The sailor

I met a lad down Kirkby Club who swears he's been to sea.

A drowned out washed up navy seal from Blackpool pleasure beach.

Don't get me wrong he's very polite and thoughtful in his boast.

A shovel, some sand and a donkey in hand for his trip from coast to coast.

 

He continues this dreadful tale of how he nearly died. Some misfortune with a sand castle, and then his boat capsized.

"I’ve missed both goals now" my day ruined, my patience on the brink. My head a rush of adjectives for a man who speaks before he thinks.

 

Suddenly though I'm attentive, he's got me fixed this time,

"you play guitar young man?" he says, "Can you pen some lines?"

"Write me a song about a sailor.

Preferably one that comes home.

One who guides the ship to safety.

And one who doesn't die alone."

 

Suddenly his words are chocolate, some real classic treats. Stories of the good old days, like cheating on receipts. There's more to life for any sailor who sails old England's trails. A destiny, some traffic jams and who knows what might prevail.

 

His presence stood the test with me, we stayed in their til way gone 3. Past petty crime, and diamond hauls. Failed romances and epic brawls. 

I'd call on the captain, and sail on down, the most interesting man in this dead old town. 

 

Poem of chance

Falling into the arms of an unsuspecting dream.

No polyphonic ringtones, no jelly and ice cream.

Just a future for the brave, and an exit for the lost,

The bold the daring the fearless who stand up and pay the cost.

If I was them then surely I'd have awoken from this daze,

Not broken, battered or under nourished, not forgotten in the haze.

The door they say is never shut for those who think before they speak,

The innocent, the guilty, the graceful and the weak.

As one accord we run to hold this door ajar,

Hoping that the lights still on and freedom isn't far.

Surely we can enter this world of make believe,

Where politicians politely smile and justice is conceived.

Timeless new starts, a world at our feet,

Someone to fear and someone to greet.

Convinced by a fortune, my heart on the line,

Preferably your way, exactly in my time.

I hope, I think, I shout, I know, I scream, I go.

The one about the girl with the happy ending

She had that dream again. The one where she was a sitting on the bench, alone, cold and upset. Dressed in skinny jeans and wearing her favourite red beanie. A man approaches her and simply says "You are beautiful". Words she has never heard. Words that pierce her heart and wreck her head and that ring in her ears like a fire alarm in a burnt down house. Was it too late? "How can this be?" She screams and breaks down all on her own. Not one person comes to her aid. For all they know she could be dying. She is. 

Her pain is real when it scars her skin. When the blood runs down her leg, mop it away. Don't let them see. "You're attention seeking", "how could you do such a thing?" "You're too beautiful to self harm" they say. And try and hush her away with funny looks and forced smiles and faces that badly mask their thoughts. She's had it all her life though. Every PE lesson. Every school trip. "Did you run into a door again?" Inside she's hurting. All eyes on her and she hates it. How can they say it. They don't know her. They don't even care. 

She sees him again. The same man. Stood there, she questions whether she is dreaming this time. His eyes are shining like the sun it's self. She can only stand and look. Only to realise that it's her pitiful self staring back. Ashamed and beaten. Scarred by memories, regrets and such verbal abuse she swore she'd never tell. 

Only her pain seemed real in that moment. Aware of the light shining through her as his eyes met hers. She tried to hide and look away but then realised her hurt was becoming extinguished with love. A feeling so numb to her she falls to the floor. He says it again "you are beautiful". Tears rolled down her face. The scars on his body were like those on hers, only deeper and newer and covered every inch. His clothes dripped with blood and tears ran down his cheeks. Yet his face showed only love. They felt something in that moment. They both realised it but neither said a word. After a while he raised his head and broke the silence with these four words. "You were worth it". They hit her like a hole in the head. She started to grasp his concept and struggled to speak. "For me?" She cried as she glanced at his beaten and torn body. She was a train wreck in that moment, overwhelmed with something she had never felt before.

He told her a story about a girl. The girl was only young. She was brought up by a single mum who tried her best to give them both a good start. But it seemed that it was doomed to fail at every part. Bad choices and money management sent them both to the streets where her mum busked for a living and where they struggled to eat. He spoke about her feelings and how she was bullied. He recalled the names of those who had hurt her one by one. He told about the scars on her legs that know one else knew were there. The ones she did with her school compass in her room back in 3rd year after a boy called her ugly. He spoke of her future and all it entailed. A husband and kids and a house of their own. He spoke with such love. A love that covered her and changed something inside the shallow hole known as the human heart. 

