You flew into my life
like a kite on a summer's breeze,
wings as bright as a peacock.
A new moon reflected
your soul to mine over a bridge
as revellers passed underneath.
Diving in, feet first after paddling in the
water, waiting for other boats to
pass through our lock.
Holding fast to your heart as water
swirls around us. Both growing closer with
each breath taken beneath the surface.
Enticing tiny bubbles
tickle the surface of our skin, interlocked,
learning to swim.
Blessed with inherent warmth,
climbing my body to kiss
my parted lips as water lilies float
calmly on our mirrored sky.
A storm passes overhead as
bitter silt and grains of sand cloud our
crystal vision of tranquillity.
Sticks, stones, mud.
Against the ebb and flow. We ride
the currents together.
Without us, we are
nothing. With us,
we are everything.
Passing fear of the boats already passed
and losing our grip as the water muddies
around our naked bodies.
Missing the warmth of our being,
not seeing what it is we are and what
we have through the murky depths.
Clearing the water takes time, gaining
perspective and finding
space and time once again.
We will swim upstream together holding hands,
through the reeds, and find each other in
a place where we can just, be.
Storms will come,
the waters will muddy
and we will lose each other's hand.
Though I will never
forget the everything
in my life that needs to exist.
Friday, 17 August 2012
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
Lost poem
I have found a poem which I'd written for a competition some years ago. It was written about catching that first glimpse and touch of a person you care for dearly after travelling the trains of Europe for three weeks. The inspiration for the poem is an incredible person who I now, boastfully call my girlfriend. The title could do with some work, but the sentiment remains true to this day.
Love Train
Passing footsteps and the clap of
the timetables snap me back, a final glance
had whispered across the speckled floor, a narrow
gaze which wouldn't suffice, for three long
weeks without your smile, wide and without excuse.
The click clack of bundles of life and presents
from hot streets stifle my ears, stretching to hear
the whistle, doors opening and bodies stretching
across the worn platform, wrestling with aching limbs.
Familiar patterns, arched neck with ruby red,
skipping beats and a drench of bee stings on my
neck, finally that smile meets mine, the world around
oblivious to sunset hair or translucent skin,
a delivery of elation.
Love Train
Passing footsteps and the clap of
the timetables snap me back, a final glance
had whispered across the speckled floor, a narrow
gaze which wouldn't suffice, for three long
weeks without your smile, wide and without excuse.
The click clack of bundles of life and presents
from hot streets stifle my ears, stretching to hear
the whistle, doors opening and bodies stretching
across the worn platform, wrestling with aching limbs.
Familiar patterns, arched neck with ruby red,
skipping beats and a drench of bee stings on my
neck, finally that smile meets mine, the world around
oblivious to sunset hair or translucent skin,
a delivery of elation.
Friday, 10 August 2012
Soul tree.
Darting green inquisition.
Bitten bottom lip.
Red wave.
Clenched hand gripped or
guided by an inner voice.
Searching for a soul tree
amongst a tightly thatched
sea of Pine.
An arched Willow bow,
taught quivers firing
at a heart shaped needle.
Leaves brushing and Silver Birch flaking against our skin,
exquisitely for seven years.
Strangers in a familiar forest of soft scents, insight and passion.
The search continues as windmills, streams and lakes pass.
This tree cannot be found.
Trees cannot move,
only sway in the wind or be cut down.
A fruitless search.
There is not a single tree.
We believe our rings of growth belie the truth.
Our truth.
We are the forest, the wind, the earth, the interwoven roots.
Catching each other if we fall.
The forest still stands.
Bitten bottom lip.
Red wave.
Clenched hand gripped or
guided by an inner voice.
Searching for a soul tree
amongst a tightly thatched
sea of Pine.
An arched Willow bow,
taught quivers firing
at a heart shaped needle.
Leaves brushing and Silver Birch flaking against our skin,
exquisitely for seven years.
Strangers in a familiar forest of soft scents, insight and passion.
The search continues as windmills, streams and lakes pass.
This tree cannot be found.
Trees cannot move,
only sway in the wind or be cut down.
A fruitless search.
There is not a single tree.
We believe our rings of growth belie the truth.
Our truth.
We are the forest, the wind, the earth, the interwoven roots.
Catching each other if we fall.
The forest still stands.
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Doug / Update
Nostalgically, I watched a couple of episodes of Doug whilst doing my ironing last night. I have realised that aside from my loving family; my moral standpoint and attitude towards life is directly influenced by Doug's teachings.
Not only has it shaped my life views, it lead me towards my affinity for the creative type when it comes to my taste in females. Doug's sister Judy's Bohemian attitude towards the world, red hair and generally eccentricity are everything I look for in a woman.
I'm not sure if it's sad, mad or sweet.
