Nine years on,
It is clear to see:
Redemption
Is for the living,
While the dead
Wait in courtesy.
Showing posts with label Big Man. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Man. Show all posts
Friday, January 13, 2012
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Birthday
The shifting climate produces
In the country a freeze which reflects
My reaction to everything these days.
I find myself possessed by the many
Insignificant and irreversible truths
Of my life, and am plagued by regret.
Hooked to my belt everyday is a pouch
Of salt so that a pinch is always within
Reach when something invariably rots.
And I have adopted a pessimistic view to
Every act of life because all I expect is for
Decency to give way to apathy in the end.
But then mother told me something which
Stopped my existentialism in its infancy:
That today is your birthday, Big Man.
It has only occurred to me how much
Of my life I have lived without
The advice of a father or father-figure.
And it dawns on me, too, how even
In death our relationship mirrors exactly
What we would have become regardless.
You and mother could never hear me
Scream or shout, or cry alone in the dark,
So what hope was there for conversation?
Though you never chose it to be this way,
You did choose to leave, and your departing manner -
Buried in silence, without a single word spoken.
And though mother tells me again
That today is your birthday, it makes no
Difference to the reality of my existence.
I went from seeing you once a week
To not at all, which was as easy a
Transition as one could ever ask for.
Mother feeds me and washes my clothes,
So while her and I fail to communicate on
A real level, she is there at the most basic.
You could not be here, Big Man, because
You chose to die instead of facing your issues
Like the man you were built up to be.
And I would be lying if I said a similar flight
Had never crossed my own mind - but your
Boarding it first is what keeps me breathing.
So at the third time of mother’s mention
I present to you your birthday gift today:
A thank you for playing a part in my creation…
And the truth that you will never define me.
In the country a freeze which reflects
My reaction to everything these days.
I find myself possessed by the many
Insignificant and irreversible truths
Of my life, and am plagued by regret.
Hooked to my belt everyday is a pouch
Of salt so that a pinch is always within
Reach when something invariably rots.
And I have adopted a pessimistic view to
Every act of life because all I expect is for
Decency to give way to apathy in the end.
But then mother told me something which
Stopped my existentialism in its infancy:
That today is your birthday, Big Man.
It has only occurred to me how much
Of my life I have lived without
The advice of a father or father-figure.
And it dawns on me, too, how even
In death our relationship mirrors exactly
What we would have become regardless.
You and mother could never hear me
Scream or shout, or cry alone in the dark,
So what hope was there for conversation?
Though you never chose it to be this way,
You did choose to leave, and your departing manner -
Buried in silence, without a single word spoken.
And though mother tells me again
That today is your birthday, it makes no
Difference to the reality of my existence.
I went from seeing you once a week
To not at all, which was as easy a
Transition as one could ever ask for.
Mother feeds me and washes my clothes,
So while her and I fail to communicate on
A real level, she is there at the most basic.
You could not be here, Big Man, because
You chose to die instead of facing your issues
Like the man you were built up to be.
And I would be lying if I said a similar flight
Had never crossed my own mind - but your
Boarding it first is what keeps me breathing.
So at the third time of mother’s mention
I present to you your birthday gift today:
A thank you for playing a part in my creation…
And the truth that you will never define me.
Monday, June 7, 2010
God
I have a friend who proclaims nothing is in our hands
because it is all in the laps of the gods we cannot see.
I have a grandfather who is convinced a god watches
over us day-by-day and keeps his son safe until the
long awaited moment when they are reunited again.
I have a grandmother who lives by grandfather’s rules,
not through faith but through hope that come the end
of it all he turns out to be right in the face of adversity.
I have a father buried beneath a headstone he did not want
because he never saw or heard the god his father claimed to know.
And I cannot claim to know him either, regardless of my friend’s
proclamations and my grandfather’s insistence that his
prayer’s for me are always answered because I am not
the bastard I need to be, nor am I as large as the life
they think I have behind these eyes so allegedly alabaster.
And it is in irony that I claim to be so cold in isolation as
grandfather truly believes if I clasp my hands in silent prayer
I could never be alone - but talking to myself, or to the walls, does not
constitute being in company; otherwise I would never be alone,
despite failing to utter a single Hail Mary for my spurious smiles.
because it is all in the laps of the gods we cannot see.
I have a grandfather who is convinced a god watches
over us day-by-day and keeps his son safe until the
long awaited moment when they are reunited again.
I have a grandmother who lives by grandfather’s rules,
not through faith but through hope that come the end
of it all he turns out to be right in the face of adversity.
I have a father buried beneath a headstone he did not want
because he never saw or heard the god his father claimed to know.
And I cannot claim to know him either, regardless of my friend’s
proclamations and my grandfather’s insistence that his
prayer’s for me are always answered because I am not
the bastard I need to be, nor am I as large as the life
they think I have behind these eyes so allegedly alabaster.
And it is in irony that I claim to be so cold in isolation as
grandfather truly believes if I clasp my hands in silent prayer
I could never be alone - but talking to myself, or to the walls, does not
constitute being in company; otherwise I would never be alone,
despite failing to utter a single Hail Mary for my spurious smiles.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Bray Stones
Smoothest stones in the country are found in Bray,
Subtly crafted by the lapping waves, constant,
Rounding off the sharp edges and corners,
Perfect for spinning along the ocean’s cover.
