poetry, trails of thought

No [resent]{meant}

There is a place 

And time you race to quite slowly: and in general

I thought – for such a while – this place and race 

Was not mine to run.

But now I have found a space of wonderful sanctuary:

It’s neither you nor me – just my new space to be.

And now I have left you,

And now I am on my own,

And now my credit is out and my luck is withdrawn,

I feel the happiest soul there truly ever was:

No resentment do I forward on

To any soul nor org I know.

And even as I find this peaceful location, 

This situation of curious grace,

I find it so weird,

So weirdly weird,

That I no longer need people 

To be that people I love.

Standard
poetry, trails of thought

You know what it’s like to have begged for decades three?

You know what it’s like to have begged for decades three?

To always be me who ventured baleful request?

To know on each rejection how awful the next would likely be –

and yet still have to ask and proceed 

and plead for just a 

touch of her body?

For once in my life I would love to be asked;

for once in my life I would ask to be loved; 

for once in my life I would ask to be asked and beloved –

and so for once in my life not be rejected again.

Standard
poetry, trails of thought

The freedom to [r]eject

The freedom to reject 

Leads us to eject, almost as in 

Execution, almost as in

Realisation,

Both in seeing and carrying out,

Both beforehand and in after-

Maths,

Both in humanity and

The mudder of all tough,

Both a priori 

And in a descent to cooler climes,

The behind of times 

Lost to claims essential:

No blames this time;

No blames any longer;

No assumptions made;

No hopes often dashed;

No pessimism rash;

Nothing too bad 

Nor too exciting 

At all.

Just the ball that life can be

When its butterfly slights –

Or maybe goes so far as to 

Alight.

Standard
poetry, trails of thought

Imagine a world, where nothing 

Imagine a world, where nothing.

Imagine a world, where something.

Imagine a world, where anything.

Imagine a world, where everything 

You thought 

Was just your thought and imagining.

And so – just as justly – 

You were able to reclaim

A responsibility total

For every crime and blame, and heinous

Same that punished your daily rail.

And so imagine this world.

And so imagine it true.

For that is where you and I 

Do reside

Hurt and tailed.

And dogg-

ed. man is man 

Now dogged, for decades and more

By the sore reality

Either 

Of quite foolish vanity –

Or mebbe, serious alternately, 

A cruelty beyond measure.

Standard
poetry, trails of thought

“U think I C ill, dear RED – do you really?”

U think I C ill, dear red,

but what I C is everything

there is

for anyone

to C,

if anyone is

of the mind to remind

themselves of truth in its entirety.

U, meanwhile, C only surfaces of happy flat,

which result in

pleasantness and fun and the running of

young child in that wilful ignorance of wild.

 

And if U R out to convince me I C only ill,

let me inform U I not only see

the very best stuff

which

this tough rock has to offer,

I am able – quite despite the horrors

U choose to ignore,

and refuse to con-

template – to enjoy the diamond amongst the

rough-

est of (delibe{rat[ed.]}) cruelties.

 

And when U enjoy your world,

and ask me Y not,

UR fearless loving is hardly brave conduct

on UR part, in the

least of petite strate-

gems U do seriously insist on

calling me out for:

and it seems to me,

in further serious honesty,

U do seem

to prefer

to treat life as a ball-game of highs,

when in truth

the most joyful people I know

have had the grandest of times

as, simultaneous-

like, they know all too well its lows.

 

So don’t question my capacity to have fun:

question, instead,

your inability to run with the truth –

and still come out on top;

that top I right do,

despite

all the fro

and to;

despite

all the come

and pretty go which, curious-

like, U eject like seat

of wind-up show.

 

Standard
poetry

Back where I started, but IS OK!

You have to put on a brave face

when the crazy who help are crazier than

the you who, after all, after all, they think you [b].

 

You have to put on a saved face

when the savers who [w]help

are out to [c]rave you from the stuff

 

you always loved.

 

And you have to put on a gentle face

when, inside, you cried so much,

and the desperation you now feel and sense

 

and reel in, like compliments fished

sadly from the treasure chest

of memories so old …:

 

well, all those loves you never glad-

[d]ed., and always wondered exact how

badly was the you they ignored fab-

 

ly …

 

 

… for you to deserve such a sad

as

this [one].

Standard