Love

Love .

Love is like a new motorcycle front tyre.

At first you take it gently,

Not sure how far you can push

Slowly as your confidence grows,

You learn that the limits are far beyond your own,

Then comes the magic time

Where you seem to be able to do anything together

 Almost seemingly at whim

Just as part of you starts to think this state of affairs will carry on forever

 It starts to go wrong,

 First starting in the wet the limits seem a little closer that they did  

 A scare or two sends shivers down your spine

Then things don’t seem quite as easy as they did

Turning in becomes harder

Until the magic has gone

But many still grimly hang on

As this new state of affairs becomes the norm

 Until they too have to face the choice of either crashing or facing something new

Some seem to be able to make a front tyre last a life time

Others it seems go through a tyre every other week

But love really is like a motorcycle front tyre

The best ones are the ones to keep.

Feminism

Definition of ...
We both can have a pint, 
but it differs in how long it will take to loose it.

New year

Just sitting here and reflecting on the last year or so and as regards some matters a much longer period of time.
To those of you who are also my Face Book friends, you know that last week I had what I would term  a real wobble, for the first time in many years I was to scared to even go across the road to the where the bike is parked.
Putting post on how I was feeling, one of the things that became clear was the love and support of my friends, all of which helped me through a difficult time.
We do live in a much more disconnected society than we have ever done before, but if we have the strength to post that we are in a bad space, the response , certainly in my case help provide some strength to carry on.

But back to the new year, this year I will be forty, yes really,

By this time I would have hoped to have been in a long term stable relationship, but  Alas this was not to be, after  a couple of long term relationships, IE, over 6 months , and in one case two and a half years,  followed by  an engagement and marriage that lasted in total for almost 6 years. Now we parted company now almost seven years ago, with no children I might add.
 In those years since , I have worked hard, been promoted more than once , until I had a good job which of course I was made redundant from as that industry collapsed...
The relationship side of thing has taught me more than I would care to  admit , in many ways I have perhaps led a life with a lot of men would only have dreamt about. If I'm honest , this lifestyle has left me bruised and battered beyond anything else that has happened,
All which has made me ask , what is important and why ?
Well going into the New year, I wish for several things.

1st, that I  manage to get though the 2nd year at Uni ok and hopefully do ok in the third....
2nd, that I find someone to love and share my life and hers together with both love and understanding.
I have spent to many years wandering alone  inadvertently hurting those around and getting hurt myself.
3rd, that my creative work hopefully reaches out and touches some, for to be able to write something which can touch someone else inside is an amazing gift.
4th, becoming secure  financially, just once in my life would be a real  relief.
And of course health and happiness for all of my friends and family , for there is truly no greater gift.

Well this enough of this reflective   navel casing ....
Sorry about the miss spellings , but I hope that we all find peace and happiness in the New Year ..

Alex

A schools fairy Tale, first draft.

Fairy Tale

Once upon a time in a land not so far away and not so long ago a king needed a hero.

Connor was the reluctant hero’s name; not someone to stand out in too many ways. But all this proves is that the world often over looks those with real strength in their souls.  For whilst all around when about their daily lives Connor held in his heart a flame for the beautiful Princes Rihannion, not only was she kind and gentle with a smile that could melt the hardest heart.  But she was also was the fastest motorcycle racer over the mountain pass, with her long dark hair flowing behind, she seemed to bend time and space as she raced. Singing that to take her heart, first they must be able to beat her on the track.

The King worried day and night about this problem, for he was not getting any younger and the Queen kept mentioning that a wedding would be a nice, for the palace seemed a little empty now with Rihannion racing all the time.

The King thought long and hard coming up with a plan at last. He had a local motorcycle firm make a golden bike. This bike would become the symbol of one who won his daughters heart. The bike was displayed for all to outside the palace in a glass cage on a plinth with a guard to ensure that no one would steal such a amazing prize.

