Everything, except celery

I eat everything, except celery.


Our landscape is changing

Right & wrong

A changing tide


Our landscape has changed

Weathered, worn

A rising tide

A raging storm



And so I go

Into the deep

To see what lies beyond


A vulnerability

That’s seldom seen


Lifting the veil

Unfurling, unknowing


Anew, afresh


A vulnerability

That’s sorely shared


Lighting the way

Unaltered, uncovered


Anew, afresh


A vulnerability 

That’s still surging


Lowering the guard

Untested, understanding


Anew, afresh



Shared moment

I cannot say it

Write it 

Sing it 

Praise it 

It happened.  


In the moment  

Of the moment  

A moment passed  

A moment remembered  

I cannot say it,  

So I write it  

But it has passed  

It happened.  

It was there  

And then it was not there. 

The moment passed  

It can’t be unknown  

But it is not known,  

Until it is written  

But I cannot say it  

Cannot write it  

Cannot sing it  

Cannot praise it  

There is no memory,  

That isn’t shared. 

Where are you.

Where are you?

I thought you’d be here by now

You said you’d be here

I said you’d be here

I said, I expected you to be here

Where are you?

I couldn’t wait too long back then

You said you’d wait for me

I said you’d wait for me

I said, I expected you to wait for me

Where are you?

I wouldn’t wish it on you now

You said you wished it too

I said you wished it too

I said, I expected you to wish it too

My Place

This is my place, you cannot stay here

This is my place, you left too quickly

This is my place, you refused the invitation

This is my place, you have no memories there

This is my place, you can find me here

This is my place, you are not invited

This is my place, you don’t appreciate it

This is my place, you see no value in it

This is my place, I shared it freely

This is my place, you left it willingly

This is my place, I live it daily

This is my place, I know it knows me

This is my place, I feel it with no bounds

This is my place, I reserve it now

This is my place, you wanted to come here

This is my place, you invited yourself

This is my place, you want to return here

This is my place, you have a place in it

The path we take

I cannot write the path for you

Only be there, see you through

Your path is different than some might take

No rules to guide us in that we make

I’ll lend my hand each way I can

It doesn’t make you a lesser man

It’s sometimes difficult to say out loud

But feelings shared aren’t somehow halved

I’ve been here before, it was different then

Why do you keep me, why pretend

Those feelings raw, I’ve had them too

When you were there I lent on you

I cannot always be the cheer

To pick you up throughout each year

I cannot write your path for you

All I can do, is see it through

Fix me

Fix me

I am not broken

But a little bruised 

I’ve taken a tumble

I’ve taken a few

I have taken more

Than I care to recount

Hold me

I am not lonely

But a little blue

I’ve lost some people

I’ve lost a few

I have lost more

Than I care to remember

Love me

I am not wanted

But a little worn

I’ve held so much now

I’ve held a few

I have held in more

Than I care to re-tell

Mould me

I am not solid

But a little fickle

I’ve changed so much now

I’ve changed a few

I have changed more

Than I care to re-live 

Take me

I am not silent

But a little quiet

I’ve stilled the voices

I’ve stilled a few

I have stilled more

Than I care to recuse

Fear me

I am not good

But a little jaded

I’ve tried the alternatives

I’ve tried a few

I have tried more

Than I care to review

Lose me

I am not perfect

But a little polished

I’ve broken some boundaries 

I’ve broken a few

I have broken more

Than I care to renew

Fix me

I am not broken

But a little tarnished

I’ve found the exit

I’ve found a few

I have found more

Than I care to realise

Where is the use?

What use is a kissing gate with no one to kiss
What use is a memorial with no one to miss
What use is a hill when you climb it alone
What use is it all when you’re all on your own
What use is a view with no one to share
What use is adventure when you are not there
What use is persistence when it falls on deaf ears
What use is the waiting when it goes on for years
What use is patience when it goes unnoticed
What use is affection when it’s not from those closest
What use is a life with no one to care
What use is a family when it is not there
What use is a voice when it is not heard
What use is ambition when it is not shared
Where is the use and what does it matter; why do I falter? 

What if…

I suppose being bombarded with advertising about Fathers’ Day is enough to make anyone think about their Father. But I hate myself for it. Years on and I still sometimes struggle to reconcile with the fact that my Father is no longer the Dad that I grew up with. I remember that Dad with love and affection, and then the lump grows in my throat with the knowledge that the person I remember isn’t there any more.

