in your way

Because we love you

We take to the streets

 

We are standing on the precipice

And we are dancing

We are singing

To save humanity

And It Was All A Dream…

castle

You see, I built all these great shiny castles

Out of air and fairytales and need

My need to love and be loved

I think you built some too

But I don’t know what they looked like

I was too busy piling up summer palaces

Full of flowers and sunshine

Laughter and starry nights beside the fire

We laugh as I chase the boy and dog

Around and round the garden

I turned my face away

From anything that didn’t fit

And hoped that the fairytale of love

Would work its magic on us

But I see now

I am looking now

Only we can work that magic

Love takes courage

You can’t build it out of hope

And air and fairytales and need

And it should not be locked away

In castles and palaces

You must love everything

From the ground up

You must join with everyone

Join the dance

I won’t turn my face away from you

Although your jagged edges

Hurt my eyes

Although your rough surfaces

Scratch my skin

Although I do not know how to make

The flowers bloom in our garden

What you can do if you fall

fall

If you fall down, what you can do

Is let the shock wake you up.

Feel the pain, breathe, shout it out

Or cry. Then, in your own time,

Get back up.

If a friendly helping hand

Extends towards you, take it.

Back on your feet, you may feel bruised

And trembly, unsure of your footing.

Take your time.

Breathe. Check out your bumps and scrapes.

Rub them better, give yourself a shake.

And hope that you have learned

How not to trip again, over the same old

Twisted roots.

Your first steps may be uncertain,

But one day soon you will be

Far along the path, striding happily.

And you will smile ruefully at the memory

Of falling.

The Wildest Path

thorns

A true story, on more levels than one…

 

Recently, I took a wrong path.

I was uneasy on the flat,

the dog-walking couples in uniform

oppressed me.

I spotted a hole in the hedge.

 

Mistaking it for one of those paths the children make

to the nearest rope swing,

I scrambled, sprang and crawled up

though the intriguing gap.

It seemed like fun awaited,

a path hardly ever taken by anyone.

And the thrill of being odd; not like the others,

I’ll be frank, always entices.

 

As soon as I emerged, I knew, really,

that I had gone wrong

It was not a path to anywhere.

Uncertainly, but sure I’d find my way

I followed tracks trodden by beasts

 

They meandered and wandered,

appearing and disappearing,

skirting a steep slope.

Watching my every step on the rough ground,

I pressed on; I saw the flowers in the field,

the beautiful wide sky, the larks sang for me…

But I knew I should not be there.

I was nervous, on private land

 

On and on I went along until I met a hedge,

a barrier that seemed impassable.

And so I backtracked, climbed a fence

and gained a thicket pierced by badger’s sets and trails.

I crawled and ducked and pushed the whippy branches

aside

 

But the further I went, the more tangled

the way became, with

thorns, and nettles, brambles and

old dead bracken. I had to step very high

not to trip and fall.

Determined, convinced I was making some progress,

I struggled, barbs tearing my skin,

pulling my hair, clutching at my clothes

 

I pushed and pushed, I sweated and I shed blood,

and finally, I was free!

I’d found my way through!

But where was I?

Back in that same field!

With no way out

except the way I’d come

 

Immediately I turned around.

Decided to chalk it up to experience.

Slightly shamefacedly

I scrambled back down

through the hole in the hedge.

I emerged on the sand

with everyone else

and I took the shortest way home.

 

Lines and borders

 

Many years ago, I shared a place with a friend. We got along well, accepted each other’s quirks and complied with each other’s domestic foibles, since none of them were excessive and we were both quite clean and tidy. He never complained if I spent two hours in the bath; I never minded him spending two hours on the phone. We never expected each other’s company, but always enjoyed it. We subjected each other to our crap weekend telly preferences. On occasion we slept together; we had dated for a while several years before and it happened after a few beverages, I think.

My friend suggested that what we had going was a good basis for a marriage. But I knew without any doubt that reclassifying this relationship would ruin everything. If he’d been my boyfriend, his quirks and foibles, mannerisms and politics, moods and wanderings and phone calls and crap TV choices would all have made me nuts, or paranoid, or angry, or impatient, by turns. I would have taken them all personally. I’d expect his attention and company, not just enjoy it when it was there. I’d feel I owed him the same. Now, why do I do this in relationships? Does everyone else do this, too? I know that for many people, just the sexual contact would be enough to transform the relationship; for me it’s not, but calling it a ‘relationship’ would.

I’d like, in my next turn on the merry-go-round of love, to remain in that friendly state, and not concern myself with my beloved’s habits and behaviours as long as they have no negative impact on me. I’d like to not take moods and quirks personally. I have lot of work to do to avoid this: I am egomaniacal enough to think that I am responsible for the happiness and comfort of those closest to me. Perhaps it seems to some of you that this would be no kind of love at all, or impractical, or cold. But I just want to enjoy my beloved as I enjoyed my friend, with all his funny little ways.