Back in the Saddle

Well, it is good to be back at a PC this morning, organising myself for the first time in a few weeks. There’s a lot to catch up on, and so it’s probably the right moment to announce what you can expect this week, plus what is coming up in May. I’ve picked the word ‘Ambiance’ to describe next month, which will involve the introduction of Spotify playlists to our gamut of inspirational sources, plus a full-blown photography project as bonus material. For now, however, let’s work out what’s missing from April.

Occam's Taser

The three short stories started this month are in the final stages of completion, and you’ll see them all on the site at some point in the future. I’ll be spending this week catching up on poetry archiving and the like, with all the regular features returning to the Twitters. After that, there’s going to be some explanation of what you can expect in the months that follow, including some exciting new features which will be worked on across the Summer. Oh, and if you’re waiting for an alpha read of the Novel?

You should watch your Inbox sometime next week.

WE ARE STRONG

Mostly, it is business as usual, with a bit more organisation behind the scenes that existed before.

I can’t wait to share with you what’s coming.

Poetry Archive :: Once Upon a Time

Don’t tell anyone, but this is my favourite Haiku sequence for quite some time.


Once Upon a Time

Begin this story:
Compose a joint narrative,
Write you into us.

Bright introduction,
Minimal exposition;
Straight to the sex scene.

Subtle post-coital glow
Illuminates both; sleeping
Undisturbed, happy.

Once upon a time,
We were possibility
Intimate sliver.

The tale is written,
Each coupling: strengthening
The future, writ large.


Poetry Archive :: The End

You’re seeing this much later than originally advertised, for which I apologise, as life slowly gets back to normal after my enforced layoff.  This is a largely uneven work, if I’m honest, which may well get revisited and revised as time goes on. As it transpires, however, this a decent testament to my mood as drugs didn’t work and indeed made things worse.


The End

Skipping to the last page
Predicting own demise,
Obsessed with an ending
Long before it arrives:
Life remains for living
Make better use of time,
Gift that keeps on giving
Moments stay sublime.

Healthy not to look back
Focussing on the now,
Sometimes backwards helps to
Grasp understanding how;
Why history repeats,
Mistakes made time, again;
Reorganise methods,
Conscious, against the grain.

Start to plan your next phase,
Stop worrying ‘bout time:
End arrives regardless
Out of your hands and mine.
Instants as if your last,
The mantra of each day:
Letting go of concern
Allows fears to allay.

Time is key, happiness
And with it, sense of self;
Know how mind, body work
To maintain pristine health.
Trusting soul, nothing else
Enlightenment arrives;
Let go of fear and doubt,
Consistency survives.

You’re the problem to solve
Take a long, cold hard look:
Time to move with times,
Get this brain to unhook.
Think, what would happen if
Tomorrow was the end?
Start today with the change,
Modify, habits mend.


Poetry Archive :: Flower

Needing the means to inspire myself this week, this was my solution.


Flower

No longer dormant:
Stand tall, and flower: transform
This sad existence.

Plunge strong roots, deeper
To fuel change: metamorphose
Brilliant, redefined.

The new beginning
Substance of desire: moving
Forward to future.

This does not frighten,
Motivation: push onward,
Fresh bloom emerges.

Under burst of sun,
Egress whole: our happening
Apex of freshness.


Poetry Archive :: Not Any More

This week was about writing the poems, doing the miles and not allowing an injury to overtake everything. It didn’t help I finally succumbed to the cold both my kids have been labouring with on Thursday, but as I’m already on the way to recovery, it’s no biggie. Plus, I’ve done more work in the last week on both bike and legs because left arm is not happy changing gears. Sometimes, it isn’t the issues that you have to deal with that matter, but how you view them as either positives or negatives.

Here are 20 lines based on the Beatles’ song “She’s Leaving Home” with a vital sex change.


Not Any More

The bags are packed, by old front door
An early morning chance to run;
He’s just not taking any more
Escaping from this life’s begun.

Old Beatles song plays in his head
With sexuality transposed:
Main reason why he makes the break
To live in freedom, unopposed.

Family cannot understand
Supposed to be their loving son,
Attempt to tether him with fear
Their line is drawn, arguments done.

A bright new day shines on the path
Direction now he walks alone;
Away from prejudice and spite
Only existence ever known.

To be a lover and a friend,
As partner waits to start anew:
From anger, hatred two men forge
Beginning, brilliant and true.


Poetry Archive :: Not Good Enough

Artists are very good at mentally beating themselves up. It comes, I think as part of the territory. In order to be a success, there’s a measure of self-loathing and that constant niggle, at the back of your head, that maybe you’re just not good enough.

This won’t be the last time we touch on this subject.


Not Good Enough

A disappointment,
Head shakes, sadly: at what point
Did this all break down?

You have failed to grasp
Inherent issue: sometimes
Life is not simple.

The judge and jury,
Sit, pronouncing: this outlook
Hardly sufficient.

Everything I tried,
Effort expended: sadly
Fate remains unchanged.

Understanding now
It doesn’t matter: outcome
Never good enough.


Poetry Archive :: Imperfect

The last week’s been tough, I’m not gonna lie. I’ve found out a lot about myself, and not all of it has been good. In an attempt to learn how to communicate better, a lot of shortcomings have been identified. Yet again, as we go back to the start of a month and a new set of projects, comes the realisation that habit is okay. I’m getting better at organising, but that in turn shows up more imperfections in the planning.

This week’s poetry, therefore, reflects an almost perennial struggle to improve the process, both personal and professional. This poem’s also been slightly edited between first publication and here.


Imperfect

However hard I try,
There is no escaping.
Countless faults and foibles:
Embedded in shaping
The person within,
Find space to begin.

All that is seen, these holes
Counted imperfections:
How conflict forged my soul.
Sadness, recollections;
Move past times I failed
Shortcomings exhaled.

In the darkest of days
It would be so simple:
Ignoring my failings
Those dreadful examples.
Of me at my worst:
Pained, selfish outbursts.

As this new morning dawns
Renewed optimism:
At the journey ahead,
Time for heroism.
Put doubt to one side;
No need now to hide.

Grasping all of the tasks,
With belief as a guide:
It is time to evolve,
Go along for the ride.
Whatever may come
I’ll cope, ‘til it’s done.