Computing

October 18, 2017 at 7:39 am (Uncategorized) (, , , , , )

Spent a day trying to understand why printer won’t talk to laptop – why laptop won’t even look at printer.

Spent a day delving into computer registers, enabling and disabling policies, downloading drivers.

Spent a day digging deep, persevering, threatening and cajoling.

That was yesterday. Today I am spending with my beautiful son – just loving.

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Fear of Everything

April 8, 2017 at 2:20 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

Fake news – the buzz that

Eats away at our wellbeing

Attacking our thought processes and

Ruining our sense of perspective.

 

Of course, we could switch off

For the sake of humanity.

 

Each of us has responsibility –

Vandalism of our inner resources

Endangers the human species

Ruling us as much as any despot.

Young brains are malleable

Twisting into shapes that destroy

Hope and create depression and despondency.

I have no love of the status quo, but

No positive change is built without conscious foundation.

Goodness must be nurtured, and this takes focus and love.

 

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Made Up

March 26, 2017 at 11:40 am (Poems)

In the days when hair was big she would stand before the oval mirror to backcomb, and, spray in my rosy eyes, I sat behind admiring lipstick as an art form, built and blotted.

I knew she powdered on professionalism, glossing over foibles, preparing for the day.
There were layers, lines drawn, new brows to arch above and accentuate truly beautiful eyes. Properly late, anxiety etched there too, and I sensed her tension where I watched and learned, transfixed.

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Bridge

March 25, 2017 at 11:27 pm (Poems)

Biting bullets

Running figures

Indiscriminate loss

Distant neighbours

Grief stricken

Every day.

When we walk across the Bridge rucksacks fill with empathy;
The River far beneath our feet continues to a bigger sea.

At times we carry pain alone,
we share more than we ever own.

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SQUEAM

March 21, 2017 at 9:26 pm (Poems, Weenie's Poems) (, , , )

There’s a body in the basement
and a head upon the floor
and two arms in different cupboards
and some fingers in the drawer.
There’s an eyeball on the surface
looking down upon the teeth
that somehow escaped from the sink
and clambered underneath.

There’s a heart that’s fast a-beating
and a brain that’s running wild,
attending every meeting
with the bare face of a child.
And if you should ever come across
two legs in isolation,
please apprehend immediately,
and take them to the Station.

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Stones

February 4, 2017 at 3:08 pm (history, Poems, Stories) (, , , , , , , , )

He brought down the axe
on those prehistoric stones
that had regally edged his flower bed
public and permanent
undisputed leave to rule granted,
planted, for centuries.

Meaning to smash those stones,
dash them down to size
despising their indestructible
smooth confidence, since
his lay shattered,
he refused to be thwarted by disease,
disappointment and a blunt axe.

Raising his game he brought to bear
great anger and frustration,
torn muscles and brittle bones
screaming, tears streaming in rivers
past slivers of stone,
whilst they remained, undiminished
taking pain without complaint.

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Visions

January 31, 2017 at 12:02 am (England, history, Poems) (, , , )

A striking array of architecture and engineering
split by a motorway: slipping away on the periphery,
age old churches with honeycomb spires,
stone walls structured by hands gnarled and weathered,
and where we walk, the canal, conveyor of commodities,
built with such precision and purpose,
then restored to peaceful glory
by people inspired by history and the benefits of tranquillity.

 
The other edge marked by smooth sailing windmills,
soaring tall and majestic,
beautiful beacons befitting a noble vision;
while their base neighbour, the monstrous, belching
rocksavage powerstation carcass, casts its shadow
upon weather beaten protesters
waving placards and drowning in fracked fields.

 

 

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Integrity

January 27, 2017 at 10:42 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

Oh, for goodness’ sake
stop spinning your false gold thread:
Grimm Rumpelstiltskins!

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Flu

January 3, 2017 at 1:51 pm (Poems) (, )

It hasn’t been a good time
Not the kind of Christmas I would have wished
Feeling a bit better now
Looking less shadowy beneath the eyes
Unless you hear otherwise, I have pulled through.
Everybody else had it too…
Not very nice at all
Zapping!
An unkind little virus.

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Change

December 31, 2016 at 5:20 pm (Poems) (, )

If Earth’s mantle changed
maybe ever so slightly:
We would barely know.

If, minutes before
two thousand and seventeen,
she re-aligns us

so collective colours
drape about aching shoulders
and make us subtly strange,

It may work out that
less becomes our spirit well:
and we can be still.

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