Indignant in her confidence
she is a crutch for many,
but now time to drop the penny.
That there are two ends to a rope,
in all her strengthened binding,
the power to haul sails aloft
where life’s canvas can only
be seen in her, as steady.
As she goes, now needs secure knots,
a chain splice might be the tight.

 

http://www.animatedknots.com/chainsplice/index.php?

dwk

Quote  —  Posted: February 4, 2017 in caring, Health and wellness, inspiration, People, Poems, poetry, relationships


 

I must have said the words a hundred times that night

close to mother’s ear , in hushed voice with shushes,

‘sleep mam, sleep,

try to find your sleep’.

to an ear that had heard my first ever cry,

and the first sounds uttered by three others.

A shell that had heard the lap or crash of many sea tides.

pinned back for orders in service as a Wren.

A vessel generously lent, often bent,

but thrilled by a husband’s laughter.

An organ that balanced her true singing voice

given in celebratory song for her belief,

that absorbed a bible and Salvationist’s songbook.

Open to aid all others, never deaf to need

this was now the phone for my repeating

‘mam,

try to find your sleep’.

Quote  —  Posted: December 28, 2016 in family, Health and wellness, Intimacy, lost, love, People, Poems, portraits
Tags: , , ,


 

riding out, 
on Matt's quarterhorse,
Marky's pinto and
cool Luke's thoroughbred,
towards the house of John's good cheer,
hear only our loose laughing tongues
and horse breath in still, hot air.

Then startled,
sudden prancing,
the horses turn a kick,
no one fell, know calming tricks,
check out fetlock or missing shoes.
But, then on the trail
comes around a guy with a gun,
slowly smiling, but with no fun
any horsesense can smell.

He offers g'ddays and asks the ways
to 'Peter's Grand Gatehouse',
he's "following father, as any good son",
looks worried tho, just like those folk
whose trigger finger,
will soon see them done.
To lengthen wear of his saddle
we tell him ride 'westward
keep following the sun',
and,
on his calm, fine, snowflake Appaloosa
to the frontier of the horizon,
can hear fading...
his sprinting horse's foot fall,
drum an' a drum,
	drum an' a drum,
		drum an' a drum.

dwk

Quote  —  Posted: July 16, 2016 in inspiration, memory, People, Poems, poetry
Tags: , , ,

astounding silence here

Posted: June 9, 2016 in inspiration

many years of reading here

but a fall off of communication and therefore,

will to energise even a pixel is lacking.

It is interesting witnessing your confidence

to tell your stories, fact or fiction,

but the quietness of other readers is astounding.

Is the putrid twitter now utilised by personalities and promoters,

closing minds or just killing time?

Interaction pushing friendship further away?

A stream of nothing greets me everyday

and inappropriate advertising  hides your say.

 

 

 

. . . . . answer & record is on

Posted: February 17, 2016 in People, poetry, Ramblings
Tags:

I just took my headphones, off!
you see, I thought I heard the door,
I could not have wanted more
at that moment of interruption
feelings became solid & pure.
but there is no one outside.
The polished crystal sphere of thought
of what we could do,
where to go,
how to dress,
what to eat,
where to dance,
its all there.
A finite group of details
mapped out 50 times?
I put the music back in my ears
and the phone says “answer & record is on”.
Another cold, sunny February day
you see,
I was born today.


Living in lies by the railway line
Pushing the hair from my eyes
Elvis is English and climbs the hills
Can’t tell the bullshit from the lies

Screaming along in South London
Vicious but ready to learn
Sometimes I fear that the whole world is queer
Sometimes but always in vain

So I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insane

Down on my knees in Suburbia
Down on myself in every way

With great expectations I change all my clothes
Mustn’t grumble at silver and gold
Screaming above Central London
Never bored, so I’ll never get old

So I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insane

Down on my knees in suburbia
Down on myself in every way

Day after, day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after

Songwriters
DAVID BOWIE

Published by
Lyrics © TINTORETTO MUSIC

Quote  —  Posted: January 11, 2016 in Entertainment, inspiration, love, lyrics, Media, Music, Poems, poetry
Tags: ,

. . . holiday

Posted: December 28, 2015 in inspiration

I sincerely hope you all get a deserved and perhaps needed break in which to celebrate what you worship or ‘just put your feet up’. For me this time of year is a little melancholic as everyone I know or knew is so far away but that can mean some great surprises! Surprises sometimes as small as a Christmas card from one of your best mates from school. I will not dare say how long ago as she is still a very attractive lady who would you believe teaches in the same school we attended. Her mother was a sophisticated handsome lady who was also a teacher, and I will always remember how she explained to someone that she was talking to me as an adult because it was the best way to teach respect. Her daughter always looked after me when I was available to disrupt the normal day and now we know of each other only through faceBook detail, I guess.
Its about time I got around to visiting her again on the coast. One thing we have always tried to do though is each year buy the best designed modern Christmas card we can for each other and over the years its got a bit competitive. I have failed her this time and she has clearly won this year all because of a bout of flu I found in a hospital waiting room, laying me flat for 2 weeks. But the pleasure of making my own little Christmas tree with paper triangles to my surprise, that arrived in the snail mail, can’t be described. Each triangle was a memory as I bent it forward from the blank front cover.
Claire'sCard15
DIY Christmas Card
The other pleasure of this lady is her writing which perfectly reflects her joyful character. I received a card enveloped in zany smiles and laughter, yet again and I am only describing her pen hand. I remember her laugh so well and her self-assurance in her prettiness, no, sexiness. Why she had anything to do with me I will never know but there are many of her cards tucked in a nice box with the envelopes too –
for you, C.
Happy Christmas and New Year

