poetry, trails of thought

CB (without the T, K – or even Y for that matter)

CBT may work or not for others,

But what never will cut it for me any more

Is CBTK as some big happy family.

And still I do believe that CBTK 

Without the T and K, and their dreadful control freakery,

Will one day soon, one day wooed,

Be something so bloody good for me

That even I shall be able to dismiss 

The cry of stupid why. 

And if CB were – casually! – in some manner

Part of that tiresome TK sack,

Maybe cipher-like, 

Maybe misunderstanding-way,

Or simply, flatly, ham-fistedly to the 

Disappointing max of thoughtless precluding,

Then conversation with her I’d love to have

To calmly and collectingly 

Put – reflected! – my position.

And if by some happenstance fabulous

She had been on my side this widely from the start,

Then there would be little left for us to do

Than let the motherfuckers talk.

Because you and I would have,

Instead,

The tide of our lives!

Tide, 

Time …

and goddamn 

gorgeous rides.

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trails of thought

The very small good even I have managed to do

My daughter says so many nice things to me lately.  I don’t understand why and why now, but there you have it.  And I fear she will not feel the same shortly; but whilst it’s out there I can’t not be happy.  She sent me this pic of a pic that makes me feel I was irremediably good at one thing in this life, and one thing only: my kids.  And whilst it’s so much to have done – she even said to me that 25 percent of her achievements are due to me (this is not true, but nice for me to hear all the same; in particular, as a man who believes in enabling and facilitating others, above all) – even so, the world does not value these kinds of things.  The world just values the mega-aggressiveness of the Trumps and CEOs and leaders various, full of themselves and their scheming, horrible ways.

 

 

And where I really failed was in showing that it was possible to climb corporate trees and hierarchies and maintain the enabling and facilitating grace of a good father or mother.  And so it’s true where you took me, the other day in Belfast: I am not of this world, and neither do I want it.  And the people I love only want me to get dirty; and the person I really love lives in that really dirty world.

And I realise, now, I would rather be a Batman of real solitude but absolute integrity than a Kardashian happy with the fruits of consumerist and material … well … I don’t think the word “labour” actually fits the bill.

And so your efforts to change me over the past year have monumentally failed.  And even my children will shortly hate me for what I have been.  And so even that bit of my life which I thought always right will become a black hole of terrible despair.

And the future will bring what the future will bring.  And I shall have to work out how to properly fight solitude on all fronts.

And in my darkest moments, I shall look at this photo and remember the very small good even I have managed to do.

 

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poetry

Painful / Saneful

On the one hand, painful couldn’t get more.

On the other, saneful couldn’t get less.

And maybe, guess what?

Maybe, I’m not good enough for you:

But I’m better than she now deserves.

 

And on the one hand, painful couldn’t get worse.

And on the other, saneful couldn’t get better.

And maybe, reset me this?

Maybe, I’m not the man you thought I was:

But I am the man I myself can believe in.

 

And whilst on the one hand my daughter praises me, kind,

On the other, you disgrace me all the goddamn time.

And whilst my daughter says all the shit I went and did right,

You inform of all the shit I did wrong.

But I am the man I myself can believe in.

 

I am that good man, for sure.

 

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poetry

Yellow cello

You face is music to my hears:

Your grave voice is my choice of right:

Your body thin is skin easily enough:

And the stuff of your brain is such clever tough

All I want of you is the lasting thrive

Of life around you.

 

 

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trails of thought

Rhyming / Timing / People / Places / Institutions / Communities / Businesses / Support 

With the right sort of people, you can get the right sort of support.  Just ‘cos the wrong sort of people once used support to destroy and then control you doesn’t mean that everyone you’ll ever meet who wants to offer help has to be that sort of wrong sort of person. 

No?

plus 

equals 

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reviews, trails of thought

#Belfast [discarding the passed / embracing the future{s}]

My recent visit to Belfast showed me the kind of muscular beauty I love in any city or urban space.

And then, towards the end of my stay there, I ventured over to Queen’s University.  I had a fab Guinness in the SU Speakeasy bar; a grand fry in the Other Place nearby, the following day; wonderful walks around campus; bought a primer on Criminology at Blackwell’s; and generally fell in love with evident history and reputation. 

But what really blew my mind away were two buildings of such profound contemplation that the peace I found there – as I am remembering it now – can only make me a tad weepy in hindsight. 

The first – visited second – was the postgraduate School of Law building: curiously unsigned from without, and entirely sensible and embracing from within.  I spoke with a very gentle and softly spoken woman, who provided me with contact details for further information.  I went to the website yesterday: I now have a clearcut, absolute goal – achieve a 2:1 in my Master, taking the time I need to do so, and then researching at PhD level in a place I could only dream of being at a year ago.

The second was the wonderful wonderful McClay Library.  Oh, what a dream of a building and space.  And then inside, on the first floor, to the right as you come out of the lift, the astonishing C.S. Lewis Reading Room.  I wrote a poem whilst sitting there; and I wrote it in the presence of a beautiful young woman who reminded me so much of the beautiful Belfast woman the poem was about.  The woman who, if nothing else, has been my all-too-real muse over the last thirteen months.

And I realise my future lies in my future; and I realise there is so much I must discard from my past that I really don’t know where to finish.

But at least I have started. At least I have started.

🙂

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reviews, trails of thought

I love my daughter – sincerity imbued 

Got such a lovely series of texts from my brill daughter the other day.  She had been looking through old photos of mine.  She said that in another life I could’ve been a really cool photographer.  I trust her judgement like no one else’s.  She has just achieved a Level 4 distinction at Level 3 Foundation Art & Media, as well as previously obtaining an unconditional to study Film Studies at Kent this coming academic year.  She will be the fully formed artist I always yearned to become – and never now will quite manage. 

But on top of all of that, she even said how photogenic I used to be; and how I always looked honestly and directly at the camera – no shame!

Am happy this morning.  Am really happy.

I love my daughter.  She is sincerity imbued.

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