A sign was erected denying access to these stones,
The last time I set foot here was with my father
Over ten years ago, on a sunnier day in simpler times;
I remember no sign stopping us that day, as we
Skimmed stone after stone across the sea’s surface
Like time would never end and the supply would
Never dry up, no matter how bright the sun above shone.
And I took one of these stones home, coloured it blue
With a marker I had, as if its hard softness did not
Make it unique enough to be worthy of sentiment.
My only other memory of that trip apart from today
Is of my father calling me as I wandered off on a tangent,
Back towards the train station, for no apparent reason.
Bray looks so different on a darker day, through adult eyes
And in a changed company of people - those stones now seem
So far away, as my friends prefer the allure of alcohol
And loop hole drugs to the plainer pleasure of stone throwing,
Even though those stones are the key to unlocking ease.
When spaced-out ossification is achieved, thieving machines
Are turned to in search of a time-killing buzz, with five cent
Coins thrown away in their twenties in return for five back
And a victory in falsified circumstance and programmed luck.
One look around and you can see the lives they have stolen
From the locals, some of whom are in their fifties and have
Been sitting in the same seats since their twenties, praying
In vain for the luck and the payoff to aid their never-to-be escape.
These machines play music all ‘round us, telling us who the
Big winners and losers are, which machines are paying out
And which are holding back, even though the system is always
Dominant over us land-locked folk who dream of sailing away.
(I went to Bray today - read what it made me think).
Subtly crafted by the lapping waves, constant,
Rounding off the sharp edges and corners,
Perfect for spinning along the ocean’s cover.
A sign was erected denying access to these stones,
The last time I set foot here was with my father
Over ten years ago, on a sunnier day in simpler times;
I remember no sign stopping us that day, as we
Skimmed stone after stone across the sea’s surface
Like time would never end and the supply would
Never dry up, no matter how bright the sun above shone.
And I took one of these stones home, coloured it blue
With a marker I had, as if its hard softness did not
Make it unique enough to be worthy of sentiment.
My only other memory of that trip apart from today
Is of my father calling me as I wandered off on a tangent,
Back towards the train station, for no apparent reason.
Bray looks so different on a darker day, through adult eyes
And in a changed company of people - those stones now seem
So far away, as my friends prefer the allure of alcohol
And loop hole drugs to the plainer pleasure of stone throwing,
Even though those stones are the key to unlocking ease.
When spaced-out ossification is achieved, thieving machines
Are turned to in search of a time-killing buzz, with five cent
Coins thrown away in their twenties in return for five back
And a victory in falsified circumstance and programmed luck.
One look around and you can see the lives they have stolen
From the locals, some of whom are in their fifties and have
Been sitting in the same seats since their twenties, praying
In vain for the luck and the payoff to aid their never-to-be escape.
These machines play music all ‘round us, telling us who the
Big winners and losers are, which machines are paying out
And which are holding back, even though the system is always
Dominant over us land-locked folk who dream of sailing away.
(I went to Bray today - read what it made me think).
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Today and Tomorrow Make Seven Between
Woke up to one of your signs,
Console the switched ‘round consoler,
Vanish into the days ahead,
Be the unhearing loner.
Voices still call out to you,
Lost in the dead earth and wood,
Wondering how to save you,
Forgetting they never could.
Fleeing the country to shores new,
Your rope remains just as taut,
Tears fall as they soon realise,
Hanging’s as firm as you thought.
Only one can run from life,
Leaving the stigma far behind,
Yearly they cry at your grave,
Your flight just turns in my mind.
Today and tomorrow make seven between.
With passing time come truths unforeseen.
Revelations, contemplations,
Hidden logic of your soul,
Vision tunnelled by mistakes,
She-devil dances, ripped whole.
Broken in peace or in pieces,
Private fight with fate’s choice,
A futile fray with tied chords,
Never did have your own voice.
(year seven's annual remembrance poem for my father - Signs by Bloc Party was used as a basis, meaning this poem could be sung to the music of Signs).
Console the switched ‘round consoler,
Vanish into the days ahead,
Be the unhearing loner.
Voices still call out to you,
Lost in the dead earth and wood,
Wondering how to save you,
Forgetting they never could.
Fleeing the country to shores new,
Your rope remains just as taut,
Tears fall as they soon realise,
Hanging’s as firm as you thought.
Only one can run from life,
Leaving the stigma far behind,
Yearly they cry at your grave,
Your flight just turns in my mind.
Today and tomorrow make seven between.
With passing time come truths unforeseen.
Revelations, contemplations,
Hidden logic of your soul,
Vision tunnelled by mistakes,
She-devil dances, ripped whole.
Broken in peace or in pieces,
Private fight with fate’s choice,
A futile fray with tied chords,
Never did have your own voice.
(year seven's annual remembrance poem for my father - Signs by Bloc Party was used as a basis, meaning this poem could be sung to the music of Signs).
