poetry

This Belfast, finally met / And so the people on the streets … / Just see

And you listen to good music,

And the people on the streets walk on by,

And the lyric rhymes nicely with the side of supper

You might have chosen once – but had to let go, sly.

And the stealthy ones are them; or so you suspect.

But it’s OK, because 

If what you wrote is any good, in any way,

At least when you’re dead 

Your kids will be proud of you.

And it doesn’t matter if you hurt whilst it happens

Because if there is worth,

There is reward –

Even if the reward is only for them,

That time, I mean, when you’re dead.

And the people on the street walk on by,

And the younger folk clasp hands and love, 

And later probably sigh,

In the evening of basking Belfast:

The Belfast you finally met.

And so maybe you’re a fool,

And maybe you were a tad ill, after all –

Some time after the walls you built,

And they built,

And more particularly she built,

And – truly! – we all built;

But that time is no longer.

And the wrongs you survived

Have revived your truths,

And made you the man that becomes 

The futures you will be.

Just see.

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poetry, trails of thought

Today’s gone and done 

As I wander through my thoughts 

My wandering makes me 

Wonder

At loss over loss.

And the cost has been essentially tremendous.

And my innate cautiousness 

Has made me loosen myself from so much 

My life could’ve provided me with.

But no matter:

For that was a yesterday.

And today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And therein lies –

And therein truths – 

The grandest of 

The grandest of 

Differences.

I did so much wrong through inaction, 

But now can do no more than apologise –

And then change where I am able.

And always remember that

Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

And always remember that 

Yesterday is today’s 

Well gone and 

Done.

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poetry, trails of thought

#Pride [in] #BelfastPride, #Belfast

I repeat myself and

find myself and

see myself so happy.

And as I successively saw

on the streets of the city of today

the generations and recreations,

and genial joes and

junior gals, and

toes and legs and smiles and eggings

on, with nothing lost and nothing

gone, I realise now

why life itself I find in the

wondrous of

LGBT+:

of all its land

and once sorely banned.

Above all else, I see at last how true

will be

the sexuality of any gender cool,

conceived as it should be in utter liberty:

and how such an inception must necessary

lead for

thee and me

and you and we, and

such as now,

to wisdoms of all our realities.

For the freedom of the few

never is freedom for the few;

for the only freedoms worth fighting for

are the core humanities

of liberties for all.

And only when we each may fuck

the duck we cherish

and love in luck

will heaven on earth replace

the hell they asserted – so

bald and crude and

lewd, you know! –

as future punishment

and awful threat;

and yet, in truth, reserved

quite wilful for current

hell and spell.

No surprise they wish

to impose

regime as hasty as they deny:

when all is done and seen, the love they reclaim

only maims and resigns

the kindest of moments for the bitter

and the broad of hurtful guilty read;

of all that terrible instead,

in fact.

And when all is been and dreadful said,

and time it is for head – yessir! –

and evening sex

and morning told

and afternoon romp at office desks

sustain our desires

to pursue so grand the wisdom of those fires

so fab

which drive us all this

wild

wild

wild,

remember this thing and remember it fine:

I prefer to admit how I covet your ass

than be an ass myself!

🙂

 

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poetry, trails of thought

And not QUITE like I painted it / [For the arrogance of youth DOES have its place]

And although I was saddened

And although I was baddened

And although I was mightened 

And although I was never righted

And though I was always wronged

And although all the above is true as 

A day and a

Toughened nightened,

Even so, I went much too far:

For the arrogance of youth 

Sometimes does magnificently achieve 

Magnificent 

Ends.

And my last year could never have happened

Without yous.

[And so

He doffs his cap 

And gives his swoosh

A gentle nudge.

A nudge, after all,

Of soulfelt 

Love.]

Thank yous so much!


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trails of thought

A footnote to five months of creative writing …

After a conversation I had with a journalist yesterday – a person whose opinions I value highly – as well other private conversations I absolutely treasure, I have decided that I shall no longer continue to post public poetry or writings for the moment.

I need to sort out my private life before I do anything else.

This will require the greatest concentration and effort on my part.

Writing parallel to that process would not be in good faith any more.