Connor would often come in the dead of the night stare at the bike and dream about how to win the hand of the lady that he loved, but who seemed so far out of touch. But one dark night a storm brewed about so much that the wind and the rain seemed to become one swirling mass, Connor ventured out. Racing to where the bike should be, no guard could be seen, no plinth, no glass cage, no bike at all. First his heart screamed out in pain, for had someone else won the hand of the lady he loved, the storm stopped. The king rushing out to find the bike had gone, screamed “is there anyone who has a heart pure enough to return the bike and to have the strength to ask Rihannion for her heart”

Connor taking a deep breath stepped forward and said “I have a heart pure and good and I shall seek the bike to win the hand of one who I have loved from a far for so long”

The Queen looking down at the wet and bedraggled Connor and she said. “What makes you think that she would ever want a pasta delivery rider?”

The now seeing that no one else would step forward, reached and laid his hand upon Connors shoulder and said in out loud, “ as no one will step forward I charged Connor with the quest of finding the golden bike”

Not wasting a single moment, Connor reached down and kissed the kings hand saying “my lord I shall not rest until I have finished this quest.”

The story of what happened next is long and complex, but he trudged day and night, seeking and asking to find the golden bike. One dark night in a little tavern deep in the mountains a old crone whispered in ear that the object that he sought was in the castle at the top of the tallest mountain but be careful for the castle belonged to the nastiest ugliest troll in the whole world. After thanking the old Crone, he rushed out to get to the mountain in the shortest time.

Reaching the bottom and looking up at the top almost hidden by the clouds, his stomach filled with the butterflies of fear. But knowing that once he had given his word there could be no going back, he reached out and touched the vertical surface, only to find that it crumbled to his touch. Taking a deep breath and thinking of the one he loved, he started to climb, hour after hour he climbed, not daring to look down, but not daring to look up either. Connor Felt so tired it was almost seemed as if his arms and legs were falling off.

Finding a ledge to rest Connor was at his lowest ebb, all hope was gone from his heart he wonder what he should do. Hearing a little voice Connor turned around to see the strangest plant he had ever seen, green with blue spikes and oddest of all a, mouth which was speaking to him.

“Oi you, yes you!”

Connor now looked more than a little confused as he asked, “what me?”

“Well who else do you think that I would be talking to halfway up a mountain?”

“I mean to just can’t get the quality of hero’s these days can you!”

Connor now coming to his senses a little and let be honest it would be best not to argue with a talking plant, it was not as if it had asked him to eat any of it ...I  mean a quest is one thing, but eating greens is another all together.

“I’m waiting!”

“Yes mister plant”

“That’s Ms Plant to you sonny! Look if you want to reach the top you must eat a leaf to make you strong.”

Connor trembling with fear reached though the fairy dust and picked a leaf from the plant, smelling of peppermint. Scared to his very core he placed the leaf in his mouth, all at once he felt like he had spouted wings.

Thanking Ms Plant, Connor now started to climb again, almost seeming to float to the top. Climbing over the unguarded edge, Connor scoured the castle looking for bike. Hiding from the Troll and his evil minions he found it near the creaky draw bridge, as he reached out and touched the bike the troll and his evil minions suddenly saw that someone was trying steal the bike. Connor screamed as he started the bike, thanking his lucky stars that it did not suffer the Kawasaki death choke.

Dropping the bike into gear Connor rushed across the open drawbridge, with troll and minions chasing hard. Suddenly the bike backfired and two special grenades came from the exhaust pipes and blew the castle to smithereens.

Connor thought wow, Ice road truckers eat your heart out as he raced down the steep mountain pass. But just when he thought he was free a hand crapped him from behind. The troll somehow managed catch back up and now was shouting at Connor to stop.

Screeching to a halt, Connor got off the bike and shouted “THIS ENDS HERE” as he  pulled out a missile launcher, blowing the troll to bits.

