No More

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Awareness, Belief, Communication, creative, faith, hope, loss, Love, Mental health, No More, Prose, Realisation, Self-awareness, Short, Social, story, Understanding, Words, writing

I think that I have come, at last, to a crossroads; a point of uncomfortable realisation. A crossroads which leads, in every direction, to a dead end and a realisation that I have finally reached the last page of my own, personal dictionary. I have come to the point where I have used – and abused – every word that was ever known to me. I have twisted and contorted them into myriad sentences and phrases until all meaning that they might have once held has been lost, all connection to anything other than themselves distorted. As I sent each one on its way, safely wrapped as it was, like a child in a winter coat, cosseted by others to which it bore no relation, I watched it drift away. I watched as they gathered and then dispersed high, high above my head, dipping behind the clouds, never to reappear.

And, eventually, as I reached my hand deep into myself to take hold of another random collection of letters, I found nothing between my fingers, nothing within my grasp. My fist was filled with the emptiness of silence, the silence of a stilling heart.

And then the empty words within my head, the final ones that would leave me, spelled out their message: there was no more to say.

Change

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Acceptance, age, Awareness, Change, creative, faith, Prose, Self, Truth, Understanding, writing

Nothing really changes. The hair may dull, the step become slower; the skin grow thinner and the eyes fade – but nothing really changes. We can give credence to the lie that we are growing wiser, becoming more astute, becoming who we were always meant to be by twisting and bending the truth; by being selective in what we choose to hear – but nothing really changes. We cloak age with words like ‘maturity’ and ‘sophistication’, explain away the lines as ‘experience’ and ‘wisdom’ – but nothing really changes. We are who we were born to be – the child, the youth, the adult, packaged and wrapped like the gift that we were meant to be, each layer removed, revealing more of what we always were; what we will always be. Nothing really changes. We can stare into the mirror, hopeful of seeing a different reflection, an image of an idol, but we are our own gods – the truth lies only within our  own eyes. The only ‘change’ that we ever need is the acceptance of who we truly are.

Remember

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Affirmation, creative, Heart, hope, inspiration, Love, Positivity, Prose, Remember, writing

When, at the end of your wearisome day, you finally let your eyes close and you give in to sleep, you should know that you fill the thoughts of others. Somewhere, maybe in the next house, the next street or next town; maybe on the other side of the ocean or the other side of the world, you are being dreamed of. Somewhere your face fills the vision of another; your voice echoes in their ears and the touch of your skin sends shivers up their spine. The memory of you keeps someone awake, keeps someone else safe and fills someone else’s soul with hope. Your history lives in the words that someone speaks and the world that they create; touches lives that you will never know and spreads its seed to places that you could only imagine. Somewhere, as you drift away to peaceful sleep, someone remembers your love, remembers the life that you gave to them – remembers  you. So, as you let your lids shut out the world, remember that you are always loved.

Night Bus

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AbeBooks, Amazon, Another Tease, Book, Book Depository, creative, Depression, hope, inspiration, loss, Love, Lulu, lyrics, music, nostalgia, Peace, poems, poetry, Prose, Publication, verse, war, writing

A short piece taken from the collection of poetry, prose and lyrics entitled ‘Another Tease’ (links at the end of the post. Enjoy!

I sat on the bus, watching the night-lit streets as they passed by like frozen, shrouded memories. The juddering, stop-start motion seemed to bring an uneasy comfort to my body, detached as it was from my consciousness. Other vehicles, heading in the opposite direction, appeared and then disappeared as if they were on some mythic quest, their headlights dull and dim below my position on the top deck of the bus, illuminating nothing but the first few steps on a journey without end. For a moment it seemed as if only they knew the direction in which to move in order to find some salvation, some respite from the pain, and yet I knew, contained within each metal box, was nothing more than one more lonely figure hoping beyond all hope that something, some miracle, would appear to snap them out of their coma.

