Archive for the ‘People’ Category


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


 

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’.


 

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

. . . . . 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.


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


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

where?

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

 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

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


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.


Boris Break

I took this thinking of Constable the painter dabbing red paint in the offcentre of his pictures to trick your eye to focus on the Haywain or hay cart. Beautiful red hair in all that greenery planted by the landscapers around the Mayors domain


StPaulsWordpress.jpg


the edge of the bed

where hearts bled

help proffered, even comfort given

but the stain remains.

where vanity released,

partners pleased

and even time given

but the shame remains.

where time slows

and frames per second bend and bow

relief from weights given

but the life span remains.

where sunlight stripes

where smiles touch

looks and contact given

but the pain is sustained

 

and hours passed, time taken

on the edge of the bed

where this was written.

©dwk

as if. . .

Posted: September 16, 2013 in Neighbours, People, Poems
Tags: , , ,

we dust in England

now that winter’s here

with thoughts of Caribbean shore

where the water’s clear,

while fighting with the furniture

cleaning clogs her mind

with the sand of golden places

and how to make time rhyme.


The bang and clatter of the chairs

drums of the swinging dance,

of carnival, now greyed away

in spots of rain and mirror spray

the kaleidoscope and spectrum play

upon her greatest fear.


Only to clean once a week

and not find courage for release

from such slavery to visit

such a glorious beach!



dwk



. . . . how self-confidence, however rigorous, strong or embedded can be shredded by anxiety. I got MY letter today and read every word as it was not only an explanation of future matters but also a first point of contact. No one wrote or phone or emailed me to say this was coming and that I should prepare myself for a repetition of my humiliation by the ignorant to determine if I should be aided by Her Majesty’s Government. Appealing was an indignity, finally winning at Tribunal with specialists supporting me. The Department of Health & Security’s representative obviously having had the necessary papers thrown to him minutes before he sat down in front of a lawyer as chairman and a local Councillor and Trade Union representative. That told the whole story. When Neurologists and witnesses of my condition put ink on paper they cannot be mistrusted or brought into question by the DHS. I was made a lifetime decision. Because it took so long it cost HMG thousands of pounds in back payments with which I could repay my debts to good friends.

Already I hear the whisperings “but that’s my tax money”, well who helped pay for your grandfathers pension or hospitalisation? For your children’s education etc. etc. I did. After 2 World Wars after which the returning soldier or anyone who had a role in winning, were promised freedom, liberty and equality especially in medical and social matters, this Prime Minister has finally discarded some of the final threads of what his colleagues would call the “nanny state” in private of course. Soldiers literally, return from modern day battle with disabilities and are ignored, thrown aside. Sailors and Airmen after serving their country for many years are made redundant and then the government place an advertisement on the television for the Royal Marines??

Equality, – if you have enough money with which to try and destroy the world’s financial markets and oh by the way, make generous contributions to the Conservative or Republican party, which can now only be seen as corruption. Two to three years later how many financiers have been prosecuted, how many Executives have taken responsibility and how much non-paid tax has been gathered. I recently read that unpaid tax amounted to ten times the amount that could be possibly gathered from benefit fraud.

The very tone of MY letter is of constricted black and white alternatives, “You will” “It is important” the whole tone is that of you shall! or starve. Employment and Support Allowance (note the words of actual definition ‘Incapacity’ “Illness”, “Disability” and “Severe Disablement” have vanished from titles and text) and ‘lifetime decisions’ of the DHS Tribunal completely disappeared, no acknowledgement, nothing, no mention of appeal. The whole point of tribunal arrangements was to avoid the courts which were clogged up enough no doubt. This Prime Minister has played an ace card, it is not a court who made such decisions therefore, they count for nothing. So yet again I have to show that I do not have a wheelchair but still a big problem, however embarrassing, however hard I might try to pursue one day at time in some lucid form, I am required to…. well let me quote it:

“Customers will be considered and assessed for Employment and Support Allowance between 2010 and 2014”. I wonder what I am buying?

“We will send you a questionnaire” “We use the information to decide if you need to attend a Work Capability Assessment”, “A health care professional (a contractor has been employed to find and employ them) will assess you and advise Jobcentre Plus how your illness or disability affects you in your everyday life” This professional in most cases will be a doctor without a job, not a specialist Professor in Neurology and Neurosurgery whose clinic I have attended every 3 months for a very long time. They will, probably, not know the extent or possibility of harm complex partial seizures have and will do. Side effects of drugs or of the damage done by full seizure when I was younger.