Unwanted Monuments
Grave adorned with statues of a religion not followed,
Mary Mother of God watches over a man who never asked for her presence,
A cross is draped across the dark green marble like a necklace,
Prayers left in hope for a man who never wanted prayers or to pray,
And I just cannot stop this train of thought charging through,
Is this all we have waiting for us at the end of it all?
Sitting in silent solitude in a spot that offers little wisdom but plenty of time,
Perspective should be offered in the young and old buried all ‘round me,
The clouds stop moving and the wind stops blowing upon a sad sound,
A little girl crying for her daddy while her mother desperately tries to explain,
Visitors can only look on and feel sympathy at one so young losing her big man,
I can relate yet disregard her with one simple glance left and right.
A look around and every grave is the exact same,
God, Mary, Jesus, Joseph and the rest dominate these people’s deaths,
The fear of the unknown forces loved ones to act according to the Bible,
Even if those they loved held no passion for God or prayer or salvation,
Even if those we loved just wanted to find a way out,
Regardless of risking a run in with the devil in doing so.
Mind wanders back nearly seven years to the funeral we never wanted,
Readings and references to that dreamt up place called heaven,
All the mourners shaking in floods as they hope its existence is genuine,
Tommy recites his favourite passages which he always wanted his son to favour,
Even though Tommy knew full well, and still knows full well seven years on,
That his son never heard God’s apparent calls of reason.
Tommy buried himself in signs while his son was buried closer to hell,
Claiming his son is being watched by a God he never truly believed in,
Denial is a river down withered old cheeks too stubborn to change their ways,
The loss of a real thing will only reinforce belief in something that has no proof,
And Tommy will want those statues resting on his son’s grave to remain,
Even if his son never thought this was all his death would mean to his father.
(I visited my father's grave one day and, seven years after he passed away, suddenly realised the hypocrisy he was buried in and the hypocrisy he his now remembered by).
Mary Mother of God watches over a man who never asked for her presence,
A cross is draped across the dark green marble like a necklace,
Prayers left in hope for a man who never wanted prayers or to pray,
And I just cannot stop this train of thought charging through,
Is this all we have waiting for us at the end of it all?
Sitting in silent solitude in a spot that offers little wisdom but plenty of time,
Perspective should be offered in the young and old buried all ‘round me,
The clouds stop moving and the wind stops blowing upon a sad sound,
A little girl crying for her daddy while her mother desperately tries to explain,
Visitors can only look on and feel sympathy at one so young losing her big man,
I can relate yet disregard her with one simple glance left and right.
A look around and every grave is the exact same,
God, Mary, Jesus, Joseph and the rest dominate these people’s deaths,
The fear of the unknown forces loved ones to act according to the Bible,
Even if those they loved held no passion for God or prayer or salvation,
Even if those we loved just wanted to find a way out,
Regardless of risking a run in with the devil in doing so.
Mind wanders back nearly seven years to the funeral we never wanted,
Readings and references to that dreamt up place called heaven,
All the mourners shaking in floods as they hope its existence is genuine,
Tommy recites his favourite passages which he always wanted his son to favour,
Even though Tommy knew full well, and still knows full well seven years on,
That his son never heard God’s apparent calls of reason.
Tommy buried himself in signs while his son was buried closer to hell,
Claiming his son is being watched by a God he never truly believed in,
Denial is a river down withered old cheeks too stubborn to change their ways,
The loss of a real thing will only reinforce belief in something that has no proof,
And Tommy will want those statues resting on his son’s grave to remain,
Even if his son never thought this was all his death would mean to his father.
(I visited my father's grave one day and, seven years after he passed away, suddenly realised the hypocrisy he was buried in and the hypocrisy he his now remembered by).
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Untitled Document
And I am surrounded by mindless, random people,
When all I want is a conversation with one random, mindless person,
And I really do not want to be here, yet I have to be,
In the hope a friend not mindless will let me listen to them,
And there is sweat dripping from my forehead,
But I fail to see the point.
And I am forced to stand and watch as it unfolds before me,
On the dance floor, trapped by the people,
And I cannot move my shoulders as I see their lips lock,
Dashing dreams with every motion,
And I fight my way from the horrific heartbreaking scene,
Leaving in a frenzy of stomach churning emotion.
And I cannot afford to breath too loudly,
Or they will notice my taking leave is based on half a lie,
And the people in the restaurant outside marvel at the saddest sight they ever saw,
A man in a long black overcoat and tuxedo t-shirt,
And he walks the long road home alone, a lost look on his face,
Head bowed in the rain as he realises his hope was the biggest joke of them all.
And the break dancer with the backwards cap and the old man with withered old wisdom,
Stand sheltered beside the shuttered doors of the pub to share a cigarette,
And a drunk stumbles past, a young man with his life supposedly ahead of him,
Trying to convince me that his money has been stolen,
And he howls a crying plea so transparent, I know I will be the robbed one,
Should I take his five simple steps toward his hidden right hand.
And the old man walking thirty yards ahead holds back a tear,
As I lag behind singing beautiful words out of tune,
And they tell a tragic story with inflections of reality buried in the tone,
So much so the old man cannot distinguish between fact and fiction,
And everything in the air is jumbled with all the varying noises,
Disorientating the old man whose sleep that night would be disturbed by visions of me.