It became apparent in her head that the girl he was speaking about with the dark brown hair and autum brown eyes was in fact herself. A mirror image of a hope. A hope she had never known. One that breathed love and shouted acceptance and freedom. One which he told her she could be. One where the past did not define her. That the names she had held were in fact not her. 

Her scars faded like newspaper cuttings taped into a journal as his light shone down on her. Breaking off her pain with every tear she cried. In that moment she felt helpless but safe and free and her heart was alive. She thought about her medication and it's links with her dreams. But this was real. This was true. This was me.

Joy

Please don't understand me. That would complicate this already useless and messed up situation. It's easier to be strange than to be strangers. It's easier to hurt than to be hurt and it's easier to love than be loved.

Apparently writing overly deep quotations comes quite easily to me. If only they sprung up a little more joy at times that would be nice. 

Acceptance

If looks could kill then I just died brutally;  I have become another fatality of assisted suicide. At your hands. Didn't mean it you say? It was all a joke. One that's too late when I'm gone. 

Not a shipwreck this time but a train crash in my head. Oh i long for going down with violins played to sunken dreams. Instead a brutal brick wall of scars from myself invades my path and screams. The helpless the needy, the depressed on my mind. The angry the hurting, the four letter kind. 

L O V E

I've never felt it. Well maybe once. But rejection took its place. The front runner in the race for my heart.  A heart that cries out to a world that sees only a broken soul wearing skinny jeans. Won't someone help me carry this. Anyone? 

I didn't think so. They have all gone. Left me alone in this forest of loneliness. Ready for my soul to be eaten by creatures of bad thoughts and rotten hearts and beanie hats and tshirts of bands I wish i never would  have loved.

What's going on in me? I was a boy with big dreams. Forced down a path that was not of my making. Let me open the boxes. All the boxes. All of them. One must say happiness, surely? With my name on it, with a wife and kids and a sign saying 'judged no more'. I can't find it. Oh there it is. Locked and chained and bandaged by pain and suffering. 

If I change my hair will you let me in?

If I change my skin will you let me in?

If I have no point of view will you adore me then?

If I become who I am not will you love me then. Will you love me then? 

Will you love me. If I take away my self. Will happiness come to me. Will heavens gates swing open? For a son misunderstood. My coffin holds no feeling. My tears will not cry. My heart will not be moved. My face will never smile. My blood will not get warm. 

Light

Light breaks through the darkness shining between the shadows and uncovering vast quantities of unknown potentials and dreams that were laid hidden out of sight. It brings freedom to the prisoners and reassures even the most hurting of souls that behind the thick mist of all surrounding burden there is still hope. It reminds the downcast to look up and see the vastness of life that awaits and it screams to the oppressed to spread their wings in liberty now that the cage doors have been opened. Surely even they can sing again. 

Books

The more I think the more I realise that not every book is to be read. And not every book is to be shared. Some are to hold the door ajar and trust that somewhere out there freedom isn't far. Some have within their grasp the secret keys that unlock the dreams inside your heart, hidden under the most unsuspecting of titles whereas others are just made to look pretty and sit on shelves. 

Deep. 

Countryside

I love the North of England. It's like a montage of colours, sounds, shades and clouds that roll like the hills they look down on. When the sun hovers above the cloud like it's holding on for dear life it highlights the raw beauty of creation. Trees sound tall like soldiers to attention and the wind blows and whistles like a lolly I bought as a kid. I know I'm home on these Tarmac roads all up and down like Morrissey's view of life. Gritty but real. 

Darkness

It gets dark so quick now I've only just realised. Things seem clearer in the dark anyway. Well, the things you are meant to see. The lights and the cars and the buildings. The rest just lingers in the shadows. Probably grateful for a longer rest than July ever gave them. Time to build up some strength and re think things.

I think humans hate that time. Shadow time. The waiting and the resting where nothing ever seems clear and light barely flickers let alone shines. It's in this time where thoughts are conceived and where plans are made. It's where if we choose we can grow. It's where sparks alight and where change happens.

Mostly unseen, unnoticed and rarely appreciated but vital to our inner core if we are ever to keep our fire burning for more than one season. More than one feeling and more than one moment.