Tag Archives: Relationships

PoArtry – Miss Polly

“Miss Polly” by Derek Baker, an interpretation of the original poem

Caterwauling choirs, cranberry with canned fizz bull doze sleeping giants across causeways

Emerald eyes rupture roots standing italic, shaking spears at any globe in orbit.

Teacups and tiaras take the biscuit when the silver spoon isn’t full of sugar.

Dunkers hold court but it’s a masquerade ball.

Play by rules you’ve retweeted.

We fall for the measurements kissing the ground hoping they’re others sizes.

A pound of flesh isn’t that expensive.

Have a heart! That’ll do

Won’t you chuckle, brothers?

We sigh into cyclones pedalling clouds to pander.

Ganja seems more sacred than the Ganges but its peace, love and respect right?

Let’s all hold hands please

But don’t touch me

Alright, if you must

Just don’t thrust into the dovetail.

We try to make the “would” work when what’s supposed to isn’t the bigger prism.

Expect folk to harmonise with our music even when the track is hidden.

Ask them to rock our world and never throw stones

Ask for granite provolone in chromosomes forgetting a skeletons just a mobile home full of flaws and cracked windows.

Playing scratched records hoping our set has some floor filling singles.

But what has the bigger ring to it?

Be who you are even if we disagree? OR tick every box until nobody breathes?

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Filed under Art, Random Poetics, Society

Untitled 2209

We show our friends who they should date just to say we called it
But ain’t got a word worth its salt for their divorces.
The gold sprinkled well wishing didn’t bring the fairytale we fought for
It doesn’t sit well being the pied piper that failed recorder
We had the hats suits and the cake on order
The match was supposed to be their flavour but the aftertaste was salty
We thought we could create the blood that was thicker than water
Turned beef eater into a vegan sipping gin but ain’t got the tonic for them
Spy reporting shows some open doors yet never cuts the keys
When standing statuesque in the aisles feels a liberty who carried the torch?
It was a crocodile identifying as a dragon with the name of scorch
Yet the blaze sent them to Coventry, the land of the damned.
They’re hum drum making music from the one we banged
Some of us hope we’ll be a good catch on their rebound
When the penny drops we’ll flake like a 99
Wishing well until its fruit goes brown in the sunshine
The next will be the cream of the crop when your scooped
Some of our closest wont dare to tell us that we’re just VI Poo
The sweet smell before it all goes down
A royal flush only wins if we don’t overplay our hand
Only if what we’re dealing has not been banned

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Filed under Relationships

World Mental Health Day

Mental Health, trendy isn’t it? Everyone’s talking about it, sharing memes and copying and pasting posts right now.

What happens when the volume turns down; when the phones are off or the next distraction explodes onto our screens? What happens when the man really has to look in the mirror? What happens when it becomes….”oh that’s so 2018” or “are you still on about that?”

We keep talking, that’s what we do. We keep listening. We keep checking in our friends, the distant ones, the ones who speak to us about the things that matter to them even if it’s not our number 1. We keep on keeping on because doing it saves lives. Doing it breathes life into someone who might not necessarily take theirs but is one moment of frustration away from a breakdown.

Mental Health is more than a medical diagnosis. To have the opportunity to have a positive connection to another human being is something that impacts our ability to live our every day lives as though there really is a tomorrow.

Sometimes the darkness is so thick around us that we push away the candles that are offered. Sometimes it takes persistence from one side to help you understand that the light shining in your life is a genuine one.

I love hugs. I remember there was one guy at university who would greet most people with a hug because he believed in a moment of positivity for everyone. Cheesy as it sounds, a hug has turned my down days where I’m -100 into a day when I’m +10 in how I feel inside myself. A hug has brought tears, opened hearts, allowed friendships to find new planes. Maybe a hug for 10 or even 30 seconds is all it takes. It’s not a magic cure but it’s a start.

No matter how well-intentioned we are, I hope that World Mental Health Day becomes more than a day where we copy and paste. You don’t need to push any social media buttons to check-in with someone no matter how near or distant. Your conversation may be the pressure reliever that they had been waiting for.

May you listen intentionally and without judgment. May your connections grow deeper, may many minds be saved, all because we didn’t just copy and paste.

AJ

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Filed under Non Poetic Blogs

All Good Things

The piano tinkled one last time as a man mountain of hugs closed the final show. A stream of tears became a Mexican tidal wave that overtook us all. Grown men sobbing publicly without fear or thought to what any of the audience may think. It was real, for all of us.

We had worked with each other, for each other, we loved and laughed, we embraced as we grafted and crafted something special. We hoped that it was impactful whilst entertaining. For many of the 600 or so that came, this was essential viewing.  A conversation on masculinity and mental health has well and truly been started, how far could it go?

When the last drop of celebratory beers had been drunk, and the last of our multiple hugs had finished, each of us returned home to face the reality of life outside the bubble of a performance. I didn’t know what to do with myself, I didn’t know how to feel. For all my emotional intelligence and self-awareness I was numb. I knew I’d grown but I didn’t know how. I was exhausted and fragile yet strengthened by the experience.

As I write this, I don’t know how I’ve grown personally, maybe I’ve grown as an artist. I remember the first performances where I messed up lines but got through my solo in the show. That started an incredible mental battle that I had to overcome. Slow down so that every line can have the impact you want it to, was the message from the directors.   I duly started my piece in 1st gear rather than 3rd and found a groove that allowed me to shine. Word perfect and performances 3 – 5 got better each time. Some said they saw me grow through each one.

Some have said they’ve learned a lot from me, again I don’t know what. So I ask myself what is the legacy of Man Up for me? Perhaps it’s relationships.

Throughout my life, I didn’t have many deep connections with the males, one every blue moon at best. The connections I had were generally social and rarely along meaningful lines. Ultimately they’d fizzle and I’d be left to fend for myself. As the weeks pass, I intend to build even deeper personal connections with the family or UpMen as we called ourselves. If brotherly love must continue, being intentional is necessary.

“Yes I’m a mess but I’m blessed to be stuck with you…”

Thank you, Paul & Clare, for your direction and process of co-creation, thank you Up Men for your love for this overthinking wordsmith. We have redefined the words Man Up in a positive way. Let’s build.

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Filed under Just Living

Teenage Dream (4RW)

We were apples in fields of Perry,

Our exercise books were the gallery and shade where we ripened.

Your gallant smile garnished my appetite as my heart galloped.

At a chance glance you stirred the meat and the juices, I couldn’t decide between hunger and thirst.

I would have licked your lips for starters, chewed on your garter.

Every note was a recipe and I wanted you to cook my parsnip

Yet I was just fishing and you were already parsley.

We were like onion and garlic when English and Geography brought us together

 

Fondling the fringe of our fantasies in front of our future was a natural hazard.

Playing with the shape of you was the intention but, maybe I killed us thinking out loud.

Forethought and hindsight were toll roads asking us if we had enough change.

How deep were our pockets? Was I ready for yours in mine?

What’s a perfect 10 when you’re in year 9?

We never….so I guess I’ll never…..never mind

It was real at the time.

 

Maybe you were the first brick in a very long road

Maybe we would have found the lost city of gold

Now you’re living on the other side of a rainbow.

My flag is nowhere to be seen.

You’re the pear in a Perry field because I didn’t have the bottle.

I’m not a whine seller, simply a painter of paths.

Our moments on Fleet Street… thanks.

 

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Filed under Relationships