And the person lying asleep on the steps of an abandoned house,
Just wishes I would shut my well-off mouth,
And she resents the fact I can afford to walk this distance home,
Safe in the knowledge that a taxi can get me to a guaranteed bed at any time,
And she thinks me a pretentious so and so, who writes random lines into his mobile phone,
In the hope that simple elaboration will make masterpieces of them.
And I gaze into the dark never ending expanse of Fairview Park,
Seeing a gloriously bitter end to a gloriously bitter night,
And creeping cars frighten me with their shadow casting lights,
Because I fear knowing the people inside the cars and inside the shadows,
And I laugh sadly as a swarm of taxis fly by,
Racing each other to the city’s few fares (fairs).
And I see a silhouetted figure run into the middle of the road,
Before vanishing into nothing before my heavy eyes,
And I am unsure if this was a fatigue induced hallucination,
Or a warning to heed the cramp in my right calf,
And I stare nervously at the place it disappeared as I walk past it,
Convinced it will reappear and take me to the place where shadows sleep.
And a car wash light flickers on and off, when there’s no need for it to be alive at all,
When all washable cars are clean at this inhumane time between morning and wakening,
And the cover of trees shelters me from the prying eyes of hunters of the night,
Who may judge my behaviour and spread lies to those who could harm me,
And a song comes on my MP3 player that incites a rage years old,
That I did not know even existed until this moment of disillusioned clarity.
And I am angry at my father now, but not for the manner of his departure,
Or for the consequences on myself or on my father’s side of the tree,
And my anger breaks, leading to screams of undecipherable, mutilated lyrics,
As I realise with sudden helplessness the effect his death will have on my brothers,
And I resent the timing of him knotting the noose,
As his sons were too young to lose a father figure, and I was too young to become one.
And I notice now a slash on my conscience,
A seven year old bleeding wound.
(I was walking home from town one night, which is a two hour walk or so for me, and I was just typing things that happened, or that I saw or thought, into my phone and saving them as drafts as I went - this is the end result of that process).
When all I want is a conversation with one random, mindless person,
And I really do not want to be here, yet I have to be,
In the hope a friend not mindless will let me listen to them,
And there is sweat dripping from my forehead,
But I fail to see the point.
And I am forced to stand and watch as it unfolds before me,
On the dance floor, trapped by the people,
And I cannot move my shoulders as I see their lips lock,
Dashing dreams with every motion,
And I fight my way from the horrific heartbreaking scene,
Leaving in a frenzy of stomach churning emotion.
And I cannot afford to breath too loudly,
Or they will notice my taking leave is based on half a lie,
And the people in the restaurant outside marvel at the saddest sight they ever saw,
A man in a long black overcoat and tuxedo t-shirt,
And he walks the long road home alone, a lost look on his face,
Head bowed in the rain as he realises his hope was the biggest joke of them all.
And the break dancer with the backwards cap and the old man with withered old wisdom,
Stand sheltered beside the shuttered doors of the pub to share a cigarette,
And a drunk stumbles past, a young man with his life supposedly ahead of him,
Trying to convince me that his money has been stolen,
And he howls a crying plea so transparent, I know I will be the robbed one,
Should I take his five simple steps toward his hidden right hand.
And the old man walking thirty yards ahead holds back a tear,
As I lag behind singing beautiful words out of tune,
And they tell a tragic story with inflections of reality buried in the tone,
So much so the old man cannot distinguish between fact and fiction,
And everything in the air is jumbled with all the varying noises,
Disorientating the old man whose sleep that night would be disturbed by visions of me.
And the person lying asleep on the steps of an abandoned house,
Just wishes I would shut my well-off mouth,
And she resents the fact I can afford to walk this distance home,
Safe in the knowledge that a taxi can get me to a guaranteed bed at any time,
And she thinks me a pretentious so and so, who writes random lines into his mobile phone,
In the hope that simple elaboration will make masterpieces of them.
And I gaze into the dark never ending expanse of Fairview Park,
Seeing a gloriously bitter end to a gloriously bitter night,
And creeping cars frighten me with their shadow casting lights,
Because I fear knowing the people inside the cars and inside the shadows,
And I laugh sadly as a swarm of taxis fly by,
Racing each other to the city’s few fares (fairs).
And I see a silhouetted figure run into the middle of the road,
Before vanishing into nothing before my heavy eyes,
And I am unsure if this was a fatigue induced hallucination,
Or a warning to heed the cramp in my right calf,
And I stare nervously at the place it disappeared as I walk past it,
Convinced it will reappear and take me to the place where shadows sleep.
And a car wash light flickers on and off, when there’s no need for it to be alive at all,
When all washable cars are clean at this inhumane time between morning and wakening,
And the cover of trees shelters me from the prying eyes of hunters of the night,
Who may judge my behaviour and spread lies to those who could harm me,
And a song comes on my MP3 player that incites a rage years old,
That I did not know even existed until this moment of disillusioned clarity.
And I am angry at my father now, but not for the manner of his departure,
Or for the consequences on myself or on my father’s side of the tree,
And my anger breaks, leading to screams of undecipherable, mutilated lyrics,
As I realise with sudden helplessness the effect his death will have on my brothers,
And I resent the timing of him knotting the noose,
As his sons were too young to lose a father figure, and I was too young to become one.
