Categories
Poetry

The Display

remember that time you had fun
watching the fireworks fly
rivers of light flowing across the sky
whilst a tower of kindling burned nearby
well aware the scent would wrap around your clothes
inhaling the ashen smoke through a crimpled nose
sipping hot chocolate
with friends by your side
watching people queue
to gorge on something fried
those were great times
and the photos we captured
show sincere elation
like the one that caught you laughing
when someone shrieked at the shrill
of a rocket in ascent
an excitable reaction that you’ll never forget
and the time you wrote expletives
with a sparkler in the air
and people were frowning and you didn’t care
but now you’ve joined a group on Facebook
whose culture is to cancel and signal their virtue
I know this is a display
and I’m really sorry for you
that you’d rather be passive and see the world in grey and beige
than admire the spectrum free of echoed rage
banning the possibility of fun
when you’ve already flew close to the sun
and enjoyed the inferno on your face
is a bit of a hypocritical disgrace.

It was you who once told me
the reason why fireworks will always be fun
and bonfires welcome
is what they represent
the overthrow of control
by those who have been oppressed
so rather than call for a blanket ban
add some fuel to the fire
and inhale the memories of fun
washed in smoke.

Thanks for taking the time to read this poem inspired by the rise of cancel culture and hypocrisy.

(Image adapted from Jamie Street via Unsplash)

Categories
Poetry

Duality

the eagle
majestic predator
wings spread across the sky
hunting for sport
talons longing to decapitate

the eagle
despot scavenger
frenzied eyes darting
fervently gorging on forsaken carrion
talons longing for liberation from the earth

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem.

Take it easy & stay safe.

Paul

Categories
Poetry

A Lesson in Falling

In my younger years
i was always afraid
of falling down
but fear has been replaced
with a potent intoxicating euphoria
when this planetary mass of mine
descends with thunderous precision
or occasional feather-light bedlam
when cloth & skin & flesh
encounter earth
i revel in the writhing of
reverting to verticality
safe in the knowledge that
any bloomed bruises or scratched skin
will heal
but i’ll still wear them
crystalline merits of resilience
because
the euphoria of falling is fleeting
it’s the rising up
i always remember.

Thanks for taking the time to read my poem, feel free to have a look around the rest of my site.

(Image courtesy Canva)

Categories
Poetry

Things Will Get Better – A Poem for World Mental Health Day

the feat of self-propulsion
from one’s bed
whilst the sludge of self-repulsion
is coursing through one’s head
is an extremely powerful thing to do

through mumbled words and scratching sobs
the step taken to share your thoughts
with another
whether it be friends, family, stranger or lover
is a monument of courage

think of it, as like learning a new skill
a realisation that things
can and will get better
but may take time to figure out 
displays a resilience 
you may not have known about

these are things I say from experience
imprisoned in darkened rooms and a midnight black bleak mind
in a state of self-exile
shutting the whole world out
through obtuse notions of a lack of self-worth
but I overcame it and freed myself through seeking help and standing up.

Believe in You
as others do
even when you take the smallest of steps
you are strong, brave and powerful

This poem was written for World Mental Health Day 2020. If you feel you need help with your mental health, speak to someone then contact a GP, Mental Health service or a Counselling service in your area.

Take it easy and look after yourself and each other

Paul

(Image taken from mentalhealth.org.uk)

Categories
Poetry

Sports Mixture & The Sun

I was 11 years old
buying the Sun
on behalf of my Dad
anticipating
50p worth of sports mixture
with the change

a boy
i recognised
my sister’s age
7 years old
trying to buy
20 Silk Cut and 2 litres Cider
on behalf of his Dad
struggling
under the weight
of expectation

a man
40-ish years old
trying to provide
for his family of 6
a newsagent
eager
to please his patrons
to be welcomed
into the arms of the community
his journey long
from Bangladesh to Britain
via marriage and military service
looking a blend of bemusement and sadness
at the boy trying to buy
cigarettes and alcohol
who he turns away from his counter

a man
50-ish years old
reeking of addiction
to tabs and cheap booze
storming the shop
firing slurred slow
deliberate insults
and asking
do you know who i am
irked by the response of
yes a thug and a bad father, we dont sell alcohol and tobacco to children
it was then I witnessed
racism first hand
shock absorbed
in my young brain
stood like a hostage
the tirade continued
the threat of a firebomb
to the newsagent
and his family
the smell eventually leaving
when he couldn’t achieve his demands

me, a boy of 11
buying the Sun
and 50p worth of sports mixture
with the change
apologising
for someone else’s actions
that I didn’t understand
receiving a wink and a sad smile
I ran home
to deliver the newspaper
and the news of what happened
to my Dad