Now Connor having got the golden bike back approached the Kings castle once again, but this time with his head held proud. Noticing the bike park is blocked by silver BMW he parked the bike in front the main entrance, next princess Rihannion own bike. Connor rushed into the castle and was shocked to find a wedding going on. The priest was just asking, “Does anyone know a reason why Prince Harry and Princess Rhiannon cannot marry?”

Connor with a voice loud shouted. “Yes for I have brought back the golden bike, I have earn’t  the right to ask for the to ask for the Princess’ hand in marriage”

Prince Harry looking shocked shouted. “How can this be? That bike was meant to be hidden in a place that even the most determined soul would never find it, your country was meant to be in debt to mine for all time.”

The Princess punching Prince Harry in the face said “Take that you lying, thieving scum bag.”

Connor rushed though the throng too Princess Rihannion, going down on one knee he said.

“Will you take my hand, for I have always loved you?”

The princess saw how angry the queen looked; she said “Of course, for you have a pure heart and you did bring back the golden bike.”

The Wedding went ahead with the Kings full blessing and the Queen not trying to look upset.

The couple now married went arm in arm to the bikes parked out front, the crowds cheering as they both rode of as they passed an angry Prince Harry kicking a clamp on his BMW.

Now the story has been told I hear you ask came after, did they live happily ever after?

Well as this is no fairy tale, for they had their ups and downs along the way but they did love each other in every way, so they found a way to make it work.

But they did have one child who became world renown, his name was Valentio and they say that he was born with a pair of handle bars in his hands as he became the greatest motorcycle racer of them all.   

For Anna , as asked and now posted on the blog

A Celtic tale  

In a land not so far away not so long ago a baby was born who turned into funny kind of man. This is his story told the way the only way I can.

The land which this man was born into was wild and free with the beautiful high cliffs which jutted into the deep blue sea, but sometimes this land held in the mists hidden valleys full of the dark secrets of the passage of time.  This child who became the man was born in such a place, which spoke of a time before man had placed his hands on the land with such little grace.

A child like this would never find his life simple

As he was able see the places which were just fable.

               As a man it took him a long time to find a how not to standout in too many ways, for even though he was normal to you and I something about him caught ones eye. What this was I`m not so sure but what I do know is that women came from far and wide to adore.  Was it the gentle soul which behind the dark brown eyes?  Or the idea that the places he could take them and open the secrets of their hearts? For he could show them the world was more than they could see, full of wonder and beautiful mystery of the time before history.

 So he touched many lives for every time he reached out to find the love which he sought all he found was the emptiness of broken promises and faded dreams. For he could feel the full impact of everyone`s screams, the tears of joy and the cries of pain knowing full well that he would do the same again. So he screamed.

“When will this stop?

              When will I rest my head and not feel the emptiness instead?

              When will the pain go away when all I want is to feel the joy of love?”

 So he scoured the land seeking someone who would take his hand.  The harder he looked the more he became hurt.  He asked,

“What is this curse which I am faced?

Where all I do is jump from place to place?

Seemingly to break hearts with easy misplaced grace.”

Now this went on for many years and he learnt to hide his tears, not to show how much he sought to rest the emptiness that tore him apart. He tried many things just to take get though the day and wondered why he was so cursed to live the paradox of knowing that the love which he sought was always just out of reach, seemingly no more than a hair`s breathe away.

To the outside world he was fine

But those who knew could see the light had dimmed and he had lost his shine.    

So he wandered with the empty eyes of one who sees too much but wishes to hide, for to look deep inside came at a cost for he had already paid far too much.  Sometimes when all he could do was to wish that he could disappear he went to a little valley to hide his tears. For in this place he could rest in the peace and hide from the disgrace of all the hearts which had been misplaced, yet he never wondered why he always found this place eased the demons of his sleep.  

As the years passed by, this trick of being able to see the other places came to be even more of a bother, I ask what would you do when you can look and see tomorrow?

Then one day a lady said, “Have ever tried to walk this way? “

He asked, “what do you mean?”