“You may be required to attend a work-focused health-related assessment and work focused interviews” – oh boy, the bureaucrat is back in the saddle, despite amassing a bill at lunchtime (a recent scandal) larger than genuine benefit fraudsters create in one year. Yes, I believe that people out there are pretending because of sheer laziness or are just corrupt. Landlords claiming for dead tenants, people fully recovered but still claiming assistance. But I don’t believe that those who chase the sick have the clarity of thought that work should be created for the able-bodied and the cheater routed out in all places first. This week I heard British companies were advertising in foreign countries in the native language of those countries?.

“IF YOU DON’T YOUR BENEFIT MAY BE AFFECTED” (their capitals). “We then decide if you are entitled to Employment and Support Advice”. I now have a new Neurology Consultant who even expresses his concern at my being “unaccompanied” in a letter to my General Practitioner whose clinic I have to chase to get a medical prescription out of each month. This is for medicine I have taken for 25 years. This clinic is now run by a private company overseen by a medical Trust. 7 years ago it was run by a group of doctors and someone would call you, usually staff on doctor’s instructions, you would even know their name and say “you have forgotten your Prescription David, are you OK? Not now! The shifting of budget and medical referral responsibilities to the General Practitioner or the family doctor, a Urology Specialist once explained to me, was to slow down the money coming to medicine in general from central government.

I read and hear of the disabled, attending the above interviews and there is no access for wheel chairs! Mobility in the form of a car removed from a suffer of palsy, her husband worked part-time so they could afford their life and tipped the balance so no more going out. Others now taking their own lives rather than be immobilised or pushed into a lonely poverty, I understand, it is just too much. This letter lying before me now from Glasgow not a local Jobcentre, means I have travelled back in time to the mid 90’s, when self-employed I simply could not get people to pay me and so had nothing to eat or pay the rent and was epileptic too. A lowest point. The attitude then was ‘no wheelchair’ no disability, no assistance, until one asked about Disability Working Allowance and was asked to “wait a minute”.

All this instigated by a man who wheeled out his disabled son to meet the press, is now an overweight Prime Minister, who wants to hurt me for the accumulation of debt by the greedy?

dwk


Sometimes I wonder how much they really know? What is going on inside those tiny heads? You know, those little people who rush around with their skull deep between their shoulders staring at their feet with their thumbs jittering and chattering as if they spent a life picking tea leaves or getting the right bolt in the right hole before the thing, they don’t even know they are manufacturing, has moved down the line.

530Coolpix-00001

They bump into people, lampposts or post boxes, like little automatons, reminding me of a black and white documentary, so must have been a long time ago, of tiny little robots scuttling around so that scientists could convince themselves they were learning, the robots that is, that they were learning by rushing around like tiny spiders and colliding with walls or each other. The occasional object placed in their way to prove a heavily worked mathematical or statistical point. That through the experience of obstacles their tiny brains would learn at least some environmental behaviour.

Since silicone has become so expensive only the super-rich can afford any form of communications device which for years using simple laser surgery, have been placed within the ear, and even that is old fashioned as one company is actually growing comms into the shell of the ear itself. But who would have known that the repetitive behaviour of about ten decades would be so ingrained, the greys even step off walkways or pavements into traffic, are flattened by those lorries that carry about 20 containers, literally flattened, “pancaked” one old fella said. I must ask him what pancakes are? Cakes made in a pan perhaps? Anyhow, little grey people dying or badly injured, ghoulishly scuttling around, probably never even seeing the sky! And those nasty twitching digits. The old man said they all think they are playing a game, well, all I can say is I am glad I wasn’t born in a time when THAT was considered fun!


I am more and more, getting the feeling I should write that down, that’s funny, that sounds right for a wordpress site (I always use a small w as I know of the humility this community of key pounders carries with it as its honour medal). But tangents always interfere and I never get here. The ideas simply disappear. You see the theory that the more one digresses within conversation or even passage of writing the more implanted or embedded, (popular word at the moment with software or apps or applications as I prefer, or even executive applications if you are a stickler and want people to know what you are actually talking about) become one’s dreams, as in deep sleep or even ideas that come to one when there is no envelope around during brief resurface. There in the digressive chat pops up that tiny bit of information that could make you a fortune or some even call them Freudian slips and sliding. That something you thought lost will flourish in the most irrelevant, evolving and constantly changing memory ground.