In other news, starting tomorrow, I shall be embarking on the trip of a lifetime with the girl of my dreams. Devon, Copenhagen and Stockholm; all in ten days. I've never looked forward so much to a holiday in my entire life. It will be amaze-balls.
Not only has it shaped my life views, it lead me towards my affinity for the creative type when it comes to my taste in females. Doug's sister Judy's Bohemian attitude towards the world, red hair and generally eccentricity are everything I look for in a woman.
I'm not sure if it's sad, mad or sweet.
In other news, starting tomorrow, I shall be embarking on the trip of a lifetime with the girl of my dreams. Devon, Copenhagen and Stockholm; all in ten days. I've never looked forward so much to a holiday in my entire life. It will be amaze-balls.
Friday, 27 July 2012
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
Thought for the day
Driving to work this morning, I was utterly captivated by the sentiment shared by the often controversial (but in this case righteous) author Ann Atkins. The last paragraph of her Thought For The Day sent shivers up my spine.
I was attending a workshop on women and violence. One told her story. She was eighteen and visiting a farm with her boyfriend. Alone together, they had sex even though she didn’t want to. Guilt-ridden, humiliated and demeaned, why didn’t she report anything? Because even though she had clearly said no, it didn’t occur to her for nearly ten years that she had just been raped.
We heard yesterday that one woman in four, in England and Wales, suffers domestic violence during her life; two women a week murdered by partners. A hundred thousand females living in Britain have had their genitals mutilated so they can never feel sexual pleasure, and not one prosecution in the years since this became illegal. There are thousands of incidences of so-called honour-based violence a year, and many more forced marriages.
When our daughter took part in a BBC programme in the East End of London, she found that all the girls there her age had suffered brutality from their boyfriends. They thought nothing of it: you have sex, you get beaten, at least your man protects you from others.
Researching for my first book, on gender issues, I studied God’s pronouncement to the woman, after the archetypal couple disobeys God’s laws. “The man... will rule over you.” Not God’s punishment for sin, but the inevitable consequence of it. Given that we put self first, the strong will exploit the week; always have and always will. Judeo-Christian Scripture is full of God’s bias to the vulnerable: the poor, the dispossessed, the underclass. It is not just men and women who are equal in value, but not necessarily in power or strength.
In the civilised West we’re all against oppressing women. I don’t suppose you beat your wife any more than I do. But there are many kinds of exploitation. How many women will come home from a long day today, to a longer evening of housework? How many bullied in the workplace? Or pressured into roles they didn’t choose: in recent history with little opportunity to go out to work, now with little opportunity to do otherwise?
We pride ourselves on our liberal democracy. We don’t like to censure porn - but Kier Starmer, Director of Public Prosecutions, has linked the high level of violence in teenage relationships to exposure to sexually explicit sites. We mustn’t question alternative forms of family - though boys brought up without their biological fathers are more likely to demonstrate aggression. We feel uncomfortable about clamping down on prostitution - despite the danger we all know they work in.
They brought Him a woman who had done wrong. The proscribed punishment was to throw rocks at her until she was killed. Would He forgive, and break their law? Or comply, and initiate violence?
He bent down, and wrote in the dirt.
She had been caught in the act of adultery. A misdemeanor that takes two. So where was the other one?
In many areas of life men remain more powerful than women. One sure mark of civilisation is when the strong raise passionate voices in protection of those who are less so. When men battle against violence towards women, we’ve taken a good step forward.
Thought For The Day podcast
I was attending a workshop on women and violence. One told her story. She was eighteen and visiting a farm with her boyfriend. Alone together, they had sex even though she didn’t want to. Guilt-ridden, humiliated and demeaned, why didn’t she report anything? Because even though she had clearly said no, it didn’t occur to her for nearly ten years that she had just been raped.
We heard yesterday that one woman in four, in England and Wales, suffers domestic violence during her life; two women a week murdered by partners. A hundred thousand females living in Britain have had their genitals mutilated so they can never feel sexual pleasure, and not one prosecution in the years since this became illegal. There are thousands of incidences of so-called honour-based violence a year, and many more forced marriages.
When our daughter took part in a BBC programme in the East End of London, she found that all the girls there her age had suffered brutality from their boyfriends. They thought nothing of it: you have sex, you get beaten, at least your man protects you from others.
Researching for my first book, on gender issues, I studied God’s pronouncement to the woman, after the archetypal couple disobeys God’s laws. “The man... will rule over you.” Not God’s punishment for sin, but the inevitable consequence of it. Given that we put self first, the strong will exploit the week; always have and always will. Judeo-Christian Scripture is full of God’s bias to the vulnerable: the poor, the dispossessed, the underclass. It is not just men and women who are equal in value, but not necessarily in power or strength.
