Archive for the ‘personalities’ Category


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.


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!


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.


In this field of positivity, there is a stone. It cannot be moved by the plough of knowledge, it cannot be moved by the pneumatic drill of progress, and on  it letters have faded to braille or have sharply chiselled serifs. Not Buddha, Jesus or Mohammed’s words, but text only understood by who finds it. The greatest obstacle to this throne stone?

Singularity.

There are many productive meadows, in which to create, re-model, re-design the future, but there are no roads to this fertile grassland and there are no paths on the range , only chest high harvests of realisation. Drifting so far from belief, logic or reason means many miles of life walking and  if we find the field the best one can do is cling to the perimeter fence.

Some do not have fences as natural clustering or gathering together helps in the climbing search. Assists in the struggles with daytime movement and fights off the nightmare with mutual security. Civility is draining away, helping without gain is not fashionable. If you are not in the now you are no one. Rather group in a dark pool of street corner limelight, in the new team, the new faith, the new circle, as natural gregariousness will persist. These will never find the field, their feet never leave, in all its irony, street stone.

Difficult enough to find in a swaying harvest,  one’s  stone has to be uncovered,  is cracked granite, or perhaps  polished marble, but heavily compressed  needs no test and will always be a cornerstone. That is our conscience or the still small voice.

dwk


of course I love you
I always have
but you would not have it
so that was that.
I will not fight
for the unwilling
as in some scene
disownment will crack
any dream.

I will not persist
with love unfulfilling
all it can mean is
frustration will ransack
all thoughts unseen.

Of course, I love you
I watch your surf wave
and hope your spirit
floats above my flat.

dwk


why are there people out there who simply cannot relate to others? Even with the gift of the internet, where it doe not matter how beautiful or ugly you are and every degree between your physicality, personality, character or ability. You are you.

Why is this a competition to attract, (wait I have to go stir the porridge), attract with either, words, images or even music? To have a ‘better’ web site, the most visited?

I would rather, when finished admiring a song, (and maybe sharing) new Navy deck photos, and your words pressed to the screen, go and see what cakes are baking in the north of England or what someone has been doing with their daughter home from abroad or how a graduate psychologist feels or what stories she has after driving a tourist trolley all day? Because its real.

The snipers, the gossipers , the chatterers, if you want your inability to appreciate reality, keep it. If it keeps your mind flicking like an animation book, fine, but don’t involve the sane.

dwk


I brought this pad out

to list my things to do

but styled vocabulary

of a different brew.

My friend here about

is delighted by rhyme,

and shows us weekly

the sophistication of words.

In either a whisper or shout

however spoken, resonate

the strings he strums

and hearts vibrate.

For a cigarette he’ll tout

but too cool to shake

his dictionary is a playground

geared with a talented trait.

 

©dwk2012


image

Apprenticed as a fireman in an open steam train cabin, my grandad moved up to engineer when considered “mature” enough by his superiors who had barely set foot in a steam-engine’s cabin. He spent his working life stoking or driving these grey beasts. Then came the day to drive the new Queen Elizabeth.

Among his peers he was considered as the most experienced engineman and therefore, the safest, but some bureaucrat decided a younger man would logically, be a safer engine-driver for the young Queen returning to London from Manchester. After he left his country’s mainlines for the sidings, my grandmother once told me “it broke his heart you know”. After so many years of service given and respect gained? A certificate of long service and a photograph of his favourite engine? He retired from the Salford Railyard that served the Old Trafford Industrial Estate, supported the railwaymen’s football team, met friends at the Union Club and loved his garden.

As a twelve year old, I remember he showed me how to make firelighters from newspaper, as he had done on so many mornings to start the fire beneath the steam engine’s boiler, which I thought was wonderful! I, now too, could start fires, and loved helping him clean the home hearth, bring in the coal and set the fire. Running to open the front door for airflow, and learning how to balance the coal shovel in front of the fireplace on the hearth rail. Covering the whole fireplace with a sheet of newspaper when the flames caught, taking it away carefully when the coal fire roared.

Just an elderly man with his grandson both enjoying the passing of knowledge of the most fundamental kind – how to make fire.

dwk

The photograph is of Newcastle-upon Tyne Station in the 1960’s by Eric de Mare and is in the RIBA Collection.