I admire the idea my brain is rushing around storing data during sleep. From filing cabinet to cabinet, rushing around, paper floating everywhere, or even scanning all paper to turn important information into digits so its all accessible on screen. My local doctor’s surgery has achieved this in the last couple of years. Trouble is no one seems to look down there (scrolling) or even read my nuerologist’s recommendations for a change in medication in the process of filing or scanning or whatever device they use. They look like bad photocopies on screen and it aint the screens fault as it glistens in the shabbiness of a practice taken over by a contractor paid by a local health trust. I can’t blame doctors any more, its a company now the lead sawbones has left, not that I ever saw him! Now everything is run by a management and another word firmly rising in conversation, locums. This general medical practice is now led by a lady with nursing experience. Neglect is the word my care-worker friend says is the technical word for the removal of information from that file stacked wall that looked almost reassuring as you walked into the surgery and that mass of information almost welcomed you. Dusty ancient files in those cheap NHS packaging cardboard coloured sleeves that fitted the size of a medical prescription or a once folded letter precisely. That perhaps only my observant UK friends would know of? A whole wall from floor to ceiling 20 feet long! These small file sleeves were an obvious element in the architects design dimensions of this modern functional environment. Reassuring because you knew someone could lay an experienced hand on your file when needed.

Storing while I am snoring, making a storyline from the chunks and fragments to help in the process, a fairytale (whoops, computer doesn’t like fairytale its red underscored it again! Is it banned? or am I being somehow maliciously discriminatory?) or even a nightmare dream to bring all floating flotsam data to rest in the right place or even disposing of it, recycle binning it? Then I wake up, turn off the apnoea therapy device off, jump out of bed, do me stretching, wash (yes we still do that in old England, its underscored again, wait it just corrected and put a capita E on England, and again! I am going to have to have a word with windows 8 – ah no capital W!!! I know wordpress (red underscored) is not so stringent in its correction parameters) and while choosing the day’s clothing, from my vast wardrobe, a million things come flooding through and I run to the nearest pad or keyboard – but it is gone. . . . .

. . . . . . something about digression and being able to convince myself to write some sci-fi, because that would make a great plot and the rest is just a matter of filling out with detail say the “how to” writers. But, can I convince myself to take that time and with my useless grammar hammer it out? Write a book? But it IS gone! Even the joke about reassuring my mother the abbreviated f word was actually the name of the publisher involved in the forthcoming book, sorry, tablet readers, download. Honestly mam, faber & faber (both underscored again ah-ha, this clever device is not aware that the publishing house’s logotype is a simple lower case ff !) But then I am hardly an intelligent machine in a position to criticise as my random access is failing.


…. here I am at 12am
using boating metaphors again
writing to another darling
that isn’t exactly plain sailing.

Boats are good for describing fate
and in my poem, writing late:
the tossing of a craft in a storm
or the cutting adrift,
seconds
after we’re born !
Describe perfectly the voyage of life.
Adrift?
Waiting for some coming strife?
Winds blown by providence
with great effect for some.

Partners in life can be as sails
allowing us to pursue our trails
some big and billowing
allowing much tack or
others are for smaller ships
and sagging in ambition lack.

Becalmed, without choice
we wait for any movement
as in life we wait for improvement.
Currents can push us off set course
despite our mad paddling,
as if we could deter such force.

But, phrases such as: marooned,
castaway and high & dry
seem most used and appropriate
when there is no rope to tie.
No safe harbour, no protection
as the storm swirls and rages,

just loneliness, awaiting the next entry
in the log of destiny’s pages.

Phoenix1

dwk ‘86


FarmerandDad1…this theme keeps finding my camera, wherever I look. Invited to the Ayrshire Ploughing Association’s ploughing competition, by the friend of a relative I was visiting, I witnessed horses actually ploughing a field and a computerised cabin of a tractor in action, trying to do the same thing.
As far as I could gather four pegs define the width and the length of the strip to have its soil turned, (you will have to excuse me farmers, I don’t have the jargon or language that grows from this specialist work). Then about ten furrows are ploughed, as straight as possible of course, at one end of the strip or rectangle of land. After completing these the ploughman has then to go to the other end of AyrePloughAssoc11the strip and work his way back
 with straight even furrows until they match perfectly those at the starting end. (I have tilted the photos deliberately as this would be the ploughman’s view, with one wheel in the furrow).

It looked as if the horses had it a bit easier but it was obvious from the vintage tractors that they were in a class of their own and to be admired as still working at what I imagine was one of the jobs they were bred for.AyreshirePloughingAssoc9
Then, there they were, standing just right for me to race away to get a shot under the leaden skies of Scotland. As it turned out I was in the warmest place in the UK for some reason? I spent February avoiding sunburn in 40-50 degree temperatures while it snowed in southern England. I had another great birthday break exploring the lowland quarries, farms, stately homes and castles of Scotland on the west coast border just below Glasgow, thanks to my dear cousins and their friends and four Clydesdale horses.

dwk


egos so huge
they often fall
without counterweight
of humility or respect
an undesireable trait.

its OK though
we carry them
over rock, soil, sea & sand
to where they belong
parliament, team or band.