you cannot see
beyond the screen
you cannot see
pixel defined horizon lines.
You CANNOT see
beyond qwertyuiop keys,
life IS unfair
when eyes are impaired
but if you reach for Ray Ban
for the blind man’s cool stare?
Make sure you see
those sunshine times
when eyes light up for you and me . . . . .

dwk

Quote  —  Posted: June 16, 2015 in inspiration, poetry
Tags: , , ,


ripped from sleep’s desert
I punch air and leap
into the days pain
roll from dampened moss
that was our bed,
and the mechanics begin,
the automaton who has
fouled the grave, again,
rises as smoke out of fire
but there are no ashes to clear.
A new dawn, new sheets?
and planted on a towel erect
an overturned soda glass
within the sheets
to assure an arid place
in this mattress creek
for arms of understanding.

 

 

dwk

Aside  —  Posted: February 3, 2015 in Brain Health, Disability, Health and wellness, Poems, Ramblings
Tags: , , , , ,

. . . . the stuff of upholstery

Posted: October 14, 2014 in Intimacy, lost, love
Tags: ,

. . . . . something strange, but perhaps inevitable has happened in this world of social interaction, pinging pictures and words off anyone with a IT device (and money for the charge-up), must by course, must navigate one towards a second encounter, with that unique first person.

the first, boy or girlfriend, the first kiss in passion, the first glorious smile of focused recognition when you turned up early or late, it didn’t matter and now as tactile as you may like to be, you can’t touch, you can’t speak as you once did, you cannot spin in that universe. I should not be typing this. She may see it but I cannot help myself, I could delete instantaneously (ctrl+a)+(delete) select all erase and F4 to close this program.

?

But I have not closed this page…. yet.

I am genuinely happy for her and her family of 3 children, her life and her newest skill making chairs comfortable or even glamorous again. She has her own little business, and does good work. (I once spent my career teaching others and the upholstery next door studio department tutors became my friends and showed me a lot of restoration work they did beside teaching. So another vein of the past is stitched into my encounter with a school friend’s Facebook friends list, Don’t say that too quickly you may hurt yourself).

I cannot believe beyond the sayings and expressions of “first love” how strong 40 years later, feelings actually are when she acknowledges my presence in this world with a click or tap on a thumbs up symbol or an unlit star to make it shine. Of passage it is a broken link but it has been repaired so rapidly that the link is of a 16 year old’s feelings that were filed away a long time ago, brought out, dusted down, resprung and adequately upholstered to its full form. I am stopped in my tracks.

She was the one and the intimacy was depth itself. I still cannot believe the feelings her name, words, picture will always invoke, like fabric pulled tight and tacked, the form and shape become right and compliment the structure. Love is not a four lettered word it is a pathetic attempt by language to explain pure happiness in unison with another.

forgive me for this,

dwk


like a canyon’s span
the space between us
is now immense.
that speck of light & shadow
over there,
was once our planet,
was our delight of tactile warmth.
the prism of touch that brings bliss
beyond lips and hands.
the rock over there, where she stands
is her life sphere, her family and friends
that’s not my place,
over there.
but laid out like a drill sample
for inspection on electronic pages
it churns emotion like the blade
that pulled this strata cylinder
out of the background.
separated by existence itself
life has slipped through fingers
to make our places, there and here
and lost, infinite possibilities,
had I not leapt from the rig
over there.

© dwk

Quote  —  Posted: August 5, 2014 in Intimacy, love, memory, People, Poems, relationships
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Space station, Oxford Street, London

©dwk


We all of us cling to the truth as we construct it, and we resist alternatives that challenge the construction.”

Daniel Finklestein
Published in The Times 12.01am July 9 2014
http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/opinion/columnists/article4142361.ece

Quote  —  Posted: July 10, 2014 in Blogged It!, Media, memory, People, philosophy
Tags: , , ,


My friend & neighbours jam caught the eye as bubbles give a sense of motion until frozen or jellied in a jam! The light & colour flashed in the eye.

My friend & neighbours jam caught the eye
as bubbles give a sense of motion until frozen or jellied in a jam! The light & colour flashed in the eye.

Image  —  Posted: July 9, 2014 in Media, photograhy, Photographs
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 where are you?
I look everywhere
for the foundation, something solid
on which to plant four feet
and enjoy the sun
and yet we have hardly begun.
 
Your laugh echoes
disturbing my natural compass
my balance, my wanting,
the happy but ricocheting sound
defies the possibility
of physical mobility
 
so that we can simply meet
in measured, metered ground,
that suits your needs.
Should I build this place?
Should I continue searching
and end this eternal floating?
 
