Tag: Poetry

It’s harder to grin

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It’s all very well to wear a big grin
When life is basically good
But it’s harder to grin
When your life gets rough
And no good reason you should.

Sometimes the hurt is not just in your head
And things are genuinely bad
There are reasons for pain
So look for the root;
The place where you hurt,
If you want to get well again.

Sometimes what makes you angry
Or even just out of joint
Is not the real reason you’re hurting
Or what’s going wrong in your life.
If you do the same things
It will happen again
So what are you going to change?

Choose Happiness

28299874-38D3-4B6A-B375-546BAE3381B0As I wake from my bed

Put my feet on the floor

I give thanks for the day ahead:

For new thoughts in my head

A clean slate before

And the chance to start over again.

 

There are things that are bad

That could make me sad

There are things that I can’t control

But I have command of the things in my head

And I’m choosing happiness!

No such thing as failure

1E8B24A9-62B5-465F-9962-D5860FD798EBWhat ever it is
You want in life
You have to remember this.

You won’t always get
It right first time
Something will go amiss.

You have to try
And try again
And not lose sight of this.

There’s no such thing
As a failure till
The point when you give in.

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Only a game

 

A558A6AF-C573-4A83-A6F7-18FBDD547D8BHis team just lost
Your man’s distraught
You say, “It’s only a game”.

Deep down he knows
That this is true
But you’re really missing the point.

“It’s not a matter of life or death”
As a famous manager said
According to Bill Shankley
“It’s more important than that”.

It matters because we want it to
It matters because we care
If we don’t care there is no point
It doesn’t matter at all.

Take away the passion
And what’s it all about?
Take away the passion
And there is no sense at all.

You say that it doesn’t matter
At all that my team’s just lost
“Forget your disappointment
Forget and just move on”.

I know it’d work if I let it
But I really have to care
Because once you stop caring about it
It doesn’t matter at all.

It’s disappointment that makes the triumphs,
Even the small ones, feel good.
How can you enjoy the triumphs
Unless you share the lows?

You can only know the joy of it
If you’re willing to take the pain.
Let yourself stop caring
And it’s never the same again.

Sport for men is passion
The only emotion allowed
The 0ne time tears are permitted
And emotion’s allowed to show.

It matters because we make it
It matters because we care
It’s a chance to feel real passion
Shame it’s only a game.

Can’t really cope with the big stuff
Life and death and such
We leave that to our women
For men it’s just too much.

Mirror

 

2FE4270A-59E9-4A55-9D72-F9C960DD12F8I look in the mirror
It isn’t me.
Where is the person
I’m meant to be?

I stare back at accusing eyes;
I swear the face in the mirror cries.
How did I earn the face I see?
Is this the person I meant to be?

It feels I’m leading another’s life
Who is that person, who is me?

Must I bleed?

4533DEF0-984E-4629-8C1B-69419645F189A poet has to get to work.
A stanza here; the odd few lines.
Just get it down. What’s on your mind?
Find a rhythm, maybe rhyme.

There’s worse work for a man to do.
There’s some-must earn their corn you know.
Just get it down. Don’t think it through.
The words are there but how’d they go?

Does rhyme need reason, conscious thought?
Don’t stop to think who’ll want to read?
Unconscious scribbles, last resort.
Will this suffice or must I bleed?

Curse Coffee Cups

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Curse Coffee Cups

Curse the coffee cups and spoons
The yellow fog, the window panes
Curse the dying of the light
Curse the rage against the night.

Curse daffodils, satanic mills
Pleasure domes, the albatross,
Comparisons to summer day
The last man in, an hour to play.

Curse roads divergent in a wood,
The knock upon a moonlit door
The airman’s helmet and the hawk
Painted women and their talk.

Curse Gunga Din, curse Kubla Khan,
Curse the Tiger burning bright.
Curse Dulce Et Decorum Est
Let Drummer Hodge not find his rest.

Unstop the clocks, unmuffle drums
Forget the honey with your tea.
Forget the grin of bitterness,
The look of rooms returning thence.

Forget the friendly bombs on Slough
And men in brightly lit canteens.
Curse the damns of your content
The crumpling floods that force a vent.

Zero hour will never come,
We won’t ride a merry go round
Or Whitsun train that’s late away.
We won’t be naming parts today.

Stop the cannons, stop the charge,
Stop Hiawatha in mid song.
The eye will simply look on glass
It won’t look through; it shall not pass.

No knock kneed men will cough like hags
Three will never meet again.
Blood stained hands will be washed clean
And woods won’t come to Dunsinane.

Too many words crammed in my head
The rhythms dance, the cadence strong
I need new words to call my own
My head rings with another’s song.

My favourite coffee cup of the moment. Click the image link to get yours on Amazon.