She said, “Have you ever followed the path? “

He replied, “Not at all, you know that I tread with fear.”

So she replied, “Well you must my dear.”

So he followed this advice one dark night

The storm brewed about with such delight he became wet and full of fright

Yet he still followed the path with the lighting almost bringing day from  night. 

The thunder boomed, reverberating about the valley

So much for him to wonder, is this folly? 

Round one last bend he came, water running down his windswept brow. The lighting                                                              flashed again and he had found what he searched for so long.

For in that moment of light

His heart filled with the purest delight.

Now his story has been told I hear you ask

“So what is the moral which has come to pass?” 

All I can say that`s not for you to ask

When morality can become a question of one`s past

I really don’t like this time of year, it may seem funny but this time of year has always been hard.

To explain I shall reflect back on the last few years, last year whilst my family was dealing with a bereavement, the one person on whom I was hoping might help had their own major issues to deal with, the funny thing was in this case that the issues they faced came from their past to haunt the future. The past sabotaging   the future which of course many of us do.

The year before or was it the one before that, I had the pleasure of spending one with a family who showed me what a family Christmas could be about, but as with all things this soon passed, one moments highlight in a an otherwise funny time, so it could be said that this leads me up to my next rant.

I really don’t understand this idea of wasting money on rubbish that I you don’t really want. Why do it? Will it make you happy to try to live up to an idea that is only really about getting into debt to ensure that you have to work for the next year, or the rest of your life in an ultimately unfulfilling job, chasing something which is always just out of reach ? Ok maybe I’m being more than a little cynical about this, but I guess that I’m allowed to be just a little.

I don’t understand the whole Christmas card thing, I really don’t. Sending a card to friends and family I do get, but sending on to someone that you really don’t like ...Why, I wish you no ill will, in fact I wish you good luck and happiness, but what I don’t want to do is waste time sending a card with fake plenitudes.

Does anyone else look  out at the rest of the world and wonder what it is all about, I really don’t get it, why put ourselves though this , for what reason ? WHY??

Ok I don’t get Christmas, but for most of the last 12 years or so I have had the pleasure of spending New Year, with first, The Sex Slaves from Hell and now Jonas Lift, after the sad demise of the Sex Slaves, with my friends dancing the night away.

Ok this has been a rant, but I ask that you spend a little time to think of those who do struggle at this time of year and include them at the very least in your thoughts.

All the best

Alex

A Few more more thoughts

I went to an end of year Ma Art and Environment show, the thing that is really clear is that we are living in an unsustainable manner. The madness of our global society just can't go on, waisting resources on things with very little or no value,
Dose anyone else look at the everything and wonder what is going on ?
That it just dose not make sense.
Ok this is not a big blog about a big idea, but when it comes down to it, it is not a big thing.
So please ask yourself what is going on and do you really want what you think you do.
Alex

Writing a short story

Here is the opening lines of a short story that I'm writing at the moment.

I really hate the tube, fully jammed packed like sardines, moving through a tube underground. For me everyone around me seems to be screaming, I try to tune out. But I still hear all their thoughts, when someone brushes against me I pick up on what is going inside their hearts.

I will post the rest later as I write the first draft

Almost year now , goodbye

Goodbye

Listening the rain coming down,

Thundering over the broken drain in a constant cascade

Seemingly endless drops

Hitting the roof of the house

Listening to the rain coming down

I wonder what has come to pass

Was it really only a year ago

That you finally let go

Was it only a year ago

That facing the worst part

After a gentle decline

Layers taken off

Like an onion being peeled

A little more gone everyday

Until the person that you had become

Was not the one that you wanted

Those last words

Now over a year ago

Brood .....

