Back and forth on errand trail
The need for joy a subtle distance.
For hope itself disguised in rage
The world around now not a friend.
The silver lining wearing thin
Searching for the sun beyond.
Bit by bit a ray but then
A cloudburst too to spoil our mood.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
“There’s a flu bug going around,” said often with such terror and, or grim acceptance.
Vaccinations are spoken of and ever since the H1N1 farce more and more people feel compelled to prick themselves as a means to a defence. The problem is, and has always been, viruses are smarter than that, and the mere notion of a pancea is rendered, justifiably, redundant by their very existence. So what can we do to defend ourselves.
Vitamins, vitamins ,vitamins…and so on and on the barrage of fliers, ads, billboards, all designed to make you sick by their very ubiquity! What about the fruit stand, the colourful fruit that paints easy all these grey and miserable days? In my opinion it is still the best place to begin, so instead of allowing pharma to take up all the advertising space, maybe local government should sponsor a drive to advertise local produce during the festive season, if not all year round. If a government claims to really care for a country, then perhaps such initiatives can add more than lip-service to what often turns out to be the debacle we call self-serving politics.
Whether we are speaking about health in terms of the individual, the nation as a whole, or within terms of politics etc. there is one word we are sure to come across: balance. The balance is there when we address diet, good or bad, when we speak about training, exercising, studying, and on the political landscape, everybody knows that what is really needed in order for a country to gain stability is to have a spread across the board of political ideas. When a country is seen to be divided into just two camps, left and right, often times this imbalance is the pull and drag, push and shove mechanism of upheavel, and revolt. There comes a time when a population craves peace and consistency, and oddly enough sometimes dictators seem more likely to achieve at least some of this.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
Nighttime has brought the rain
And I move away from One and two
Into the arms of another.
The chill breeze early evening replaced
The sun long gone, huddling into the west
Leaving darkness to greet the rain that’s coming down.
Street lights in their endeavour find sheen resplendent luxury
A luxury that weary minds ignore.
I leave one and two and pass through judgement to my charge
The other lady in my life already sleeping.
© 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
Paramnesia
In the days of glorious sunshine that was my youth growing up in Ireland, I was often struck by the ease at which the good things in life came to me. Rather than explore the litany of successes which have made up my life, I would prefer to remark on one thing.
If memory can be made to seem ideal in face of the grimmer facts, can it not also be made to seem horrid where in fact it may have just been average: a balance sufficient to call it life, even living, yet perhaps not enough to ever have it glorified? On a connected note, what of this glorification? Does it find roots in solace for a life badly dealt or does it flourish in the fertile ground of abundant successes? Does anybody question the top dog when a story seems far fetched, and how often does the meeker individual find themselves under scrutiny for even the merest indication that they have, actually, done something interesting?
And so I digress.
Success, yes success. Now what’s that all about?
I remember…but do I really? I thought I did but suddenly the lines begin to blur between my inclusion and my delusion concerning the way things used to be.
Am I being hyperbolaic? Not sure, cos I haven’t looked at the dictionary yet.
Good night and remember, if you can’t remember, remember anyway. We are humans. We have imaginations. Armed with such tools, a person’s whole life can be entertaining.
” I could be bound in a nutshell…”
© 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 hit my girl this morning to make her see some sense.
She glared at me through teary eyes.
I could see she’d learned to vent.
It’s for your own good, I promise you
And she frowned and snarled and wept.
I slapped my girl this morning, and this has made all the difference.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
The night flourishes beyond the remnants of the day
and old thoughts are remembered so as to leave one believing everything is okay –
but be cautious – the city abounds with notion.
The tired heart-felt debilitation that leaves each person feeling worn –
The buses fill, the trams and metros too, there is a theme to this night after all:
The Christian splendor delicately in poise and still some.
Away in other quarters the night shares shadows with plagued minds
and from the prosperous bank of fear there is withdrawn such debts as may never be repaid.
The night has fallen on Calvary and while the carpenter amid the criminals at first begins to falter
It will be his faith, like mine, which will see us through.
©TheHairyTeacher2016
The floating word a chance perhaps a dream.
Something said that made some sense and yet was lost.
It doesn’t matter cos it’s memory serves just that much
To make whatever sense or make more sensible, as it should.
I didn’t utter words to die in memory forlorn soon forgot
But conjured thoughts to words not on the hope that you still lived
But not expecting death around the corner surprised was I and then remorse
© TheHairyTeacher 2016
The perfect morning.
The light spills from above in glorious white splendour
The air fresh, is vibrant, alive to the base requirement.
Birds chirp along in tennis-like mimicry
One-up-manship or just the way of things.
The tram draws me closer, soon to be beside her
To watch, to wonder, and to hope.
© TheHairyTeacher2016