My Dad
then in his mid-30’s
a butcher by trade
the sight of violence and blood
known to him
sat stoically on the sofa
listening to my recap of events
crinkling the pages
between fingers
stained with ink of
yesterday’s news
providing words of wisdom
be kind to those who deserve your kindness scum always rises, but it always ends up skimmed and discarded, remember that, learn how to recognise and skim out hatred and you’ll be alright
followed by
can I have a couple of sports mixture
I gave him the bag.

————-

This poem is based on a shocking morning trip to the Newsagent just around the corner from our house.

Most of the time there was a real togetherness in our council estate, but on rare occasions, a sinister underbelly came to the fore.

Thanks for reading, I’d love to know your thoughts,

Paul

Categories
Poetry

Nurture

velvet sand
tickling my back
blades of crystal water
cutting away doubt
driftwood logs
silently whispering sea shanties
a carefree horizon
casually glances
feeling content
as do I
a connection
with nature
always nurtures.

This is inspired by days spent on Northumbrian beaches, always serene.

Categories
Poetry

The Fishermen

early morning
with the light muted
the sky still
a patchwork of slate and coal
they set sail
favours asked
of Pontus & Poseidon
hoping they are heard
over the wailing gulls and terns
they yearn for a return
to bountiful days
and bulging nets
of catching shoals of silver
in their pastel gilnetter
on the North Sea
once brimming
with fish glistening
just below the surface
when the Captain and his Crew
were daring
wide eyed wanderers
braving thunderous waves
and caressing calm waters
beating their adversaries
to the best loot
today they’re older
grizzled and weather-worn
with eyes the colour of their quarry
wearing woollen hats and neon overalls
they only dare to dream
of a fair catch and a fairer price
hoping to stay afloat
in a sinking industry.

——————————————————-

This poem is inspired by the hardworking fishermen who work the North Sea. Once a booming industry in the North East, sadly it has declined over the past 20-30 years.

——————————————————-

I love hearing your thoughts or any feedback you may have.

Categories
Poetry

War

we mourned all summer
when they decimated the woodland
murdered ash, oak, sycamore & beech
all in the pursuit of profit
the lives lost from the hedgerow
collateral damage to make capital gains
no concern for refugees
concrete foundations poisoned the rich earth
bracken & bleeding brambles scythed down
by strong yellow tanks
cheerful and bright grim reapers
sullying soil and sod
bricks, mortar, slate & glass
now occupying forces
and in final insult
they named the new avenues and boulevards
after the casualties they inflicted
not in memoriam
but as a warning
that in wars
between man and nature
man will win
because man’s nature is death.

Categories
Haiku & Shortform

Chimneys – A Haiku

indigo darkness
marauding across rooftops
chimneys breathe heavy

Here’s a little Monday evening haiku. The nights are setting in quickly now in Newcastle with some lovely shades of colour among the blackened blue.

Why not check some of my other writing while your here.

I love reading your feedback.

Take it easy.

Paul.

Categories
Poetry

Time Travel

Taking a carefree stroll
through an inviting burrow
of oak, ash, cedar, elm and yew
I allow myself
to talk to the trees
and travel through time
the history stored
in trunks and roots
is phenomenal
whispered secrets
shared by the world
filtered through canopies
of bronze, emeralds and golds
could fill all the libraries
in all the world
woodland sentinels
silently observing
passers-by
witnessing the same
litany of mistakes
made by multiple generations
the main one being
that your present
is already your past
and the future is now.

This is something I’ve learned
by talking to trees
while travelling through time.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this poem, inspired by wandering in the woods and listening. I’d love to know your thoughts.