To flounder in the muggy mind of breathlessness and beer
The spring arrives to summer and yet lethargic I am charged
The older woman found wanting upon the step inclined
A hand up a chance received renewed am I inside.
What kindness then that with intention for its own reward
The Quickening delighted note though as of yet not marred.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
Scoffing at the notion and yet with no retort
The vacant shell of knowledge echoing
my doubts – which remain defenceless
And yet my instinct tells me all’s a lie.
Just different camps designing
And so when righteous roar
I’ll reply with my own righteousness: You’re wrong
Thus persisting, uncertain as to why.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
And just now having asked as I recall this some hours hence
My favoured beverage not in stock just on paper
With some annoyance yet received paling it made sense
A pale ale is not a stout but something other.
Served up and bottle topped I leaned forward connoisseur like
As I poured it frothed forth with some surprise
And when it settled almost not the yeast inside put up a fight
While I surrendered to the taste that did arise.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
Yet no divinity
Just a relapse into hope;
The delusion fortified
Lies now dying in its own decay –
Spreading the seeds of fallacy
Renting the truth from tip to root
The captured eloquence – sermonial – has left words, lies,
Withered on black tongues.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
The tidy scribble of a child’s imagination
They render order that could never do.
They despoil nothing even in destruction
For it is drawn just of the sheer act itself.
They do not sit in rooms of highest consultation
And play with pawns as do the ones in suits.
Neither do they play with lives or keep them superficial.
What they do deliver – rank-
They’ve learnt from me and you.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
Pilate’s guilt
It had been three days hence and still the freshness of the water in the basin retained its vividness. The cool, calming, soothing water creeping under nail, vying in the pores for some eternal purchase. The cracks, the crevices of a younger man’s work, subtled out in the softness of decadence; the cold hard pierced memory too.
With undiminishing clarity he remembered the face of that pathetic Jew. He had no more sympathy for him than for a dog lying abandoned on the roadside and yet he’d felt a stirring that once again suggested the onslaught of age – the younger Pilate in defiance of the masses would have beheaded the man in a bold display of prowess. He had always despised weakness, and yet in the eyes of this one he had not seen this: Though fear had presided as with any man condemned, he had also seen hope – not the pointless hope of mania but the real hope borne of strong belief.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
Flight – low and sure
The heeled torment
My weakness only shorn about me
Like the regal beacon.
Relishing the flaws, the
Chance to render potent,
I’ve always found the worship in the temples of perfection.
My frailties regale me,
They are both my vanity and insecurity
But they can sometimes sprout endearing in the mind of all things beautiful.
Sometimes I’ll be misinterpreted
As stronger than I am –
A thought discouraged though I fear it’s opposite worse, more.
The day alleviates the nighttime’s sleeplessness
But offers up temptations to my soul.
© TheHairyTeacher2017
I’ll write with pen again
Not the all thumbs tippity-tap
Not the save and delete
Just the notebook. The sheet.
I’ll write with pen again
Cos I miss the focus
The tactile notion pen to paper create.
I’ll write with pen again
But will have to type it later
(but will have to type it in the end)
I once dreamt of something else
Not realizing it was somebody
And even when it became clear
I could never have said it was you!
It was only when I laid eyes upon you
That I realized in you my dream
All the darkness
Greyness
Light
Defined themselves in you.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
(Baptismal)
A perch , a woollen brow
Set on the hills above me now.
The weather’s turned
The sun gone in
The darkness comes and with it rain.
A fresh beginning, a wash of sins,
Trickling away… Into nothing.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