And I notice now a slash on my conscience,
A seven year old bleeding wound.
(I was walking home from town one night, which is a two hour walk or so for me, and I was just typing things that happened, or that I saw or thought, into my phone and saving them as drafts as I went - this is the end result of that process).
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Six Years On
Given the chance again,
I’d do it all the same,
But either way,
I’m just outplayed,
Given the chance again,
You’d do it all the same,
But either way,
Your welcome is outstayed…
Or so you felt.
Only to roll back time,
Football nine till nine,
But your boots are hung up,
Dust gathers on mine,
Only to roll back time,
Celtic rain or shine,
But your jerseys are boxed up,
Your heart’s not mine…
My cards were dealt.
It used to take its toll,
Being guardian of the goal,
But not anymore,
Living with your soul,
It used to take its toll,
Being guardian of the goal,
But not anymore,
Living another role…
My knees are knelt.
Before your grave,
Bad memories I stave,
But regardless of the past,
They make me a slave,
Before your grave,
My hands you crave,
But regardless of the future,
I feel pride’s wave…
And so I wept.
Watch me rise and rise,
See the fight in my eyes,
Doubts subside this time,
As I bring tears from the skies,
Watch me rise and rise,
Hear the pride in your cries,
Doubts subside this time,
As I bring tears to your eyes…
And so we parted.
Six years on.
I’d do it all the same,
But either way,
I’m just outplayed,
Given the chance again,
You’d do it all the same,
But either way,
Your welcome is outstayed…
Or so you felt.
Only to roll back time,
Football nine till nine,
But your boots are hung up,
Dust gathers on mine,
Only to roll back time,
Celtic rain or shine,
But your jerseys are boxed up,
Your heart’s not mine…
My cards were dealt.
It used to take its toll,
Being guardian of the goal,
But not anymore,
Living with your soul,
It used to take its toll,
Being guardian of the goal,
But not anymore,
Living another role…
My knees are knelt.
Before your grave,
Bad memories I stave,
But regardless of the past,
They make me a slave,
Before your grave,
My hands you crave,
But regardless of the future,
I feel pride’s wave…
And so I wept.
Watch me rise and rise,
See the fight in my eyes,
Doubts subside this time,
As I bring tears from the skies,
Watch me rise and rise,
Hear the pride in your cries,
Doubts subside this time,
As I bring tears to your eyes…
And so we parted.
Six years on.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I Took Him to the Grave
I took him to the grave,
Just to see the smile falter,
Just to see the unassuming shyness fade away,
Just to see the tears fall,
Not out of cruelty,
Not out of sadism,
Not out of mockery…
But out of a need to make him see…
That he’s not alone in missing the big man…
I took him to the grave,
To make a pivotal point,
To make him understand,
To make him realise,
That he’s got people to turn to,
That he’s not isolated in all this,
That he’s not alone…
That letting it all become pent up inside…
Is doing more harm than the good he thinks he’s doing…
I took him to the grave,
In an effort to help him move on,
In an effort to prevent more damage being done,
In an effort to forget the unchangeable,
As standing still is futile in the end,
As standing still will only kill us too,
As standing still is drowning in past sorrows…
As standing still, wallowing in pain unbearable…
Only allows another life to go to waste…
And where’s the point in that?
I took him to the grave to make him understand that…
Just to see the smile falter,
Just to see the unassuming shyness fade away,
Just to see the tears fall,
Not out of cruelty,
Not out of sadism,
Not out of mockery…
But out of a need to make him see…
That he’s not alone in missing the big man…
I took him to the grave,
To make a pivotal point,
To make him understand,
To make him realise,
That he’s got people to turn to,
That he’s not isolated in all this,
That he’s not alone…
That letting it all become pent up inside…
Is doing more harm than the good he thinks he’s doing…
I took him to the grave,
In an effort to help him move on,
In an effort to prevent more damage being done,
In an effort to forget the unchangeable,
As standing still is futile in the end,
As standing still will only kill us too,
As standing still is drowning in past sorrows…
As standing still, wallowing in pain unbearable…
Only allows another life to go to waste…
And where’s the point in that?
I took him to the grave to make him understand that…
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Waiting for Your Eyes to Open
You open your eyes,
Bringing a smile to mine,
Nothing’s as it seems,
This is all a dream,
The body lies still,
I feel a terrible chill,
I know you won’t move again,
But I hope it’s only a matter of when…
This is permanence,
Yet my ignorance
Forces me to hope your eyes open,
My ignorance is in thinking when,
In ignoring the reality,
In ignoring your own brutality,
I’m happier in ignorance,
I’m happier in believing there’s a chance…
Still I wait for your eyes to open…
Still I lie awake at night and keep on hoping…
Bringing a smile to mine,
Nothing’s as it seems,
This is all a dream,
The body lies still,
I feel a terrible chill,
I know you won’t move again,
But I hope it’s only a matter of when…
This is permanence,
Yet my ignorance
Forces me to hope your eyes open,
My ignorance is in thinking when,
In ignoring the reality,
In ignoring your own brutality,
I’m happier in ignorance,
I’m happier in believing there’s a chance…
Still I wait for your eyes to open…
Still I lie awake at night and keep on hoping…
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Seeing the Body
Up until now,
I never realised the importance of seeing the body,
I remember wanting to see it,
Hoping that it would provide some answers,
Maybe some closure,
While also knowing that not seeing it
Would bring a lifetime’s regret…
When the time came,
I was ushered into a room,
Dimly lit around the edges,
All the light was focused on the centre
Where the coffin stood wide open,
Exposing his death to us all,
The room was warm, but I was cold…
In the coffin he lay,
A troubled man who had found his peace,
The marks could not be seen,
No one wanted to see them,
Everyone in the room was crying,
I looked down at him,
Wondering when my tears would come…
They never did,
And I felt heartless,
I still do,
Where was the grief that engulfed the rest?