Where change could not take place, and was frozen by an impassive – where not impressive – lack of collaboration on the part of others, I think an argument could be made in favour of my going public – quite out of desperation – re the difficult situation, specifically the lack of physical affection, in my life.

But if I am now to contemplate that such change can take place, and the reason it can is because I am feeling empowered and finally proactive enough in myself to do so, having come to a better understanding of myself and my wants over the writings that have come out of the past five months, then it is no longer easy to justify a free and easy (not easy, but you know what I mean …) public tongue.

I have considered password-protecting the two creative blogs I have written since December, or even deleting them; but I was shown yesterday the zero wisdom in carrying out the latter action of an impulsive nature any time in the near future.  Meanwhile, the former would be foolish: the Streisand effect would kick in, if indeed anything of value might actually be missed.

So the blogs as they stand shall remain online.

I, however, will no longer document what happens in my life until I can reasonably attest to its stable and sustainable way of seeing, doing and being.

I hope you all understand me in this, and appreciate the real love I have sensed out there whilst I have reached this point in my existence on this rock.

And if understanding is difficult to come by, please accept that my real love and affection for those I most treasure – and have done so for years – is far greater than any desire I have for continued misery to be documented continuously, even where (perhaps) an argument could be made that some kind of art was being developed.

So be gentle with me, when you judge my actions.

See you all on the other side, right?

🙂

 

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poetry, trails of thought

Needs / Wants / Freedoms / Endings

I always did use to argue

that needs were more important than wants;

that wants were a luxury; that needs were

a necessity; that your needs should outweigh

my wants.

 

In a sense, however, I now realise I was wrong:

I was wrong as soundly as the sound of a

gong, ringing out brightly above latterday

music, composed to ennoble the streets and the

cities.

 

In terms of physical needs, and survival at the

limit, your needs at first must have priority

over luxury chocolate; my dark and

mysterious liquids; my desire for the unusual,

the unexpected and the de-

natural.

 

But in terms of other emotional realities, if you

are to burningly need me as in romantic

love, the attachment you profess is not a choice

you make but an action you feel violently bounden

to follow; and whilst this is grand, and

whilst this makes love a wonderful unthinking

act of generosity, since tidal wave of emotion

does drive it all, we cannot say you’re

loving me simply because you have chosen

such

a way.

 

And if you are to love me as I would have

you love me, and if I were to love you

as I would have me love you,

then in such a world of ideal circum-

stance, we would want each other always –

never need.

 

There will come a day, a day of helpless

sadness, when the job of a lover will not

be to love with ease, but rather

to spend their significant time, caring for

another who no longer can jump and dive into

love with the grandiose joy of unbridled

life, a reigning over of senses –

a reining in of opportunities –

in a way we never

knew and can no longer recall.

And that day of sad forgetfulness will

pursue us all quite gravely; and the aim of any

love right then will be to assert its sacrifice,

so bravely.

 

But until such a day arrives – if for you and me

arrival doesn’t already begin to present itself –

let us enjoy if not the practice at least the memory

of loves, physically exchanged through touch and

mind, reminding us courageously

of what might once have been.

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poetry

How life passed me by

Life passed me by in a million ways.

 

And the ways it passed me by

are the million ways

both your loves did ignore me:

the million ways patterns repeated, and

stabbed me like cauldrons of volcanic

liquids, sputtering and suppurating on gas fires galore,

over so many years and yores of moments past that

as they rest in passionate embrace, now cold to

the touch of memory mine – memory yours I no

longer know – I can only go

on what I still recall: and I am fatally

wounded; unable to love again.

 

For the sin of being unable to choose rightly first, yous

chose to make a choice of me last

like ultimate disgrace and repenting at

leisure-

lying realities: that even the bravery I have fought to show

goes nowhere, anywhere, any more, now.

 

And life passed me by in a million ways.

 

And the choices I must live with and the effort I must

make, to take onboard the consequences

of never having loved in a way I would have wanted,

is more than I can even announce: I have lost

the game you chose to engage: I have lost the duel

as fuel to my fears: I have lost all desire, even, any more,

to battle forwards any more.

 

And that, precisely that, is how life passed me by in a million

places and ways.

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