A Christmas Gift

To my four sons, I give thee gifts, on this, a usual day,

To Matthew, my first, I give thee the burden of responsibility, I show you all the flaws of the world and request that you do all you can to help, assist and correct,

To my second, Mark, I give thee blessings, the notion of, and the ability to count. Of you I request that you count them, each and every day, without fail,

And to Luke, my third, I give thee the ability to teach. I ask that you teach not what is expected of you but what is right, truthful and honest.

And to John, my last, I give thee the gift of parenthood. All I hope for is that the children will learn from their uncles as their father will learn from them.

And to you all, my four sons, I give you all the gift of communication, the ability to listen and speak. All I ask in return is that you share your gifts.

______________________________________________________________

You, the first, and you forgot to listen. The distractions of the earth’s curses deafened you. And yours was the toughest, for the world is wide. The toughest task for the toughest child. But you chose to choose and that distracted you and you forgot to listen. And so you fought, fought the world, and then beaten, you fought yourself. Your life is now nothing, and there is nothing for you to give. Blinded, you looked inward and allowed the gift to curse thyself. We will mourn the death of responsibility for many years but we will not celebrate the selfish.

__________

O! my second son, your patience has punished you and you are now curs’d. My gift has left you with a debilitating and deathly illness and it is only now that you have started to count. You forgot to listen, you chose your own way and it has punish’d you. We will mourn you and the loss is all ours to bear, in life and in death.

__________

My third son, you were my biggest disappointment. Instead of sharing wisdom you allowed yourself to be distracted, as with my first. The size of the world, the size of the task, proved too much. You chose to teach the common message rather than the greater good. It is right that you now hide, reside beyond the horizon.

__________

To my last son, you have the burden of a daughter, now misguided and misinformed. She staggers the roads of life, floats as an island, forever lost. You communicated as asked but the messages were muddled

__________

To my granddaughter, Ruth, I can only offer apologies. For you there were too many interventions. You were destined to become stifled by the unbalanced attentions that you received from your uncles. Your slewed education meant that you knew no better than to take the path of least resistance, take all that was free and reject restriction. You are left to stagger under the weight  of excessive intervention, unable to think or feel for yourself. And your actions, you were allowed to do as you wish and I am left defending the indefensible.

Nigel D Paul 30/5/2011

The Raven

He was a handsome heterophobe who hid behind insecurities,

He told tall stories of tall buildings in two thousand war torn cities,

His sparkle died each time he lied,

He chewed his nails and tried and tried,

He was the cowboy with dark brown eyes,

Someone give him some lithium,

Now,

He was a ham fisted inarticulate who had no humility,

He told sad tales of dead, white males in a run down, crumbling city,

His friendships died each time he lied,

He rubbed his eyes and cried and cried,

He was the gunslinger with jet black hair,

Someone show some care,

Now,

He was a hard hearted hater who lacked integrity,

He told old fables of waiting tables in long forgotten cities,

His loved ones died each time he lied,

He lay awake and sighed and sighed,

He was the smoker with fading freckles,

Someone give him up,

Now soar, young man, it is your time to soar.

Children Of Greyland

CHILDREN OF GREYLAND

Sun rises over this tarred and feathered land,

Revealing ravines and scenes of dismal dismay,

Long shadows of revolution spread like fingers across the valleys,

The landscape dulled and lifeless,

Our lives have been filled with grey,

Fields littered with dead livestock,

Sheep await irradiation,

Dirt brown grass and burnt out hedges,

The rich request expatriation,

The moon sets on this sad and decrepit land,

The seeds of rape sown by the men in grey,

You cannot harvest buildings, you cannot eat dirt,

Desecration and desolation,

The drifting island that lost its way.

NDP 16/6/2012

Life, Camera, Action

LIFE, CAMERA, ACTION

As he lays, emaciated, on a drip,

The machine beneath ticks away,

It was never too clear,

Why would they want to shoot a scene here?

The machine beneath ticks away,

Hi time is receding, his power is low,

The air becomes rare,

And the cameras click away,

“If he loses direction, we cannot produce”,

The whispers travel among the tourists,

It’s too big to handle, to just kill him off,

And the machine beneath ticks away,

It was written for ghosts,

For the wide-eyed and empty,

They reside in the goldfish bowl,

Too big to handle,

Wheel him away on a trolley,

But the air turns dirty and there is fuel leaking,

His humours are draining, out onto the floor,

Someone killed the doctor’s compassion,

And the machine beneath ticks away,

A gasping audience, counting down,

He lays still, now empty,

It was never too clear,

Why they wanted to shoot a scene here,

And the cameras still click away.

