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
I have no news, she sighed
And the other side went dead.
An audible silence seeping through
Conveying the weight of optimism.
A baby’s babbling could be heard there –
While here the morning sun dabbed corners
Expressing beauty from a clouded mind.
Soon the journey would begin
Not my calvary just my worry
Burdened, moving, questioning…
A bus door opened hissss
And closing beep beeped.
And onwards sailing,
Nearly there.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
The provisions of the day
Outside the window the premature darkness of a rolling storm sent wisps of flue steam directed away from their previous predelictions
Their swirl and curl and rise and flutter all shoved aside and southwards.
The sunset spilling o’er the newly coined immensity lit still a south and west that dared a sunset breach.
And the city in its awkward splendour, the castle regal there beyond, and even here the fine brick exterior(s), perhaps facade to feccund interior.
The streets beneath less travelled by or so a wishful thinker hoped, but each siren bore a patient prize, each car a reluctant visitor.
And from a perch as this I was set to thinking…
The rust streaked stained walls, the dust grey grating, the white bars solid to fulfil imprisonment
And in flicker of a sunlit window the laden clouds came contrasting
While from an enclosed balcony I gathered back my thoughts and looked through cracked-paned window glass
To where a child, my child lay, set to sleeping, perchance to dreaming, perchance to rest.
© ThehairyTeacher2016
I would rather be it –
On earth tonight.
I would rather reign supreme
Than ever have fandangled promise
A sort of Damoclesian promise.
For sure it may be true,
But the tormenting doubt forever lurking?
Would that I would turn away from the flesh that binds
In favour of a faith so blind.
I may never live again and so must taste,
If anything, this life in all its ways.
And taste it pure and full
Not dull and in decay.
I must relish in my fears
Knowing life has always risk.
The life that has none is already death –
So defined by inconsequential evidence.
And so in light of sacrifice
I’ll topple my soul into the stream
And find the rhythm in the heat of things.
The passion, the forgiveness, all enraptured
Flowing as the current leads…
Towards the mouth, the opening.
I shall remember everything
My mistakes no less than my suffering .
Sometimes in the sound of things I remember,
Though by nature I’m inclined to forget.
In the beauty of all things forgotten,
the surprise defines all moments.
I hear in the voices of the children,
in my own voice too, though I may play reluctant,
The freedom of a passing moment captured,
Rendered real and different by our time.
In notions of my own self- deprecation
When I’ve renounced past Peter and sought Paul,
I merely beg forgiveness because I dared not assume it,
The fatal Christian flaw – the memory!
The night lies broken, breathless, shattered
From the remnants of a state
The heart in horror trembles,
The sheer impossibility cleverly delined by reason
Has itself inclined in dubious hope.
A rendered artefact or some more aged dogma…
A light, in truth, the death knell of depravity.
Shored up beyond the scurrilous entreprise,
The matching and the making,
The pairing of all hideous will,
the depth as once quite necessary:
Fed fine the aquatic entity
In toil and broil and unity swims out towards the breach of things,
The borders given form,
Both perceptible as thought and touch.
What flowers, builds new barriers,
Pushed out beyond the pale.
Nighttime fondles creeping,
And the shadows emanate.
Soft sounds as city hum infuses,
The mind at odds with immortality,
Finds roads reached out of time by fog and swirl and everything.
The essence of a tired being,
The night in duplication fathoms nourishment from blood soaked stones,
The drops of soul, the seed denied.
Roots sans purchase revel in a weary word
Shake skyward a silly song.
A song of freedom, a song of hope,
Just as nightingales and larks united.
A kiss, a gentle tug, a pleading,
The face of dawn beyond the sight emerging
Shades the black to blue to navy grey.
And yet from where the traveller finally rests there’s nothing but night’s silhouette
Reflections, musings, all indirect.
The shadows of timidity set.
Eyes bound to embrace if by chance
And then in blush turn once more back.
To shaded Eyes, the hidden glance,
The brushing back – displaying risk.
Another eye to eye embrace
Till two souls set save embarrassment.
A nail pick and a fumble still
The night resides in circumstance.
Ill-comfort or the lack of breath…
One’s terrified by the sombre poet.
Hope, yet eternal, Springs then falls
It is the chill of winter Afterall.
And so the fleeting glance- perchance-
Is nothing but the final failed romance.
And yet in words as these, such coined,
There is a lurch towards new Hope!
In the interests of safety, I will write this carefully
but don’t confuse caution with fear.
I have not chosen prudence to avoid any conflict
just I know better than to create what’s not there.
Ah, but therein lacks a passion, to never fully explore,
and I surrender to the notion right then.
Yet on further inspection, and I’m off down the road,
Such hollow words oft come from men who’ve not lived them.
So go swimming with sharks, or float higher than larks,
and as you plummet remember my face!
I’m not here to live your life, nor follow your dreams
So please leave me alone with my ways .
Because if you can’t tolerate choice, while iterating freedom,
and if you can’t see the hypocrite you’re being,
then sorry to say but you’ve spent your worth away
And what I liked about you dissipates.
Now, as for the one who does as he pleases,
maybe more exciting by far than I know,
of him I say nothing if of me he claims ditto,
because every man’s life is just his own.
So wallow in depression if need be,
or holler your madness out loud,
Go read a book in the park near where the single moms sit
Or join the theatre and hold your head proud.
Do things that are cool for people different to you
and say things like: “all men are fools”
For there in the end when your image is spent
You’ll be dead along with me too!
I had skinned knuckles once too.
I even tried to express this as significant;
It wasn’t, anymore than I was,
in the sense that I was me.
I had the marks of brutality upon me,
they remained long after any sense of bravery.
If you display yours to an intimidation,
remember I did that and I know what lies beneath.
If, however, you pick at these in shame,
like somehow they are wrong for you,
like somehow you are better than these scabs,
then I have nothing to work with –
dare I judge?
I’d judge thee, judgement being… what?
A penchant you might say.
I have tonight tried to contradict myself
but it’s so much easier to believe the fallacy,
so much easier to reason to your passions
than to the core of fact itself.
Half-informed I’ll rage in dreams
against the dying of our rights
but if ever proved I will not stand against the foe
as I perceived it,
and therefore vacant,
impotent,
I may as well
stand for nothing!
©TheHairyTeacher2014
Ding dong one witch is dead
and another scales the closet
and hurls abuse from up on high
at all of you below.
Ding dong what’s wrong, revolution’s dead
it’s with O’Leary raping Darwin’s ghost.
The future is a certainty but the past is unexplored.
The mode, the chicish mania
soon will be our shame
new morals, lies, define them such
will amount to much the same…
©TheHairyTeacher2014
