Poetry

Strength & Sadness

Strength and sadness

Constant companions.

Casting shadow and light,

Competing in flight,

Rising, racing,

Undercutting each other,

Always tied to each other,

Each comes from the other.

Sadness, galvanises,

The sense in your core

A forewarning,

Tears shed in care

Love to spare.

Strength can be softening

An offering to others

Whose hands may be tied

Or whose sadness has swept their strength to the side.

It’ll be fine

When you have no real idea

Calm in the face of fear,

Not for yourself

But for everyone else.

Though the pair are poised opposed

The gaps between them close

To nothing.

To be so sad that

All you see is drenched in blue

And still walk one foot at a time,

To be caught under duvet like cement in your bed

And still breathe,

That’s strength.

To drop a hint for help or not tell,

That is still

A well,

Of unknown depths,

Of sadness and its strength.

EMC

Photo by the author, Interior ABC, Glasgow

Take it Easy

Pushing through, improving

When you feel like you’re not moving,

Tethered, same old mooring,

Feels like you don’t know what you’re doing.

 

Like a boulder on your back,

A form of self-attack,

Circumstances may have stalled,

And now you beat yourself down small.

 

‘Should’ can help or hinder,

Indicating mistakes or wrongs.

But magnified, turned inward

can also cast some shadows, long;

I should be better

I should be further

I should know all of the answers

I should have done this

I should have fixed it

I should be creating chances.

 

When all the power’s in your hands

And things are not according to your plans

So the logic goes, who else is to blame;

You set the fire, feel the flames.

Embrace your own autonomy

Your independent thought is free,

That is your responsibility.

But if you’re trying your level best

When the arrows just won’t rest,

Know that you are sound,

Sometimes solutions are waiting to be found.

They may require chipping out and carving, dug with your own muster,

But some assistance or opportunity can come from another.

Supportive words, a listening ear, or two,

Someone who believes in you.

And the light might not always cast itself in your direction,

But keep seeking,

Hand outstretched,

everywhere,

And it may just be met, half way in mid air.

 

A lattice of interlocking light,

Shines bright as kindness keeps alight

Our hearts like stars,

Connected by these threads

Like kites, balloons, or paper planes bobbing on a mobile above your head.

 

Paths leaves scars as you find your way

And in the pause of some relief

Breathe in  deep

Before submerging –

Because it will all come round again,

The rushing, never ending, one of those days, lack of sleep

This time when it’s really what you need,

For passions of whatever kind,

That soothe your heart and give you peace of mind.

 

EMC

 

 

 

 

Mind Control

Worries, stresses, unfettered,

Nerves, blush flushes, untempered.

Heat nicks my pins

Travelling toe to head,

Rushing water in a sinking ship,

It fills me up with dread.

 

Waking from a sleep,

My companion is on its feet.

I’m catching breath on ragged mesh

Tight wound, its marks impressed.

 

We’ve halted in the tunnel,

There’s no info and no signal

The doors are locked, the air gets hot,

And I envy all the couples.

 

 

If this chain reaction flies in full –

It’s the captor, it makes the rules.

 

Crouch down in corner,

Find out here it’s cooler,

Put my mind to work

And mine it for all its worth.

Eyes clamp shut

In myself I trust.

Paint across the conjured canvas,

Place my panic far at bay

Picture the fear flowing,

Hastily away.

 

These ancient mechanisms

Our in built defences

Go too far, strive too hard,

In their attempts to save us.

 

EMC

 

Getting Home

It’s Saturday night, it’s central station

And everybody’s winchin

Seeking some cessation

of the realisation

that fun is crawling to a halt.

But not before it’s been exhausted, squeezed clean of every sweaty droplet.

Burger king does a roaring trade

If chips were water we’d all be sober.

Chips chips burger chips

Fish and chips and curry sauce

Mixed with drips from spirit lubricated lips

Sauce and slaw and oil and batter

I burned this off already, just through my evening’s banter.

Shoes are pinching,

Heels are stabbing,

Feet on fire

Dancefloors made of burning coals.

Where’s my flats I thought I’d packed

Find the toilets

Oh god the stairs.

Try find change while feeling rage at the hell heat in my feet,

And then it’s 40p to pee. It’s a scandal it’s outrageous.

Contemplate peeing 40 times but I’d end up there for ages.

And now there is the final sprint

Running always running

I’m out of breath I’m risking ankle,

Ticket money coat bag fankle.

I made it skiting through the doors

I slip I slide, glad not to fall.

There’s singing and there’s shouting,

Bare feet on grimy floor

The train’s delayed, I need again,

Toilet queue is out the door.

And finally we’re moving

And I feel like going snoozing.

Bundle up my meagre jacket

And make a pillow for my comfort.

Late night lullaby;

Phone calls home

For lifts and food

Ready waiting pizza,

Filters in, improves my mood.

Looking back I might have liked

To keep track of stops encountered.

Tapping on my shoulder

Takes me from my slumber

To find I made a Platform blunder – reading 6 for 9,

It’s too late, I’ve gone too far, I’ve reached the end of the line.

EMC

Photo by the author. 

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A New Day

It’s New Year’s Day,

For once nature is noisier than the neighbours.

Cars still cross and tarmac creaks,

Under the weight

Of too many After-Eights.

 

Birds continue tweeting and feeding,

Unaware of the landmark change.

Their cycle continues,

Much the same.

 

Expectations, hopes, fears;

Leak out of window panes and door frames,

And fill the bracing air.

Solar embers ignite the sky,

Sending plumes of white cloud spinning,

Pigment collision.

At the peak of winter, a peek at the warmth soon to reach us.

EMC.

Photo by the author.

For Orlando

It is said that sexuality doesn’t define,

And no, don’t write me off.

But it is written through me,

Entwined on each fibrous level.

Meshed, hooked and looped from eye to toe.

It even began to taste sweet.

So it shatters my heart,

Rips the tissues apart,

When infiltrated by those who have hated.

 

Occupying secret spaces,

We have shared language and masked our faces.

Rites of passage thought wrong,

Wandering the straight and narrow for too long.

Until, you dare to deviate otherwise.

Hands contorted from decades of doors prised,

open.

 

I am tired, but they can’t wake up.

From the playground taunts to the political haunts,

Every word led to here.

EMC

Originally exhibited as part of the Stonewall Season, November 2016.

Photo by the author.

Thresholds

Unknown to myself,

Hidden in my heart,

Like a hunch in your gut,

Or a voice in the dark.

 

Strange street signs and alleyways,

can’t see where this leads,

One step at a time,

I trip over my feet.

 

Neon letters glow

With an electric pulse,

A beacon flickers below,

And tells me where

 

To head first.

No hand to hold,

Go it alone.

Bodies move on impulse, and slip by close.

 

These are the bright lights,

They thrum and surge,

And I retreat behind them,

into the club.

 

EMC

Originally exhibited as part of the Stonewall Season, November 2016. 

Photo by the author.