I have decided to take part in something called the 52 Project.
A friend recently bought me a book which has 52 poetry prompts; the idea is to write one per week for a year.
The first poem is supposed to be about approaching a new year with optimism. While my writing often errs on the sadder side, I did my best!
One
The past has disappeared down a dirt road
Everything we were and all we could have been gone
To dust.
We must continue through the sandstorm
Of our days in search of clarity and purpose
For all of us need to find the reason we go on
And as a new year comes around
We promise much that we will deliver
And contemplate changes to our worlds.
So roll your sleeves up and start the journey now
Every day a fresh start
Every breath an adventure and a gift so wonderful
We should not forget that our breaths are not promised
But must be earned and used to the full and enjoyed and savoured and remembered
But who remembers us when we are gone?
And is remembrance really needed when each moment comes only once and can be
Enjoyed
Or loathed in equal measure?
And only we can choose which one.
So choose enjoyment. Choose fun. Choose to live with smiles and laughter
So that when you disappear down a dirt road
People want to follow after you.
Monday, 19 December 2016
Monday, 5 August 2013
The River
(So, it's been ages and ages since I've written anything. But today I finally picked up some inspiration. Friendship, love and loss are some of the most fertile themes about which I love to write. I think sadness is such a defining thing for humans, one of the things that makes us so alive. I've had the ending of this story, or a version thereof, kicking around in my head for many years. So here it is at last. I hope you enjoy it.
Andrew)
The River
As children, we spent most of our long summer days by the river. There was a spot that not many people knew about; quiet and private and perfect for childhood games. We would hide from each other in the bushes and the reeds. We would bathe and swim in the cool water. We would fight monsters and ghosts and aliens with water pistols and witty retorts. We would become each other’s heroes and laugh the whole day through.
Until the river tore us apart.
Tommy was my best friend. We shared a friendship that only childhood could make possible. We would tell each other secrets and share our lives in ways adults are too scared to.
The summer we were eleven was the hottest anybody could remember. Every night, newsreaders warned of a dangerous shortage of water in the reservoirs and told us to use our water wisely. Tommy’s mum wouldn’t let you flush her toilet unless… well, you get the picture. Tommy said the smell of stale pee was the most disgusting thing in the world. His mum said it was tough luck and we should do as the newsreaders said.
My mum and dad didn’t care for newsreaders, so Tommy spent much of that summer at my house where he could pee and flush to his heart’s content. And of course, there was the river. There was always plenty of water there, and I remember that Tommy and I could never understand the difference between the water in rivers and the water in reservoirs.
That year, we were into video games, and we would pretend to be Sonic the Hedgehog and Tails the flying fox. Tommy was always Sonic, and I was his faithful fox, following in awe. The river was perfect – the banks gave us all the greenery we needed to seek out the evil Dr. Robotnik and his badnik robots, and we could jump into the water and dive down, pretending to be in the ruined cities we had so often seen on our TV screens.
We played there from morning, noon and evening, losing ourselves in imaginary worlds and at the same time forming a strong bond in the real world. Two boys united in play is a recipe for real, lasting friendship.
And then it happened.
The summer was nearly over; the evenings had started to creep around sooner and sooner, but there was still sunshine and warmth before the sunsets. That afternoon, we had been playing in our usual spot and I suggested we go for a walk. We liked exploring as much as we liked our usual places, so we set off in some unspecified direction across the river bank. The grass turned to trees and the river carried on, cutting its way through woodland. The path was bone dry and dusty and we followed it eagerly, probably pretending to be explorers though I can’t quite remember.
Eventually, we came across a point where the river narrowed; the bank on the other side had drawn closer to the bank on our side. On either side, ours and the other, there were huge, rocky outcrops, the gap between both sides probably only a few metres. We both got down on our hands and knees and crawled right to the edge of the rock. We gazed into the water for what felt like hours; where we usually played, the river was calm and gentle, but here the flow of water was fast and loud. We could hear the force of the water, almost like the sound of a waterfall as it rushed through the narrow channel between the rocks. The water was deep there; as we looked into it, we couldn’t see the river bed, just a dark blackness.
I don’t know whose idea it was to jump over. I guess it must have been Tommy’s, because like I said, he was always the leader. He jumped first and cleared the gap easily. I followed him, and though I was a bit scared, I made it over safely enough. There wasn’t much on the other side, just rocks really, so we didn’t play there for long. There was no path on this side, either, so we had to jump back over to head home. This time, I must have been feeling brave, because I jumped over first. I remember Tommy being very impressed, and he did a comedy run up to the edge of the rock before jumping over to join me.