Even at the funeral and the graveyard
No physical remorse came from me,
I heard people speak their wonders aloud…
I have often been praised
For my handling of it all,
But, in my own mind, it wasn’t handled,
There was no grief,
There was no remorse,
Just the complete shock of the loss,
And the acceptance of the irreversible…
Now I realise why my acceptance was so easy,
Now I know the importance of seeing the body,
I was forced into accepting reality,
As it lay there in front me
With its eyes closed,
Never to move again,
Because of an act of depressed brutality…
(as horrible as the experience was, and how uncomfortable it may or may not be to read it, Seeing the Body is, personally, an important poem because of the epiphany that inspired it).
I never realised the importance of seeing the body,
I remember wanting to see it,
Hoping that it would provide some answers,
Maybe some closure,
While also knowing that not seeing it
Would bring a lifetime’s regret…
When the time came,
I was ushered into a room,
Dimly lit around the edges,
All the light was focused on the centre
Where the coffin stood wide open,
Exposing his death to us all,
The room was warm, but I was cold…
In the coffin he lay,
A troubled man who had found his peace,
The marks could not be seen,
No one wanted to see them,
Everyone in the room was crying,
I looked down at him,
Wondering when my tears would come…
They never did,
And I felt heartless,
I still do,
Where was the grief that engulfed the rest?
Even at the funeral and the graveyard
No physical remorse came from me,
I heard people speak their wonders aloud…
I have often been praised
For my handling of it all,
But, in my own mind, it wasn’t handled,
There was no grief,
There was no remorse,
Just the complete shock of the loss,
And the acceptance of the irreversible…
Now I realise why my acceptance was so easy,
Now I know the importance of seeing the body,
I was forced into accepting reality,
As it lay there in front me
With its eyes closed,
Never to move again,
Because of an act of depressed brutality…
(as horrible as the experience was, and how uncomfortable it may or may not be to read it, Seeing the Body is, personally, an important poem because of the epiphany that inspired it).
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Six Feet Under
Congratulations and celebrations,
You have escaped life’s aggravations,
But you have hurt us all in doing so,
Why did you feel the need to go?
You wove the dreaded hang man’s noose,
You tied it so tight, there was no way it was loose,
Your finger nails showed signs of a fight,
You couldn’t escape, despite seeing the light…
Realising you were wrong didn’t save you,
Now you’ve departed far too soon,
We all know you made a bad choice,
So it seems did you, but no one heard the noise…
No one heard your screams like thunder…
Now you sleep six feet under…
You have escaped life’s aggravations,
But you have hurt us all in doing so,
Why did you feel the need to go?
You wove the dreaded hang man’s noose,
You tied it so tight, there was no way it was loose,
Your finger nails showed signs of a fight,
You couldn’t escape, despite seeing the light…
Realising you were wrong didn’t save you,
Now you’ve departed far too soon,
We all know you made a bad choice,
So it seems did you, but no one heard the noise…
No one heard your screams like thunder…
Now you sleep six feet under…
Thursday, January 31, 2008
A Fair Warning
Now my mother has seen you,
She knows where you live,
And it's too near for my liking...
I did manage a laugh though,
When she told me you were old,
Frail and weathered looking...
Now, even more than before, do your looks...
Match your hag like personality...
You're now a lot closer to us than before,
No one from my family is happy,
You have hurt us enough for one life time already...
Without you showing your haggard face again,
So just stay away from us,
Or I WILL hurt you...
I will punch you...I will kick you...
I will kill you...
(A Fair Warning comes with its own warning - it's awful, and this is because it is about a person who doesn't deserve anything more).
She knows where you live,
And it's too near for my liking...
I did manage a laugh though,
When she told me you were old,
Frail and weathered looking...
Now, even more than before, do your looks...
Match your hag like personality...
You're now a lot closer to us than before,
No one from my family is happy,
You have hurt us enough for one life time already...
Without you showing your haggard face again,
So just stay away from us,
Or I WILL hurt you...
I will punch you...I will kick you...
I will kill you...
(A Fair Warning comes with its own warning - it's awful, and this is because it is about a person who doesn't deserve anything more).
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Galaxy's Light
The galaxy's light is amazing,
Hours I used spend lazing,
Looking at the stars in the sky,
Reaching out, climbing high,
Just wishing to be significant,
Like those stars that are so magnificent...