Followed by education

I know that you spoke to others

But to me,

Brood , education

Whilst you sat with a cup of tea

Quiet dignity,

Even with a child’s lid to stop the spills 

Facing  the worst part

And quietly let go

A week after finishing the first term

You finally slipped beyond

Lying with a constant rhythm of your rasping breathe

Throat dry, hoarse

Wetting your lips,

Trying to ease your endless sleep

Praying that you go in peace

Knowing that you’re going to be ok

Knowing that we,

The ones left behind

Are going to be fine

The endless goodbye

Now fading into the memory

I pray that we shall meet again

And you will be proud

For until we do

Part of you will always be carried deep inside

Good bye

Until we meet again.

A poem from the past

           Dreams

They say that be careful for what you dream for,

For when those dreams come true,

You will have to live with the consequences too,

So after your dream has come to pass,

All the things you thought you wanted,

Are just like dust blowing in the wind,

Ask, was it really worth the cost?

So please be careful for what you dream for,

Make sure you dream to last.

Then your dreams may truly come to pass.

A blast from the past. We had to rewrite someone elses story.

Moment in Time

The scene just before my solo is coming to an end, what I`m I doing here? On my 18 birthday playing Alice Fiztwarren in the local panto, if I`m honest I`m not so sure.

I guess now better explain what I`m doing, a local boy on his 18th with the full works, dress and make up, just about to go on stage in my local pub with all my mates out front.  If it wasn`t for that night where the karaoke machine was cranked up high. If I hadn`t decided to sing that Abba song. The song the band (The psychedelic Daffodils) used to. But that time I did spot on, as well as any guy would be expected to. As I came off stage the Sarah the producer from the local panto asked if I`d like to try for a part, I thought what the hell at least I`ll meet some girls.

How do women wear these things? I feel like a trussed up chicken, the corset seems to want to pull me in shapes where there is none. These bloody shoes are so tight and I`ll be crippled if I fall, but what really worries me is how did they get them in a 12? Saying that though tights on my legs do feel really good, so I guess it`s not all bad.

So a couple of days later I turned up for the audition , in these parts even just to be asked was a major thing as the panto was the highlight of the year. But I did get a couple surprises. First it was going to an all male panto in tribute to one of the local stars from It Ain`t half Hot Mum who had just died, some might say not for the first time.  Second they wanted to base it on Abba song`s, I guess that happens when the writers run out of original ideas.  

I can now feel that cold fear I used to get with the Daffs just before we went on stage, I know the words to I do I do I do so why should I be scared? But then I wasn`t in a dress with full make up with what seems  the whole village watching  ... The scene ends  it will soon  be my turn, I catch Sarah`s eye and she smiles while counting down on her fingers , we hear sound of applause from the audience.  I smile back, feeling more than a just little nervous.

 A couple of days after my audition, Sarah rang and offered me the part of Alice Fiztwarren. Only the second biggest part in the panto, the principle girl ... Wow...  Bloody hell and oh shit.... I shouted at mum that I got the part and she said well now the hard work starts and she always wanted a little girl to wear pretty dresses! Dad was not so impressed and said no son of his was going to go on stage in a dress ... The argument went on for hours and ended up with me storming off and staying at Robs (drummer from the Daffs )  for a couple of days until it all calmed down.

The curtain open`s, the stage lights are so bright I can hardly see, as the music starts as I launch into the opening notes. I catch a glimpse of the audience, Rob and Eddie from the Daffs wolf whistle, mum and dad smiling looking so proud. The song goes on heading towards the final notes, I now know that I won`t freeze as the music flows with such graceful ease.

 What I`m I doing here? Having the time of my life!

And oh shit I have just put a ladder in the tights.

A Few more thoughts

Funny, when writing a blog it seems as if it really is a place to but my thoughts,
sending them out into cyber space, wondering if anyone is listening.
Arthur C Clarke once wrote that the odds of other life in space must be great,
Now as a planet we have been sending out radio waves for just over a hundred years,
Across space they travel , but we wonder who or what will come to see who has sent these messages out.
Writing a blog is a little like that, perhaps not such unguided thoughts being sent out.
But being sent out they are and I wonder who or what will reply.  
Friend or foe, my world will change the reply comes.
Alex

Homage

Ghosts

What is in mind is a sort of Chautauqua -that`s the only name I can think of for it –like the travelling tent show that used to cross America.