Even now, I can still see every moment of what happened next. Tommy leapt and landed on the rock I was standing on, but somehow he must have mistimed his leap, and he fell in a heap, very close to the edge. He scrambled to his feet, right on the edge of the rock, and tumbled backwards. I ran to the edge of the rock and dropped to my knees, reaching out for him, reaching down. I wasn’t fast enough. I saw him hit the water, and that was the last time I saw him.
The river pulled him under, and within seconds, he was gone.
It took him two days to find his way back to land. His body was found washed up on the river bank, not far from the spot where we used to play.
I don’t remember much about the days after he’d gone. I remember the funeral. Our class teacher, Mrs. Cormican, gave a wonderful reading. Lots of people cried. I didn’t. Not there. Not in front of all those people.
My tears fell in private, in my room, lost in thoughts of ways I could have saved him. I blamed myself for so long. Maybe I still do. I certainly never stopped missing my friend. And there are times when the sadness of his loss can still overwhelm me.
Sometimes, even now, all these years later, I go back to the river. I find the spot where Tommy fell out of my life all those years ago, and I crouch down on the rock, as close to the water as I dare. I stare deep into the river, right down into the darkness within.
As I gaze into the blackness, the sounds of the water rushing past thundering in my ears, punctuated by birdsong and frogs and crickets, with the sun shining down on me just as it always did, I can imagine, just for a moment, that the pain I’ve felt every day since I lost him was just a bad dream.
I can hear his laughter and his voice; see his smile, eleven years old forever, unchanged and untainted by the cruelties of the world. There, by the river that tore us apart, I can almost find him again.
It’s the closest I’ll ever get to him now.
Andrew)
The River
As children, we spent most of our long summer days by the river. There was a spot that not many people knew about; quiet and private and perfect for childhood games. We would hide from each other in the bushes and the reeds. We would bathe and swim in the cool water. We would fight monsters and ghosts and aliens with water pistols and witty retorts. We would become each other’s heroes and laugh the whole day through.
Until the river tore us apart.
Tommy was my best friend. We shared a friendship that only childhood could make possible. We would tell each other secrets and share our lives in ways adults are too scared to.
The summer we were eleven was the hottest anybody could remember. Every night, newsreaders warned of a dangerous shortage of water in the reservoirs and told us to use our water wisely. Tommy’s mum wouldn’t let you flush her toilet unless… well, you get the picture. Tommy said the smell of stale pee was the most disgusting thing in the world. His mum said it was tough luck and we should do as the newsreaders said.
My mum and dad didn’t care for newsreaders, so Tommy spent much of that summer at my house where he could pee and flush to his heart’s content. And of course, there was the river. There was always plenty of water there, and I remember that Tommy and I could never understand the difference between the water in rivers and the water in reservoirs.
That year, we were into video games, and we would pretend to be Sonic the Hedgehog and Tails the flying fox. Tommy was always Sonic, and I was his faithful fox, following in awe. The river was perfect – the banks gave us all the greenery we needed to seek out the evil Dr. Robotnik and his badnik robots, and we could jump into the water and dive down, pretending to be in the ruined cities we had so often seen on our TV screens.
We played there from morning, noon and evening, losing ourselves in imaginary worlds and at the same time forming a strong bond in the real world. Two boys united in play is a recipe for real, lasting friendship.
And then it happened.
The summer was nearly over; the evenings had started to creep around sooner and sooner, but there was still sunshine and warmth before the sunsets. That afternoon, we had been playing in our usual spot and I suggested we go for a walk. We liked exploring as much as we liked our usual places, so we set off in some unspecified direction across the river bank. The grass turned to trees and the river carried on, cutting its way through woodland. The path was bone dry and dusty and we followed it eagerly, probably pretending to be explorers though I can’t quite remember.
Eventually, we came across a point where the river narrowed; the bank on the other side had drawn closer to the bank on our side. On either side, ours and the other, there were huge, rocky outcrops, the gap between both sides probably only a few metres. We both got down on our hands and knees and crawled right to the edge of the rock. We gazed into the water for what felt like hours; where we usually played, the river was calm and gentle, but here the flow of water was fast and loud. We could hear the force of the water, almost like the sound of a waterfall as it rushed through the narrow channel between the rocks. The water was deep there; as we looked into it, we couldn’t see the river bed, just a dark blackness.
I don’t know whose idea it was to jump over. I guess it must have been Tommy’s, because like I said, he was always the leader. He jumped first and cleared the gap easily. I followed him, and though I was a bit scared, I made it over safely enough. There wasn’t much on the other side, just rocks really, so we didn’t play there for long. There was no path on this side, either, so we had to jump back over to head home. This time, I must have been feeling brave, because I jumped over first. I remember Tommy being very impressed, and he did a comedy run up to the edge of the rock before jumping over to join me.