Buildings rose up on either side of me now; giant monoliths, some pale and dark, devoid of life, tired and waiting for release, others still humming under the electric glow which gave them purpose. Their eyes stared out without seeing through the dark, and were gone again, lost to me as I moved steadily on. Their facades hung momentarily in my mind like all the faces of people I had met in my life, before fading into a sea of ashen memories. The night around me seemed to tighten its grip as, like an abandoned vessel, we sailed on.

To both the right and to the left of me roads sprouted off from the main artery down which I was travelling. They sparkled and twinkled with the hope of the newborn before even their lights were swallowed by the darkness into which, it seemed, the whole world had fallen. I shuddered as the bus lurched around a corner: not from the cold – I had long since become immune to that – but from the impending realisation that we were, at last, nearing my stop, my final destination.

And then everything was quiet, but for the pounding in my chest and the pulsing in my head. What if I were to remain on the bus? Would it eject me when it reached its destination, its point of termination, or would it show a glimmer of empathy, offer up a hand and cradle me to its heart? After all, my brain reminded me, what point was there to alighting, to leaving the bus to continue without me, if you were no longer there to welcome me home?

Another Tease – poetry, prose and lyrics

LULU

BOOK DEPOSITORY 

ABEBOOKS

ALBRIS

AMAZON

Idol

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Adoration, Adulation, creative, Fame, fiction, flash, Idol, Influence, inspiration, loss, Love, nostalgia, Prose, short story, story, writing

There was a time when I was your hero; your idol, your deity. It was a time when nothing could take my place – there had been nothing before me and even the thought of anything beyond me was unimaginable. I was the first thing that your eyes saw when they opened and the last picture that they held as they closed with the days end. It was a time when I filled your every waking thought and gave meaning to every moment of your life, no matter how small or fleeting. I was the star around which the planet of you revloved; I brought you light in the daytime and dreams which filled your nights with wonder, joy and promise. There was no sacrifice too small, no challenge that you would refuse with me by your side. Your blood ran with my words, my thoughts and my desires, and you took them all as your own. I was your hero, your idol, your everything.

But now, as the turning wheel has worn the threads thin, and the veil has begun to slip from your eyes, you see me with clearer sight. My face has lost its magic, its magnetic pull weaken by over-use. My words, the music that once plucked so easily at your heartstrings, has lost its tone, its melody merely a feeble imitation of what it had once appeared to be. The etched pane has cleared, as if a sea mist had lifted, and you see me now as I truly am. And you realise that I am nothing more than a man, and all that I had to say was nothing more than words; no more or no less than any other.

And the thought remains that I was once your hero, your idol, your everything. 

A Farewell

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A Farewell, Another Tease, Book, Communication, creative, fiction, flash, flash fiction, Leaving, loss, lyrics, music, poetry, Prose, Published, short story, stories, story, writing

A very short story today taken from the collection of poetry, prose and lyrics: ‘Another Tease’ available via the links below.

Hope you enjoy this.

I thought of you then, on the day that I left, knowing, despite the words, that we would never meet again. I thought of you as I sat in the darkness, as the Sun dipped like a dying friend beyond the horizon for what might as well have been the last time. I knew that I, like the errant Sun, would rise again, but that neither of us would ever be quite the same: the Sun would burn fractionally less brightly, its gaseous source ever so slightly diminished, and I, with less reason to rise than before, would begin to become a shadow of myself. I thought of you and the words that we had shared wondering if you had ever truly understood my meaning. Had you thought of me as a friend or merely an acquaintance, and had I ever truly understood what lay behind your eyes? I thought of how close I felt that we had become, our shoulders brushing against one another as we shared a joke, our laughter spreading its roots between us connecting us forever, or so I had imagined. But did you leave me behind along with all the other artefacts of work when you closed the door behind you and returned to your home?

I thought of you and wondered whether I had been too obscure, too subtle in my words and looks, for you to see me. And what exactly had I felt? Was this a connection that I felt that I had needed or something that had burst upon me unexpectedly and had opened a new door which whispered quietly for me to go through? Perhaps the moment had come for me, after a life of living at a comfortable distance from the edge, to finally take a chance, a risk. But, of course, caution is a powerful bedfellow, and, by the time I had recognised the chance, if had closed its eye for ever.

