Tag Archives: mentality

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Some days, the world closes in around me.

For minutes at a time, the earth shakes as though a thousand dormant volcanoes have erupted in unison.

I chase after my breaths like a 5-year-old with bubbles on a breezy afternoon.

I am deaf to the beat of my heart.

The sun orbits the earth before I come around to the understanding of my plight.

I am at war with my shadow.

Afraid of fading from view, I like stringing sentences like tennis rackets.

Mantras slip through my fingers like perfect ex’s.

Questioning supposed recklessness I break fast.

Peace is a stranger that refuses to converse.

I silence the alarm despite being raised by a nurse.

Always an episode instead of a series.

The script seems more powerful every time.

Maybe this is what I deserve.

Payback for the other side of me.

Maybe it’s the design for me

Anxiety.

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Filed under Just Living, Random Poetics

Blooming Marvellous

This week has been an inspiring one, full of themes and quotes that I could build poetry from. My favourite quote has been “Follow the contour of the road”.

The context was a driving lesson where my mind was over-thinking and I took a straight line through a couple of lanes.

Many times we embark on a path only to crash or come to a dead end because we want it to be a straight line. If we want to go into a different room of our house we have to turn a corner at some point.

It’s like life is a colouring book given to us with every colour Crayola could offer, yet we choose one and use it on every page. Not only that, when that colour runs out we try to re-create that colour and feel stressed because the other colours aren’t it. Let your beach scenes be just that!

For me following the contour of the road, like my perception of my writing, acknowledges that which is behind me whilst concentrating on that ahead.

I was moved to anger and sadness having recently learned, through a documentary, that my surname was given by British slave masters in Jamaica. That said, Positive Reflection has sandwiched the joy of my birthday and other accomplishments the last 7 days.

Confession time…I rarely use the word happy in conversations about myself. Perhaps it is a blessing and a curse at times that like my father, I’m a perfectionist at heart. Yet from passing my driving theory test to the surprises from my wife, my side of my family, and even from my team at work have made feel happy. I cried tears of joy a few times on my birthday, having felt a forceful combination of joy and contentment. I was happy.

A brownie cake baked by one of my team.

A brownie cake baked by one of my team.

Maybe you’ve lived your whole life to the fullest using every part of your brain’s capacity, or maybe like me, you’re steadily realising where you’re at and beginning to make it better than it’s ever been.

The words Attitude and Commitment sum up my last 12 months and will be the backbone of the next 12, and the 12 beyond that. I left 32 knowing with an outline of the scenes I want to add colour to throughout my 33rd year.  Perhaps the biggest challenge and change in this part of my life is committing to commitment.

If it helps, write down the new places you’ve been, things you’ve done that you didn’t do before. You might realise very quickly how much you have lived, learned or even want to do!

I love rhythm, find yours and Smile!

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Filed under Just Living, Non Poetic Blogs

5 day poetry challenge Day 3 – The Dawn

White sands fell between them

The morning tide kissed their foreheads

New palms bowed and curtsey in turn

Clouds yawned for the first time as the sky opened its eyes

The wind smiled like a new-born after its first feed

Time had walked the shortest distance from their wrist to their hands

Steady as the drizzle of summer rain, they breathed

Whispers tiptoed from their lips into the oxygen

Like hydrogen they ignited as understanding embraced

Good Morning,

Good morning to love said the flame

Finding their soul frequency retinas roared

Detonated heart beats battling soon soothed to an echo

Atlas had become compass in a blink

Yet this was Eden and it would be human to think

So they admired

The apple of their eye was a fruit of their spirit

They’d given lives to acquire the rights to the orchard

Merely breathing was deemed eating of the moment and

Building a city of roses required appetite so apple blossom became staple diet

Welcome,

Welcome to life said the Middle Tree

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5 day Poetry Challenge – Day 1: E.O.W

I was nominated by another poet via Facebook to post a poem each day for 5 days. This poem could be freshly written or something that hadn’t been posted before. I’ve opted for faith in the poems I’ve had less contact with since they’ve been written.

Fighting in the ring of denial

Boxed in

Boxing truth

Looking for that knockout blow

Jabbing

Moving in white lies

Lines

But I can never avoid the speed of reason

The power of logic comes home to roost on my chin

If truth can set you free

Then my mind is housed in glass doomed to crack and shatter

What is the purpose of fighting truth when revelation is a redeeming knowledge served on a platter for you to add to your arsenal

Wisdom is an acquaintance of knowledge

An acquisition that will not arrive horse drawn.

Wisdom and knowledge are the bridge with railings we deploy to ensure we cross through situations safely

Without these tools we crash into trouble at breakneck speed

Just as your five fruit a day

We need these

To begin

At the end of the weak

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Tulips

tulips

They stare down from the bridge like a speed trap

Ill-fated like candles on a heat map

Two face that six deep till their eaves drop

Speak war ‘til they detox

The air they’re breeding? I need that

Photo finishes lose their gloss, so forward thinking I read back.

Embracing these ventilations with open windows

We can christen or crescendo until the wind has lost our taste

If giving is charity, does a casket rest the case?

Is time well spent when interest cools?

Does time erase? Does time even have tools?

Are unheard sentiments simply sediment.

If pretty flowers must die, are they worth your remembrance?

Will you choose to bury them?

If principles are the rule, is perception the real measurement?

Our bouquet pendulums have greater range than a peregrine

What’s your addendum?

Is it the copy of your recipe or the flavour of your beef?

Every decision we make writes our story

Is yours a magazine?

Is it live and let die or do we force some to breathe?

It seems some can’t believe that pretty flowers… must die

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Crystal

Is your past a foreign country?

If so how often do you visit?

Is it for business or for pleasure                ?

Is it secluded or touristic?

Do you have a holiday home or no go areas within it?

Does it have monumental cities?

Are your memories memorials or are they living exhibits?

If I’d like to go there…what’s the cost of ticket?

Could I go for moment?

Would I be ready in a minute?

Is it a place of worship, do others go there on pilgrimage?

As a travel destination what star rating would you give it?

If your past was a pack of cards, would you be willing to deal it?

Is it a feted piece of literature that limits your life’s vocabulary.

Is it a path that panders to extinction?

Do you marry your past to your present in tensions?

Is your past the blessing you were cursed with?

Is it the margin of error that makes you live second to second?

Is your past a day of lessons that you’re simply letting slide

Is your past a persistent researcher that you’re simply walking by?

Is your past the death of you or what makes you feel alive

Is your past a foreign country?

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Paper Thin Walls

paper thin walls
Paper thin walls
They keep mixing colours
Blending her out
On those paper thin walls
Paper can’t cover the cracks
On those paper thin walls
A doodle draws a whimper
The thought of making murals musters mournful murmurs from those paper thin walls

Passed around like a guest book at a funeral
The feeling fading as they drive away
The whitewash isn’t cleansing
A broken slate is never wiped clean
She is only 15
Miss Paper Thin Walls

Laying bricks, roofless
All her rocks are demons dancing in the sea of safety
Her will shredded like leaked script pages
She’s an over plucked daisy
On her knees she a dress maker seeking out hope like a lost sequin
Wondering where was God when man destroyed the self she’d believed in

Miss Paper Thin Walls pores over scattered bricks
From the many times her box has been ticked she’s an exam in herself
Exiled from affection, ignoring the laws of attraction.
Hands that reach her are fractured to heal her scars
When she’s fully built she may be chasing cars
For now…..she’s in thrall to the casket of cat calls
These travails are an ailment of which no ointment can heal
When she’s fully built she’ll bruise the serpent’s head and heal
She’ll no longer be Miss Paper Thin Walls

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