I yearn for that precious ability,
To stand myself up and see,
That life isn't so hard afterall,
Friends are always there, give them a call,
Family are always there too,
But still I don't know what to do...
All I know is that life is a constant fight...
And the galaxy is the light...
But I continue to fight in the shade...
Right beside where the Big Man was laid...
The galaxy's light begins to fade...
This is the stuff that nightmares are made...
Hours I used spend lazing,
Looking at the stars in the sky,
Reaching out, climbing high,
Just wishing to be significant,
Like those stars that are so magnificent...
I yearn for that precious ability,
To stand myself up and see,
That life isn't so hard afterall,
Friends are always there, give them a call,
Family are always there too,
But still I don't know what to do...
All I know is that life is a constant fight...
And the galaxy is the light...
But I continue to fight in the shade...
Right beside where the Big Man was laid...
The galaxy's light begins to fade...
This is the stuff that nightmares are made...
Forgiveness
Forgiving is always hard,
Especially when you've been left in the lurch
By someone you thought would always be there,
Someone who is supposed to watch you grow,
Who is supposed to pick you up when you fall,
Dry your eyes when you cry,
And tell you that everything is going to be ok,
Even if they're not sure themselves it will be...
It can take years to learn to forgive and forget,
It can take years to understand fully what happened,
But even when you know why they did what they did,
It doesn't make it any easier to accept it
As forgiveness is something that needs to be earned,
But it can't be earned if the mistake that was made
Put the person you're trying to forgive
Six feet under the ground.
Especially when you've been left in the lurch
By someone you thought would always be there,
Someone who is supposed to watch you grow,
Who is supposed to pick you up when you fall,
Dry your eyes when you cry,
And tell you that everything is going to be ok,
Even if they're not sure themselves it will be...
It can take years to learn to forgive and forget,
It can take years to understand fully what happened,
But even when you know why they did what they did,
It doesn't make it any easier to accept it
As forgiveness is something that needs to be earned,
But it can't be earned if the mistake that was made
Put the person you're trying to forgive
Six feet under the ground.
Five Years
It has been five long, leaderless years,
Since you left those you loved,
Yet those you loved will always remember,
Those you loved will never forget...
I pay another visit to the home of the dead,
Dusk is setting in the sky,
Rain is falling lightly to the ground,
Silence provides a space to think...
With every visit to this place of solitude,
It becomes easier to accept the headstone,
But the questions burn as fiercely as ever,
The wondering will never cease...
Life has had to be taken one step at a time,
Without your guile to guide me,
I have stumbled on more than one occasion,
Stumbled but never fallen...
Stumbled but never stopped completely,
As that was never in your mentality,
You took your knocks and kept moving forward,
As quitting to you was never an option...
That is one trait I'm proud to say,
I have inherited from you Big Man,
Five years may have passed since you left,
But that trait hasn't left me or my brethren...
As time can't wash away such a thing...
Nor can it wash away our love of you, Big Man.
Since you left those you loved,
Yet those you loved will always remember,
Those you loved will never forget...
I pay another visit to the home of the dead,
Dusk is setting in the sky,
Rain is falling lightly to the ground,
Silence provides a space to think...
With every visit to this place of solitude,
It becomes easier to accept the headstone,
But the questions burn as fiercely as ever,
The wondering will never cease...
Life has had to be taken one step at a time,
Without your guile to guide me,
I have stumbled on more than one occasion,
Stumbled but never fallen...
Stumbled but never stopped completely,
As that was never in your mentality,
You took your knocks and kept moving forward,
As quitting to you was never an option...
That is one trait I'm proud to say,
I have inherited from you Big Man,
Five years may have passed since you left,
But that trait hasn't left me or my brethren...
As time can't wash away such a thing...
Nor can it wash away our love of you, Big Man.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Proud
I am not as strong as he was,
I am not as skilled as he was,
I don't have the passion he had,
I don't have the love he had,
My skills lie elsewhere,
My passions lie elsewhere...
I wonder what he would think of me,
If he was still alive today,
He left before I had fully grown,
Before I had taken on any kind of personality,
I wonder if he would like the way I am today,
I wonder if he would be happy with the way I have turned out...
I will forever wonder...
Would he have been proud of me?
I am not as skilled as he was,
I don't have the passion he had,
I don't have the love he had,
My skills lie elsewhere,
My passions lie elsewhere...
I wonder what he would think of me,
If he was still alive today,
He left before I had fully grown,
Before I had taken on any kind of personality,
I wonder if he would like the way I am today,
I wonder if he would be happy with the way I have turned out...
I will forever wonder...
Would he have been proud of me?
Monday, July 9, 2007
By the River on Pebble Island
I remember it clear as day,
Standing on an island of pebbles,
By a monstrous, flowing river,
With it's gigantic, rushing waterfall,
I was only a child,
It all seems so much smaller now.
I remember looking up into his smiling face,
The Big Man and I thought nothing of spending hours,
Throwing pebble after pebble,
Into the rushing water,
Those were the good days,
Young and carefree,
The Big Man was still around.