Years ago, before the anxieties of my teens had taken root, I remember a boat trip with my Mum and Dad. It was the 6th of January, in Tenerife. We’d taken a tourist trip to see the dolphins on an overcast and choppy day. The sky was blue grey, the wind was up and the spray was refreshing. Families, to the eye, not so unlike ours were sat in the covered cabin enjoying drinks and chatting away with little expectation of seeing a dolphin at all. 

It was the same trip they’d run in Summer, and the guide’s script was the same. The boat stopped and they asked if anyone wanted to get in, for the chance to ‘swim with the dolphins’. ‘Go on,’ my Dad urged, ‘you’ll regret it if you don’t.’ The bait was set. What if someone else got in, and actually got to swim with a dolphin; what if I was the only one who didn’t get in and I missed out on the experience; what if I spent the rest of the week wondering what it would have been like and wishing I’d taken the chance. 

I left my over clothes in the booth and made my way to the stern to climb down into the water. Half way down the ladder I still wondered if I’d made the right choice. It would be cold, I’d been eating snacks, what if my body went into shock and I froze in the water. I was nearing the splash of the water and the guide said to jump in. The water splashed my toes and sent an exhilarating chill of electricity through me. I let go and splashed back into the water.

The prickle of cold, salty water turned from shock to excitement. I was swimming in the Atlantic, in January. I was swimming in the sea in Winter. I cleared the boat and into the open water. A young couple made their way in next, the girl giggling as she shuddered in the icy water. Lastly, a teenager plopped in and waved to her Dad looking on. I looked for my parents but they’d stayed at our table. Although divorced, they enjoyed eachother’s company and these family holidays were their way to ignore the separate lives they’d chosen and just enjoy the time together.

Despite the other three swimming around me, I felt like the only one in the sea. I was going to be the only one at school who’d swum in the sea in their Christmas break. It bore no consequence that there were no dolphins. This was feat enough in itself. I had achieved. My Dad was right, I would’ve regretted not having this story to tell. But the cold was setting in and I made my way back to the ladder. Climbing back up and wrapping myself in a towel, the guide said I’d won a prize for my bravery, but they’d have to check with my parents if I was allowed.

Padding back to the table, the wooden floor felt warm and soft under my feet. I flung my dress on over my swimming costume and I squeaked along the leather seat of the booth to sit next to my Dad. The guide soon appeared with a cheap bottle of Cava and three glasses. ‘Well done,’ my parents cheered as the bottle popped, ‘but just a little bit of fizz for you’. I still don’t know if they were applauding my winter dip, or the free booze I’d scored for them. I began to shiver as the thrill wore off, the acidic tang of the cava warmed my centre but goose pimples formed on my arms. Dad put his burgundy fleece over me and the day continued.

I wonder what I would do if I was asked to visit my Dad in hospital again. The last time he asked to see me he was in Intensive Care. I went for him, not for me. He’d had a tracheostomy so there was no way of knowing why he’d asked to see me. Four years previous, he’d sent a text saying he’d see me when he was ready. Four years  on, I jumped as soon as he called. I went for him and all I came out with was the flashback to the room in which my mum died five years earlier. It is a small hospital; it was the same room. 

I had to go, because, ‘what if’ I didn’t. I’ve gotten much better at controlling my ‘what if’s’. Were he to ask to see me again, I would go, but it wouldn’t be for him it would be for my peace of mind. I’m okay, I don’t need  to show him the successes I’ve found. They are mine. But I’d go to still the ‘what if’ in my mind of not trying; what if a bit of my Dad is still there somewhere.

The biggest ‘what if’ will always remain; what if he didn’t marry a woman who hates me.

Stay with me

I rather miss you when you’re not there

We’ve been through this before; it’s hard to bare

Hold on please, a little longer

Stay together; it makes us stronger

I know the hurt I’ve put you through;

Perhaps not taken good care of you

To go without you causes pain

I need this from you; just once again

Just one more race, please don’t fail

My toe would miss you little nail.

Running Behind the Scenes of Moaning

just me a man, who like to Run, and complain and moan about a lot of stuff

Ray Davies Walks

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