BETTER IS BEAUTIFUL

As youths at school -- in what seems a whole lifetime ago, now, elderly fellow that I am -- we were sometimes asked by teachers what we wanted to be when we grew up. 

After two decades of being an adult and gracing a few arenas of employment, I'm still deciding. 

But this one goes beyond career or other signifiers of adulthood or tangible achievement: 



'GROWING TOWARDS THE LIGHT'

What do I want to be? 
I want to be better.

I want to give out a smile
Not expecting one back. 

I want to speak out 
Even though it might cost me.

I want to personally make sure
No-one feels left behind.

I want to go thru a single day 
And not once feel despair.

I want to recall my life's mistakes
Without beating myself up for them.

I want to look in the mirror 
And think: "Yeh... he's alright."

Praying for miracles? Perhaps. 
But worth dreaming of, yes?

What do I want to be? 
I want to be better.

 

GOIN’ FORWARD

'PATHWAY TO PEACE'

Why so damn anxious? 
Think you're a big fat failure? 
Not giving enough? 

You feel left behind? 
Useless with a flabby mind? 
And no direction?

If you can... relax.
Things happen when they happen:
To each a season. 

Don't seek approval:
Our only judge and jury
Is simply ourself.

On the road of life 
We don't race anyone else:
Move to your own beat.

SOLE FLAME OF BEAUTY

'IN THE MIDST OF THE ECLIPSE'

Foulness in the air. 
The heady aromas of awfulness.
Bitterness surrounds. 
Dark days.
Dreary days. 
Days of ice cold apathy. 

So? 
If you've any energy left at all?

For fuck's sake: smile.

Even if it's a bad one,
Or a slightly embarrassed half-smile: 
If it has warmth in it, it'll do.

Give out as many smiles as you can. 
Because, after all? 
For some people that you smile at? 
It will be the only warm thing 
They'll get in their life today. 

Be the pinprick of starlight; 
Be the stab of blazing light;
The blazing light of sweet humanity 
Amid the freezing darkness.

A single smile is a flame
That sets souls and dreams alight.

LONG LOST WEEKEND

'LEISURES'

Sweet Easter weekend?

A languid, reflective time;
Believer or non-believer. 

Appreciating life;
And what we love
Or have loved. 

Four days? 
Four moods: 
Hopeful, hearty,
Stressed and sad. 

These moods? 
Sometimes consecutive
Occasionally concurrent.
For now I'll be content
To be inconsistent. 

Hot handful of friends; 
Many mirthful words,
Thoughtful phrases, 
Delicious nonsense
And a few small drops 
Of lusty Socratic wonder. 

Lashings of saucy cider;
Whimsical whisky later:
Drowning in the delight 
Of a balmy British spring.
Days of jubilant joie de vivre;
Heady laughter to drown out
The steady hum of darkness. 

The final day begins: 
Time for WordPress? 
Not enough. 
Time to enjoy the company
Of blogging chums? 
Not nearly enough. 
A most happy addict, me: 
Wanting more of my fix.

 

WELL, MY FRIEND…

'FIVE IF'S'

If you have suffered
And truly know the suicidal pain 
Of gut-wrenching depression?
Then you are a survivor. 

If people have hurt you 
And made you feel worthless
But you know, deep down, you deserve better?
Then you are a fighter. 

If your own problems
Have made you hurt or overlook others 
But you're sorry and want to make amends?
Then you are a good person. 

If panic has taken so much of your life away 
But you badly want it back
And plan to one day kick anxiety's ass?
Then you are a badass. 

If you know the pain of
What some might call 'failure'. 
But you want you and your friends to do better? 
Then you are a winner. 

So... let's see? 
You're a survivor, a fighter, 
A good person, a badass, and a winner. 
Well, my friend... I'm proud to know you.

 

FACE AT THE WINDOW

'LITTLE GIRL LOST'

Locked out and alone; 
Nose pressed against the window. 
Shivering outside. 

Desperately dark;
She simply wants to belong. 
Shivering inside. 

How long lasts the night? 
She can no longer tell time. 
Her tears? Long frozen. 

Spare a thought for her; 
She's all of us, at some point: 
Praying for the dawn.

RAGE

Pretty grim subject matter, really...


'RED MISTY-EYED'

Gentle post-meridiem, 
All smooth and sunlit. 
Yet turbulent beneath:
Thunderbolts aplenty;
Cyclones and sourness.

"They attempted to end it all."
How does it sound? 
Dramatic?
Operatic?
Histrionic?

In my head, the voice of
The obsequious butler:
"Has Sir considered apathy instead?" 
Sir has, indeed: 
Just before he rejected it.

Does it matter how well I know them? 
Brother, sister, or stranger: 
The fact that they tried
Is bad enough.
Once is too many times.

I look to myself,
Having little else useful to do:
Not a heart bleeding,
But blood-red with rage
At the shitty way of things.

Bring out Brünnhilde
To give us a big tune:
Let the trumpets touch the sky;
Self-righteous or not,
Voices need to be heard.

Is it haughty indignation?
Or something entirely valid? 
Many questions.
Few answers.
If any. 

So should I punch the pillow? 
Or lay my head on it?
I'd like some good sleep. 
It used to be a hobby,
Now it's the Holy fucking Grail.