Now, the place has changed with the times,
The island of pebbles has slowly corroded,
It's now practically unreachable,
While the surrounding rock formation,
With it's once so rampaging waters,
Is strewn with the rubbish of the local teens,
The empty beer cans and empty crates,
Show the place is now nothing more than a drinking spot.
To me the place will always mean so much more than that,
It's a place that holds some of my most cherished memories,
Memories of a time which has long since passed,
When the world seemed so peaceful,
Just like my spot by the river on pebble island.
Standing on an island of pebbles,
By a monstrous, flowing river,
With it's gigantic, rushing waterfall,
I was only a child,
It all seems so much smaller now.
I remember looking up into his smiling face,
The Big Man and I thought nothing of spending hours,
Throwing pebble after pebble,
Into the rushing water,
Those were the good days,
Young and carefree,
The Big Man was still around.
Now, the place has changed with the times,
The island of pebbles has slowly corroded,
It's now practically unreachable,
While the surrounding rock formation,
With it's once so rampaging waters,
Is strewn with the rubbish of the local teens,
The empty beer cans and empty crates,
Show the place is now nothing more than a drinking spot.
To me the place will always mean so much more than that,
It's a place that holds some of my most cherished memories,
Memories of a time which has long since passed,
When the world seemed so peaceful,
Just like my spot by the river on pebble island.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Big Man's Grave
I went to see your grave today Big Man,
Noticing for the first time it's a shade of dark green,
Something that is typical of you,
You who would ooze green in abundance,
If you were to be cut open.
You left us years too early Big Man,
A light from our lives has gone,
It was extinguished far too prematurely,
And it now lives on only in our memories,
The good ones, not the bad one you left us with.
It took me a long while to find you Big Man,
Hidden amongst all the other people,
It's hard to believe that so many are dead,
It's even harder to believe that you are one of them,
It should never have been.
The time has come for me to leave you Big Man,
But I shall return again soon,
With tales of joyous victory or painstaking defeat,
For your beloved Celtic, as well as stories of my own life,
Stories that I know you play a big part in...
As I know I never walk alone,
You're spirit keeps a constant vigil by my side.
Noticing for the first time it's a shade of dark green,
Something that is typical of you,
You who would ooze green in abundance,
If you were to be cut open.
You left us years too early Big Man,
A light from our lives has gone,
It was extinguished far too prematurely,
And it now lives on only in our memories,
The good ones, not the bad one you left us with.
It took me a long while to find you Big Man,
Hidden amongst all the other people,
It's hard to believe that so many are dead,
It's even harder to believe that you are one of them,
It should never have been.
The time has come for me to leave you Big Man,
But I shall return again soon,
With tales of joyous victory or painstaking defeat,
For your beloved Celtic, as well as stories of my own life,
Stories that I know you play a big part in...
As I know I never walk alone,
You're spirit keeps a constant vigil by my side.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Time
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Goes my silver Celtic watch,
Time is running out fast
On all the important things in my life,
On my youthful freedom
To do as I please,
On my time to prepare for the big test,
On my chance to make her realise that I am the one for her,
On the time I get to spend with my friends.
It doesn't seem too long ago,
That I was only entering my teens,
Now, all of a sudden,
I am eighteen and am expected to be mature,
To be responsible and sensible,
Despite the fact that I have never really grown up,
Even though I should have.
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Goes my silver Celtic watch...
I look around at my friends,
Marvelling at how mature they are compared to me,
I see old friends from years ago,
And wonder at how much they have changed since then.
I am still the same,
Time hasn't changed me at all,
I am still childish, without any common sense,
But realising all of these things,
While knowing that time is running out,
Has given me a new resolve,
To grow up and take on the responsibility,
That I should have taken on years ago,
When the Big Man left,
I think that time is on my side,
After all, I'm only young, it's not my time yet...
Is it?
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Goes my silver Celtic watch,
Tick-tock, tick --
The watch stops...
Has time run out?
(I like this one because of the image of the Celtic watch, a 16th birthday present from my beloved grandmother; unfortunately I have since lost the watch).
Goes my silver Celtic watch,
Time is running out fast
On all the important things in my life,
On my youthful freedom
To do as I please,
On my time to prepare for the big test,
On my chance to make her realise that I am the one for her,
On the time I get to spend with my friends.
It doesn't seem too long ago,
That I was only entering my teens,
Now, all of a sudden,
I am eighteen and am expected to be mature,
To be responsible and sensible,
Despite the fact that I have never really grown up,
Even though I should have.
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Goes my silver Celtic watch...
I look around at my friends,
Marvelling at how mature they are compared to me,
I see old friends from years ago,
And wonder at how much they have changed since then.
I am still the same,
Time hasn't changed me at all,
I am still childish, without any common sense,
But realising all of these things,
While knowing that time is running out,
Has given me a new resolve,
To grow up and take on the responsibility,
That I should have taken on years ago,
When the Big Man left,
I think that time is on my side,
After all, I'm only young, it's not my time yet...
Is it?
Tick-tock, tick-tock,
Goes my silver Celtic watch,
Tick-tock, tick --
The watch stops...
Has time run out?
(I like this one because of the image of the Celtic watch, a 16th birthday present from my beloved grandmother; unfortunately I have since lost the watch).
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