Is that you, behind the sky
that is so impenetrably clouded
by the devils of others’ reality?
Then an opaque realisation;
your shadow glanced there
but again only fresh earth bare.
 
Where are your footprints
in my tiny sphere of reference?
Is that your dear, soft face,
in the shattered reflection
of my pooled teardrops.
Please find my arms and make this stop……………
 
dwk09

Quote  —  Posted: July 1, 2014 in Intimacy, love, People, Poems
Tags: , ,


was it ever quiet? were we ever still?

 every day a struggle to master the storm? gusts of passion drove us from youth and innocence. love was tempestuous and softness and fragility became hardened. deep scars healed, taught and changed us. left us clinging to rocks in a sea of fears.

was it ever quiet? as we made our passage from ignorance to knowledge. were we ever still enough to find the stars, to feel tide flow, to plot our course? we hurled ourselves against the breakers, blind in passion within the foam and clasping hands, struggling for balance, for a foothold on the slipping, shifting shinglestone.

were we ever still? as bitter brine washed wounds with wet and cold reality, cooling the ecstasy of experience and now here, aloft in the safe arms of the rigging, over a green grey sea I search horizons for that elusive point of light and persist in hope,

a moment of peace in the skyline of your deep eyes and the sun of your smile.

for V

©dwk

Quote  —  Posted: June 28, 2014 in Intimacy, love, People, personalities, Poems, Seascapes
Tags: , , ,


SBanklights1

Image  —  Posted: June 5, 2014 in Architecture, Cities, Cityscapes, Photographs, Places
Tags: , ,


I visited Joe Seeber’s blog today, out of courtesy, he follows me apparently.
It is a classic, the comment I left got so long it turned into this blog,
so his techniques must work I suppose, except I have never seen or read them and here is the reason why…

”Manifest my own reality…………..”?

“I mostly read personal development books as l am on a strict regimen of always improving myself as a person and offering as much value to the world."
I hope Joe’s self-esteem and confidence gains some ground because anyone pretentious enough to offer to guide others without knowing the way, grasping at other’s maps and trying to live the american dream of making money out of everything is not the dream of the majority.
Joe says don’t worry about others, do it your way. "Does your blog make the cut?" He presents himself as Judge, jury and hangman? Who put you in those positions over my little blog that does not have many visitors, but therefore, does keep the nest buzzing and here and there some honey for WordPress. Even I paid them to take the ads off one blog because the ads were so poor.
What about action Joe? -Why not take your improvement skills and GO and sort out the world’s eating problems, help starving people get hold of the tons of food dumped every night by supermarkets in the developed world. (That is reality not a left wing complaint). Help the obese lose weight and save them from diabetes. Make training videos of how to handle money better instead of blogs and throw your laptop away for real freedom. (Yes I did!)
and thankyou again for helping me to write my blog, which I only write when something pours out, rather like retching and probably of the same consistency.

http://www.joeseeber.com/how-to-get-more-traffic/

p.s. I just enjoy reading your blogs, not all as some dive into detail or cannot get across what they want to say despite magnificent language.

 

dwk


At the village fete
While people starve
Pointed noses
Welcome with polite applause
Freak delphiniums and
Their permed executor victorious

Ignore society beyond
The lawn and
Strawberry patch
The world can go hang
As long as articulateds
Steer clear and peasants evicted
“It’s good real estate”
Forever green their cornered england.

Quote  —  Posted: March 29, 2014 in Health and wellness, People, personalities
Tags: , , , ,


I watched something that has supported me like a scaffold rig for about 20 years, die last night. The confidence to pursue, the guts to fight seeping away from a group of extra ordinary people who forgot how to do what they do. A space was left between their ears, memory deflated of something they had done thousands of times for most of their lives. Fantastic physical specimens paid a lot of money to entertain us in a sport that is very tribal despite their bank balances they simply ceased to do what has entertained millions and give courage through joy, pride and self-confidence through example.
I know they will come again and again but this team one wears the colours of, particularly on match day, are my family, my people, with my commitment which is a great therapy.
Even for the fullest in fitness, they present an opportunity to unwind, to scream and shout at a stadium or even in your shell. Mentally urging them on and on one is raising oneself out of gloom and of course winning is achieved for us all. Resulting in a better frame of mind on a Monday morning a happier outlook without the need for sunlight. I  need the tribe (a psychologist suggested that the other team in most sports is NOT the enemy in a symbolic battle, the opposition players are not to be considered other than obstacles in the way. The enemy is the net to be hit, the line to be crossed, the basket to be filled. that is the winning of any symbolic struggle on a sports field). I think he is right. Some people just don’t get it but have never been to a live game and felt the enthusiasm among so many and it is interesting how they find their self-confidence from other things. If someone hates sport I guarantee they are hooked on something else and can talk for hours of it!
Last night was sad you see, because I fall over a lot, do strange things etc. and so am isolated but I find self-assurance in what my team does. So when it fails it hurts, when starts to fall to pieces so do I.
I await a new era acknowledging that big time sport worldwide only exists because of the money to be taken from its spectators through tickets or TV, but the reason they spend is more than a little entertainment.