I thought of you then and wondered if you had ever lain alone in the dark beneath the Summer’s heat: I wondered if, like me, you had lost yourself to imagination; and I wondered if you had ever found yourself with your hand between your legs, wishing its fingers were mine.

Another Tease – poetry, prose and lyrics

LULU

AMAZON

BOOK DEPOSITORY 

ABEBOOKS

ALBRIS

Nomad

Tags

Another Tease, Anthology, Book, Collection, creative, isolation, Lulu, lyrics, Nomad, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Prose, verse, writing

A poem from my latest collection ‘Another Tease‘

If you enjoyed this I have attached details of the book after the poem

Morning dark
Grey granite sky peppered
With myriad pinpoint lights
Which vainly battle the laden skies
As they open wide their arms
Cast down their tears
Frozen white with chill-dread
Fear of the Sun
Which one day will come,
Owls turn slowly
Their feathers frost-bitten
Eyes drained by sleep’s demise
Strain still to catch
The lonely orphan shards
Their plaintive calls
Hang lost like gallows corpses
Pleading still
Against their fate,
And alabaster sheets
Reach ever upward to the sky
Jagged out-crops
Slate-silvered stone
Razor blades blunted by
Night’s constant sweeping hand

As it brushes colour
From a landscape scarce,
Black fingers stretch
Weighted heavy with sufferance
Their life green tainted
Yet gripping still with desperation
Knowing that this will end
And night will close
Its interest lost
Pass reins to the Sun
Which one day will come,
But now my feet
Will take me ever on.

‘Another Tease’ is a collection of poetry, short prose fiction and lyrics covering themes as diverse as love & war, faith & loss and hope & depression. The lyrics have no melodies – each one is left open for the reader to create their own interpretation.

ISBN: 978-1-329-16251-8

Available now via:

LULU

As soon as the book is available on other platforms I will post more!

I hope that you enjoy reading!

Another Tease

Tags

Another Tease, Book, creative, Depression, faith, Falling Sleet, fiction, flash, flash fiction, hope, inspiration, Love, lyrics, music, poems, poetry, Prose, Publication, short stories, stories, The Candle Game, verse, war, writing

Firstly a huge thank you to everyone who has purchased either Falling Sleet or The Candle Game. I hope that you are enjoying them.

It gives me great pleasure to announce the publication of my latest collection of writing Another Tease:

‘Another Tease’ is a collection of poetry, short prose fiction and lyrics covering themes as diverse as love & war, faith & loss and hope & depression. The lyrics have no melodies – each one is left open for the reader to create their own interpretation.

ISBN: 978-1-329-16251-8

Available now via:

LULU

As soon as the book is available on other platforms I will post more!

I hope that you enjoy reading!

And now, a couple of ‘teasers’ –

Watching Dreams

Watching dreams

Evaporate like tears

In the warmth of another,

Sun-bleached streaks

On a bed of sand,

Wanting to reach out

Clutch and grab

At Youth’s fresh resolve,

Mold it to age’s wisdom

And stride once more,

Sight-scarred eyes

Life-bleached and hollow

Stare blind at passing time,

Hands that sweep so quickly

Unforgiving, so cold,

And floating on the wind

Dream’s lost fragments fly

To settle on another,

Sun-bleached streaks

On a bed of sand.

The Interview

When they had asked me what he had been like, the man with the knife, all I could say was that I couldn’t really say. He had been, to my mind’s eye, nothing more, or less, than average.

      He had stood at average height; not discernibly taller nor shorter than myself. His hair had been worn short, but neither cropped nor shaven, and his eyes, well I could barely remember the colour of my closest friend’s eyes, so that line of questioning drew a blank.

      What of the colour of the man’s skin? I could confidently say that he was white, but boasted a tanned face; or had that been a more olive complexion? It was difficult to say with any degree of certainty.

      Distinguishing features? He had a knife: a response that solicited a look which could have been annoyance but equally disdain. No, there were none that my sapless mind could recall.

      He had been, the man with the knife, nothing more than average. His accessory had been all that made him stand apart. His unremarkableness reminded me only of myself.

      In fact he might as well have been me.