What do you do when what seek is a ghost?

 But what kind of ghost I hear you ask?

Well what about one which comes from our past.

I was such a man, who stood with time divided in a single span,

A man who followed a path so pure,

That it took me from a place which seemed so secure,

Why I hear you ask, why did you follow this dangerous path?

What can I say that except I felt this was the only way.

 Now I write but I really don`t feel contrite,

Why should I when all I did was step aside and try to see what went on inside,

The figure I recognise even though I do not let one,

 Is Phaedrus, evil spirit be gone.

The world in which your life was led is now mine instead,

Your place is with the dead, the insane should learn their place,

And not to fill those who live with dread.

So why now when it`s dark you feel that it`s your place to come back and haunt?

Surely your cost was high enough to make the even simplest man wish to stop?

Was it more than a simple inquiry into values? 

That led them to take your liberty away as you sat and swayed.

A glass door, behind which Chris waves,

I see that you try to reach out but as you did you saw that`s is a door of a coffin instead,

Yours, but I`m not so sure that you realised before,

You had to say goodbye as you watch Chris scream and cry,

Only years later that you, I, realised that someone has to deal with degenerative forms society and intellect,

Those who thoughts just don`t parry,

Take them away to place which is safe,

Where you`re (our) thoughts will not lead others to disgrace,

So if you`re going to pick a fight about what you believe is right,

Don` t start with the psychiatrists or the cops alright,

Those in power will not cower with your might,

But they may just throw away the key for good,

Leave them to last, when your logical thought will blast those tired pillars from the past,

So what you, I, we did was to learn to play the game,

Not to seem insane, so they would let out us again,

But now you`re coming back,

Who will become the ghost if you do?

The one was taken away when those electric shocks went astray?

Or the one who came about in those magic volts? 

If you do return then will your ghost come back to haunt?

The one which led you to become me with such shocking electricity,

Would that drive you once again to open up Pandora`s box?,

To seek that ghost that`s behind the door of western thought,

Where the earliest Sophists taught that all principles, all truths, are relative,

That man is the measure of all things!

Where those cosmologists thought about the origin and structure of the universe,

Those pre-Socratic philosophers fought,

 With pointed words which went on to create the basis of modern western thought,

Those ghosts you took on and lost,

Whose battle scarred waste land you now haunt. 

What you did come to see was that the strongest ghosts we have are the ones inside our heads, the ones from times long since dead.

Shadows

Well here goes , a blog which is not a poem or a story.
Just a few simple ideas heading out into cyberspace.
I wonder about the choices we make and the actions that we take.
When we are faced with a choice , what do we do when what is possible is not always what is right?
Do we put others before ourselves  and act in an unselfish way ? or take the path which leads to putting ourselves first?
Every action or choice we either do or take, can have a thousand consequences that we may never have seen from the first simple step.
I guess that the only thing you can do is the best we can and in the words of Johnny Cash, if you die in your sleep you come out ahead of the game.

Poetry Verses the Short Story.

Poetry verses the Short Story

They said that poets are a self indulgent lot,

Putting down our deepest darkest thoughts

Expunging our soul with a few simple lines upon a page

I like short stories

Hit them hard and fast

Let the deeper dark parts remain hidden behind the flow of words

As the eye scuttles along,

Absorbing ideas so fast,

That the reader’s heart seems to hardly have chance to beat

 Until the last full stopped has come to pass

Each new line, so define,

Building an ideas in the mind

Bolting out all sense of time

So yes poetry is good

With your clever verse,

Spacing and pacing lyrically until the reader is lost

But the short story

Short and Sharpe, has truly won my heart.

Of course as you read  

Do you not question the form of the prose used?