A Note On Writing, Passion and Rebirth

Living is a strange thing. It brings up all sorts of strange, wonderful, distressing, complicated, terrible, hilarious, beautiful things.

There is an extraordinary tool called language which can be used to translate these things into what people call stories, poetry, prose. The writer’s equivalent to the artist’s painting, the composition, the sketch.

Sometimes this makes life  more real, more vivid so it can be better enjoyed, savoured. Sometimes it makes life more abstract and distant so it can be better endured and coped with. There is writing that teaches and informs, there is writing which simply plays games, but writing which strikes me the deepest, and remains within me the longest, is that which offers a shared experience.

It is up to the skill of the wordsmith to put the right words in the right order to create within the reader a faithful evocation of what the author had in mind when they started writing. These words – in stories, poetry, prose – therefore come full circle. Drawn from the author’s experience they should create a vivid new reality within the reader.

Life is a story. And a story well written should give birth to new life.

learn

it is the doubt
the nibbling gnawing doubt
that can destroy a man
from the inside out

find me a way through the dark
i meet lights along the way
who teach me how to dance
show me how to play

truth, it was not my light that made your eyes dull
i made them sparkle
flicker
and flame
you are not accustomed
to being so alive

i was not to blame

A State

Do not get me wrong my friend
I will
Never
Never
Want you again
You tricked me
And you tricked my friends
With regressive games of let’s pretend

And I in pain
And I alone
Take back my light
Take back my home

I was never welcome in your head
Made me a dog
‘Sit up and beg’
And then the only given food
Were skag ends, scraps and bits of wood

Though I found your sharp clawed fits confusing
They got more and more amusing…

Get off the mattress on my floor
You
Are
Not
Wanted
Any
More

some words can easily be confused

I left your incipient control
your ‘you are not allowed to feel like that’
your passive aggression
your little ‘playful’ slap

your insipid nature i stood by
watching waiting to develop
but you are chronically stunted
sick.

i did not know you are a box containing nothing
and you do not want to fill up

and I stayed because of my
archaic insipience

Keep Shining

When you’re in a nasty relationship
You’ve come out
And you feel broken
Angry
And confused
You thought you were good
But they said you were bad

Well maybe
You were a light
You shone on how dirty the other was
How messy
How cold
Ashamed
Weak.
How gunked up and stinking
You shone light on all the old undone crap
They were trying to hide inside their
Disgusting heads

When they hurt you, they were trying to extinguish the light they loved
That showed them
The truths they knew
They should not be running from

They hate you
For what they love you for

So if they said you hurt them
You Did.
By bringing in the Light.

Keep shining.

Posh Fight

You swung at me
and I stood and took the punches
though I thought you’d get better
As you’d learned not to hit the eyes

You swung at me
And I stood and took the punches
But I thought you’d get better
You never caught me by surprise

You swung at me
And I stood and took the punches
Cos you told me you wanted to to try
To keep both arms by your side

You swung at me
But you never used your fists
So I stood and took the punches
Cos I guess
I thought
It was
Just
Fine

Two for me, One for You

I told you
I missed you
And you put the phone down and told me to behave

I told you
You upset me
And you said you had to go and simply walked away

I told you
You’d made me cry all day
And you, blank faced, told me it wasn’t you

You told me
You were unhappy
With my honesty – such feelings cannot be indulged

I told you
I’d leave
And you told me it was me

I didn’t say I had to go
I simply walked away

The Bunny with the Wiggle in his Nose (a short story)

Wiggle Bunny
a short story about a bad bunny

once there was a bunny
with a wiggle
in his nose

he liked to wiggle this nose
at other bunnies
to show them
how bunny he was

one day the bunny had an accident
he fell down a rabbit hole
luckily the only thing that was hurt
was his nose

soon it got better
but the wiggle was gone!
he would bunny around
but he couldn’t show
how bunny he was
without the wiggle
in his nose!

fortunately there was a crow

the crow said to the bunny
i have no wiggle in my nose
does that make me less crow?
you have no wings
does that make you less bunny?

the bunny thought this was silly
and tried to wiggle his nose at ths ridiculous crow
to show him
how bunny
he was
but he could not

he tried to hop at the crow’s feathers
but the crow, sensibly, hopped out of the way

without the wiggle in his nose
all bunny could do
to show how bunny he was
was stare at the crow
with fluffy bunny eyes
and run away

the crow did not know what to make of this
but he did flap his wings
and resolved not to enter into conversation
with this bunny again

he thought the bunny, less of a bunny

but it had nothing to do
with the wiggle
in his nose

Yet

i would like to be fearless
but perhaps
We are not
big enough

i would like to be naked
but perhaps
We are not
old enough

i would like to be un-hesitant
but perhaps
We do not
know enough

i would like to be un-faltering
but perhaps
I am not
brave enough

i would like to Be completely
but perhaps
I do not
trust enough

I would like to be able
but perhaps
we are not
wise enough

Perhaps we cannot

(Perhaps
Not
Yet)

eyes have it

i can’t do this
unless…

and so
i am flawed

i don’t want to get naked
with him anymore

i want him to notice
what i can be
but he sees very little
when i show
him me

i thought he was home but
i might have to move
i don’t really know
what i’m trying to prove

there must be something
seriously wrong with me
to want to show
a deaf man to hear,
a blind man
to see

you’re special

there are flowers
amongst your thorns
but i don’t know if
i want to be scratched

there are blinding
beautiful lights in
your dank caves
but i don’t know if
i want to be blinded

there is green
in your dried up deserts
but i don’t know if
i want to be thirsty

there are houses
in your way-laid-wanderer wastelands
but i don’t know if
i want to be afraid

i don’t know why
i want to be loved
by this

White Space

Will you listen to her
Before she speaks?
Will you hear what she says
When she says
Nothing?

Will you see her with un-watching eyes
Know her un-dancing feet can dance
Hold a heart
In gentle hands
Until it shuts up its trembling and opens its eyes to you?

Will you hold still until she moves?
And in your un-knowing,
Corrupt nothing
See nothing
But a white sheet, that could take ships across oceans
(if it wanted to)

Will you listen to her
Before she speaks?