NDP 10/6/2012

A Strip Of Grey Flannel

A STRIP OF GREY FLANNEL

In the fingers of a child,

In an oriental world,

The strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Started out in the fingers of a child,

Pierced with needles,

Soaked with sweat,

That strip of grey flannel,

That I once found

Pulled and pummelled into shape,

Packed as protection,

For a tired fighting man,

The strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Pulled tight around skinny shoulders,

Draped across a box,

The fabric of memory,

That strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Tear stained and felt,

In darkness resided,

Forgotten, the wearer,

The strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Dusted and bloodied and eaten,

Moved and removed,

Passed down and on,

That strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Held fondly and so tightly,

Flung and thrown,

Tossed and torn,

The strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Makeshift tourniquet,

Held close and tight,

To the arm of a child,

That strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

Security and safety,

Flapping and tumbling,

Bloodied and torn,

The strip of grey flannel,

That I once found,

With a story to tell.

NDP 18/7/2012

Psychology Philosophy Religion

PSYCHOLOGY PHILOSPHY RELIGION

 

How wide is your world?

Please sit and think,

Your daily life only fills a small quarter of your world,

Do you know that?

Oh, how wide is your world?

When did your history actually start?

The knowledge you use daily is not the total sum of your knowledge,

You pre-date your own sperm,

Hand-me-down knowledge,

Second hand,

Third hand,

Since time immemorial,

Are you aware of how wide your world is,

How far your arms can reach?

How far-sighted you can be?

How far your mind can go?

A clock and a map are never enough,

Oh, how wide your world,

How huge your universe,

Say thank you,

Feel small,

Stand proud,

You should be pleased,

At how wide your world is.

NDP 15/7/2012

This Is My Life

THIS IS MY LIFE

I take a cautious step forward,

And volunteer to meet the world,

With jangling nerves,

I come out from behind the curve of the earth,

This is my life,

For all to see,

Meeting faces,

Collecting names,

Books full of words,

I take a clumsy step forward,

And soil your corner of the world,

With heavy breath,

I step through shadows to see your face,

These are my days,

Flying past our eyes,

Capturing memories,

Albums full of images,

I take a trip towards the door,

And endeavour to explore the world,

With fearful heart,

I move towards so many corners,

This is my hope,

Shared determination,

Hoarding artefacts,

Thieving treasures,

Museums full of stolen goods,

I take a cautious step back,

And remember my place in the world,

With renewed humility,

I crawl back behind my rock,

This was my life,

Too much to bear,

Forgotten names,

Fading memories,

Lost riches.

NDP 23/4/2012

Transparent Transference

TRANSPARENT TRANSFERENCE

And I, the prodigal son of a family of game players,

Run rings and roses and poses,

To confuse and forewarn,

Beware what you create,

And I, the bastard son of a cantankerous father,

Play word games and change names,

Calculate and bewilder,

So that you avoid the same,

And you, the parent, rose,

As your petals fall and drift across the sea,

To a long lost son who hides behind mumbles and the curve of the earth,

Who runs from impotence,

Childless and loveless,

To him a daughter, any daughter,

And I, the angry son, the pawn of your generation,

See your echo,

See the confused, lost soul,

And hope that you will do too,

Soon.

NDP 17/7/2012

Feardom

FEARDOM

 

Man on the hill,

Tells of a life that is changing,

With booming voice,

He portrays to a captured crowd,

Of how shackles have been removed,

Drum beaters destroyed,

Tar and oil poured in to the sea,

He speaks of new freedoms,

New cultures, new musics,

New entertainment, new sustenance,

We respond by reaching out,

Hungry hands, thousands, in lines,

As far as the eye can see,

For we are the free,

He calls,

His arm too, pointing to the sky,

He greeted us, then blessed us,

Now he frees us,

And we, the ever grateful,

As one, give thanks,

As we feel the clouds roll back,

The sun burns our scrawny faces,

We rejoice, he hails us,

Then there is a gunshot,

The crowds are dispersed,

We are taken back to our homes,

We are liberated, for our own sake,

For we are now truly free.

NDP 25/4/2012

We Love You (For Now)

WE LOVE YOU (FOR NOW)

Yes, he was a luminary,

His mind seeped red and white,

He told tall tales of terrible things,

But one day lost the fight,

He used to sit, so very still,

With an audience of just one,

He would feed his soul with rubbish and junk,

And play clumsily with a gun,

He wore despondency like a torn and dirty cloak,

Wore death like a metal vest,

Would sit so still, so quiet, so cold,

Waiting to be laid to rest,

And on that day, when he lost the fight,

No one knew his name,

And his audience of one shuffled along,

On to the next parlour game.

NDP 10/6/2012