Even now, I can still see every moment of what happened next. Tommy leapt and landed on the rock I was standing on, but somehow he must have mistimed his leap, and he fell in a heap, very close to the edge. He scrambled to his feet, right on the edge of the rock, and tumbled backwards. I ran to the edge of the rock and dropped to my knees, reaching out for him, reaching down. I wasn’t fast enough. I saw him hit the water, and that was the last time I saw him.
The river pulled him under, and within seconds, he was gone.
It took him two days to find his way back to land. His body was found washed up on the river bank, not far from the spot where we used to play.
I don’t remember much about the days after he’d gone. I remember the funeral. Our class teacher, Mrs. Cormican, gave a wonderful reading. Lots of people cried. I didn’t. Not there. Not in front of all those people.
My tears fell in private, in my room, lost in thoughts of ways I could have saved him. I blamed myself for so long. Maybe I still do. I certainly never stopped missing my friend. And there are times when the sadness of his loss can still overwhelm me.
Sometimes, even now, all these years later, I go back to the river. I find the spot where Tommy fell out of my life all those years ago, and I crouch down on the rock, as close to the water as I dare. I stare deep into the river, right down into the darkness within.
As I gaze into the blackness, the sounds of the water rushing past thundering in my ears, punctuated by birdsong and frogs and crickets, with the sun shining down on me just as it always did, I can imagine, just for a moment, that the pain I’ve felt every day since I lost him was just a bad dream.
I can hear his laughter and his voice; see his smile, eleven years old forever, unchanged and untainted by the cruelties of the world. There, by the river that tore us apart, I can almost find him again.
It’s the closest I’ll ever get to him now.
Saturday, 7 April 2012
Knowing
And I know
You're the only one who remembers
Who saw the fire burning down
To the embers
Who made this town fall down
In a moment
You're the only one who knows
What my words meant
You're the only one who knows
Where my soul went
You're the only one
Who saw my face clearly
The only person in the world
That could see me
The only person in the world
Who could free me.
You're the only one who remembers
Who saw the fire burning down
To the embers
Who made this town fall down
In a moment
You're the only one who knows
What my words meant
You're the only one who knows
Where my soul went
You're the only one
Who saw my face clearly
The only person in the world
That could see me
The only person in the world
Who could free me.
Patriarch
Bodies age,
But memories grow stronger
And even stories untold
Live on in the hearts
And in the minds
Of those who came after.
What we are,
We would not be without you.
And we might not say,
But know we think about you,
And are grateful for the family that you gave us,
And we all know
That you're the one that made us.
Sit back now and enjoy the night before you,
Surrounded by your family who adore you.
But memories grow stronger
And even stories untold
Live on in the hearts
And in the minds
Of those who came after.
What we are,
We would not be without you.
And we might not say,
But know we think about you,
And are grateful for the family that you gave us,
And we all know
That you're the one that made us.
Sit back now and enjoy the night before you,
Surrounded by your family who adore you.
The World We Saw
You said the fire went out
And I thought about the games
In the rain
Behind your house
When we were younger
And all the times
We laughed at people
Who couldn't understand
The world we saw
That now you see no longer
And I thought about the games
In the rain
Behind your house
When we were younger
And all the times
We laughed at people
Who couldn't understand
The world we saw
That now you see no longer
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Spring
In the spring
The heart sings
A new song
And all the cold of winter
Thaws
And you feel
More
Things you never felt before
Or just forgot
And as the sun slowly warms the earth
You find your own rebirth
And find the worth within the world
And the planet turns toward the sun
And all you want to do is run
And feel the fire from up above
Spreading colour
Spreading love.
The heart sings
A new song
And all the cold of winter
Thaws
And you feel
More
Things you never felt before
Or just forgot
And as the sun slowly warms the earth
You find your own rebirth
And find the worth within the world
And the planet turns toward the sun
And all you want to do is run
And feel the fire from up above
Spreading colour
Spreading love.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Streaming Feelings/Dreaming
It feels like a dream to me
The bit where we went flying
Over fields
And meadows and moors and
More
So much more
Than I remember in the morning.
I held your hand at sundown
And the town had never looked
So good
As when I saw your face
Reflected in the windows
Of the stores.
I wanted more
But dreams aren't built to last
And when I'm awake
They fade so fast
And you were just who I wanted
But you were not who you are.
The bit where we went flying
Over fields
And meadows and moors and
More
So much more
Than I remember in the morning.
I held your hand at sundown
And the town had never looked
So good
As when I saw your face
Reflected in the windows
Of the stores.
I wanted more
But dreams aren't built to last
And when I'm awake
They fade so fast
And you were just who I wanted
But you were not who you are.
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