In the civilised West we’re all against oppressing women. I don’t suppose you beat your wife any more than I do. But there are many kinds of exploitation. How many women will come home from a long day today, to a longer evening of housework? How many bullied in the workplace? Or pressured into roles they didn’t choose: in recent history with little opportunity to go out to work, now with little opportunity to do otherwise?
We pride ourselves on our liberal democracy. We don’t like to censure porn - but Kier Starmer, Director of Public Prosecutions, has linked the high level of violence in teenage relationships to exposure to sexually explicit sites. We mustn’t question alternative forms of family - though boys brought up without their biological fathers are more likely to demonstrate aggression. We feel uncomfortable about clamping down on prostitution - despite the danger we all know they work in.
They brought Him a woman who had done wrong. The proscribed punishment was to throw rocks at her until she was killed. Would He forgive, and break their law? Or comply, and initiate violence?
He bent down, and wrote in the dirt.
She had been caught in the act of adultery. A misdemeanor that takes two. So where was the other one?
In many areas of life men remain more powerful than women. One sure mark of civilisation is when the strong raise passionate voices in protection of those who are less so. When men battle against violence towards women, we’ve taken a good step forward.
Thought For The Day podcast
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Because The Night
Aside from jigging around to 'You Can Call Me Al', this was the highlight of my weekend... (Patti Smith lyrics capture the feeling you only get with that one person you love, lust and trust; in those moments that you wish lasted forever. She gets the message across loud and clear.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGi7gCXr3fk&feature=youtube_gdata_player (Not the best quality, but it's the only one I could find from the weekend!)
Take me now baby here as I am
Pull me close, try and understand
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe
Love is a banquet on which we feed
Come on now try and understand
The way I feel when I'm in your hands
Take my hand come undercover
They can't hurt you now,
Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us
Have I doubt when I'm alone
Love is a ring, the telephone
Love is an angel disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
Come on now try and understand
The way I feel under your command
Take my hand as the sun descends
They can't touch you now,
Can't touch you now, can't touch you now
Because the night belongs to lovers ...
With love we sleep
With doubt the vicious circle
Turn and burns
Without you I cannot live
Forgive, the yearning burning
I believe it's time, too real to feel
So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now
Because the night belongs to lovers ...
Because tonight there are two lovers
If we believe in the night we trust
Because tonight there are two lovers ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGi7gCXr3fk&feature=youtube_gdata_player (Not the best quality, but it's the only one I could find from the weekend!)
Take me now baby here as I am
Pull me close, try and understand
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe
Love is a banquet on which we feed
Come on now try and understand
The way I feel when I'm in your hands
Take my hand come undercover
They can't hurt you now,
Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to lust
Because the night belongs to lovers
Because the night belongs to us
Have I doubt when I'm alone
Love is a ring, the telephone
Love is an angel disguised as lust
Here in our bed until the morning comes
Come on now try and understand
The way I feel under your command
Take my hand as the sun descends
They can't touch you now,
Can't touch you now, can't touch you now
Because the night belongs to lovers ...
With love we sleep
With doubt the vicious circle
Turn and burns
Without you I cannot live
Forgive, the yearning burning
I believe it's time, too real to feel
So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now
Because the night belongs to lovers ...
Because tonight there are two lovers
If we believe in the night we trust
Because tonight there are two lovers ...
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
Kinetic Rain
Corporate art installations usually have little to say, however, in this instance Changi Airport have said an awful lot.
http://vimeo.com/m/45188800
It's one of the most elegant and visceral sculptures I've ever seen.
http://vimeo.com/m/45188800
It's one of the most elegant and visceral sculptures I've ever seen.
Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Amen
http://guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/jun/27/young-people-are-rubbish?cat=commentisfree&type=article
Suzanne Moore, I salute thee.
Suzanne Moore, I salute thee.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Kittens
This evening I was blessed with the quote of the week (maybe even the year) from my girlfriend -
"I wish we had kittens instead of babies when we got pregnant. I'd have loads of kittens."
I love her.
"I wish we had kittens instead of babies when we got pregnant. I'd have loads of kittens."
I love her.
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
Monday, 14 May 2012
Sunday, 6 May 2012
Monday, 30 April 2012
Sideways rain and the hum of an electric station diverts his path towards the door. The doorbell can't be heard but a light goes on and a shadow moves across the heavy stone floor. The box covered with butterfly wrapping paper protected and disguised under his jacket, the black felt collar sodden and wilting. A shaft of light and cracks, a nose then an eye. A warm glow of recognition and the smell of apples. Embraced, tears flood their eyes as two parched lips meet again, again and again. The silk scarf is not for a day like today, but under these same stars, another day it would have been perfect. Re-acquaintance, handshakes, then making excuses. Leaving through the same door, across the crunchy leaf strewn path, they slip into the still warm car. The roads are empty as families sleep on their sofas, richer for the day together. Nothing is said. All of the talking has been done. No more questions. All of the answers have been revealed. All that's left now is to be.
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