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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Oh, for goodness’ sake
stop spinning your false gold thread:
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
An unkind little virus.
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.
We are baubles on a tree
as eclectic as can be
sharing time and bending branches
hanging on and taking chances
delicately we deck the year
with brilliant colours, life and cheer.
Each of us has their own story
sadness, love, success and glory
old and new, each orb is precious
countless special shiny treasures.
Beautiful diversity –
bless and keep our Christmas tree.