Tag Archives: hope

Paul’s Words: 2

swallow- paul2

Just lemme fly, I’ll death defy.
I miss the bliss, regrets and lies.
I wished for this, I’ll testify to dish Death’s kiss
and let me die…

A change of plan please if I can.
I’ve spanned and scanned of all lands and sands,
and stand a brand new, handsome man,
with standing, standards and a clan.

I cannot stand those scams I ran,
I danced and sang, while ranting slang,
I sang my sting to land it in.
It’s branded in, I planned to win.

There’s more to this than meets the eye,
ignore the shit, the streets passed by,
the struggle and the drugs,
I’ve tumbled into humble love.

©Paul David Ward

Since the lockdown, I have strayed further than ever from my blog. My normal activities have been replaced by gardening; sowing seeds, watering them, pricking them out, and clearing space in a disorganised communal garden that had to be cleared of masses of montbretia, ivy, creeping buttercup, dock, dandelions, bindweed, wild garlic, three-cornered leak (often mistaken for wold garlic, but even more invasive and less useful in the kitchen) and several kinds of annual weeds. I’ve been moving – or dispensing with – ill-placed plants and pruning untidy or overgrown shrubs.

I am exhausted from the time I roll out of bed until I crawl back in. My back and my legs constantly ache. My emotions are released: I cry at the drop of a hat.

And… I am happy, filled with a joy that is far less tinged with fear than could be expected during this pandemic. My son and I are rebuilding our relationship

When I took out the restraining order on my son, I knew the risks and they terrified me, but I also knew that the risk of not doing so was greater. For years I had been losing the bright, funny son that I loved so much. I had watched him turn into a sick, drug raddled, destructive stranger. He had to strike out on his own; to do or die – perhaps literally. I had known for a long time that I couldn’t help him to survive.

He didn’t die. He suffered, and that terrible suffering brought him back to the fold. We have not yet spoken since there is a danger that my voice could be a trigger for him, so the only contact I have with him is through text messaging. He sends me his poems and tells me what he’s been doing (deep cleaning and decorating his flat, drawing… and writing, of course), what he would like to do (he’s looking for voluntary aid work, but his record could go against him).

The blood of the phoenix runs through his veins. In addition to having cut out drugs and alcohol, he’s also in recovery from an abusive relationship with a very damaged young woman. He says his poetry helps him to work through his issues. He’s agreed to me posting some of his poems, and I am honoured to do so. 

 

A New Chapter

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I am entering a new chapter in my life… so… this morning I got out of bed uncharacteristically early – roughly the time normal people are expected to rise. I switched my computer on to find that all of the unpublished poetry I have written over the past six months – including the poem I was planning to post today – has disappeared. Gone forever! I shrugged my shoulders, smiled and glanced out of the window. That’s when I saw the feather. I wrote this poem:

A pale feather swims,
gently ascending,
leaving no scrape on the empty sky.
Swept by the wind
from a dying bird, it flies free,
distanced from risk
of dirt and decay.

Then I edited it…

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img_0920-11

A pale feather swims,
gently ascending,  leaving
its modest breeze on the clean sky.
Swept by the wind
from a bombastic bird, it flies free,
distanced from danger
of jabbering shame.

img_0920-11

.peace symbol

©Jane Paterson Basil

The Tears I Waste on You

You besmirched this mother’s love
with every chunk of scum that you could scrape up
from the murky lanes.
You crushed me with the weight of waste
until your insults filled my soul with so much pain
that I could no more bare to gaze upon your face
or glance into your eyes, or hear the lies
that dripped from lips whose smiles
once brought me mindless joy.
I’ve closed my door and turned away;
no more can you abuse, manipulate
or scream your dirty words of hate at me.
The tears I waste on you
will all be shed in secret and in shame;
I will never let you see them,
for if you did you’d use them as you do;
to stuff my shelves with toxic space and steal the gain.

I’ll dance in gardens where my finest flowers bloom;
admire their colours, breathe their sweet perfume.
I’ll tell my friends the sturdy stems have healed my wounds;
they do not need to know I ache for you.

The day might come when empathy sinks through your skin;
should that blazing dawn arrive
I recommend you pray that I shall be awake,
and furthermore that I
shall clearly recognise the change.

©Jane Paterson Basil

A New Dawn

dewdrops.jpg

Dawn breaks, translucent,
highlighting clean summer hues,
inviting celebratory songbird crescendos
as it tempts dewy buds into bloom.

The World feels renewed,
rinsed clean of all error and sin,
poised at the apex of opportunity,
fragrant with fresh green beginnings
patiently waiting for us to wake
repentant, healed, forgiven and forgiving,
and gently live in blissful harmony.

The early morning news
shatters my happy reverie.

Written for The Daily Post#Harmonize

©Jane Paterson Basil

Waiting

me,
here,
sandwiched
between two
doughy doorstops;
hope and fear.

(reason, 
  though spread thin,
    protects me 
      from  
        bleeding my whole heart 
          into 
            either slice of bread)
                                     
            you,
            somewhere
            in uncharted 
            neighbourhood;
            blithe creator of
            indigestible
            food.

Written for The Daily Post #Sandwich

©Jane Paterson Basil

Subtle grey

Tonight the sun set in streaky shades of subtle grey, is if it didn’t feel we were deserving of its blazing exit. As I watched it sadly fade away, I had the fanciful idea that it was saying:

“I have watched over you for eons. Without me your trees wouldn’t grow, and your first ancestor would not have been conceived. I give you life and light and health and more besides. Without me your earth would be dust, and you, not even a speck upon its infertile crust. Oceans would be frozen, mountains would not cast sharp shadow across the land. Darkness would prevail – deep darkness the like of which you have never seen.

“You need me, but I have no need of you. You clutter my view and you damage the planet, when you should be giving thanks for all that you have. You humans are forever grasping, always wanting more for yourselves, always thinking that the land you live in is yours, and like spoilt children, refusing to share. This will be your ultimate downfall.”

The sun disappeared behind the hills. Then, like an afterthought, it painted a portion of the sky in a ripe apricot shade, illuminating a wind turbine on the horizon. I gazed at the haloed wind turbine until the glow shrank and disappeared.

It felt like a last minute message of hope, and a quiet thank you for those who try to make the world a fairer place.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Cascade

Here is today’s completed assignment for the Writing 201 poetry course. The requirements are Landscape / Found Poetry / Enumeratio

BeFunky_Spring_daffodils.jpg

soon
spring will creep in
from around the corner
waiting for the
moment
to annouce its presence
to
amplify the visual splendor
of this rich earth

now
first buds appear
trees and shrubs spot with green
while
beneath them
sturdy stemmed grape hyacinths
sprout and bud into blue
the
first daffodils open
into welcoming gold-glistened
promise

suddenly
our spring-time hope is fulfilled
winter fades
and colour cascades over the land

© Jane Paterson Basil