The Old Spinning Ball

I really don't think
I could believe in a God
who made up this world
that's so bloody odd
where brother kills brother
and Mother kills son
those who take power
by pointing a gun

told to have faith
so that it might ease
the heartbreak of people
and of children's disease
this whole spinning ball
in the palm of His hand
and notions that it's all
been put here for man

Now with this ball
life's become a toy
place in the hands
of brash girls and boys
sure the message of "love"
is stated strong
so where in the hell
did it all go so wrong?

I don't deny spirit
nor the divine
but I reject the premise
of any dogmatic line
for there is something special
that flows from the heart
and of this whole
we all are a part

Nature seems harsh,
but Nature's the rule
yet still we're all pissing
in our part of the pool
excuse the bad manners
'til the judgment is done
and only in death
will the promised peace come

dogmatic reason
stems from blind leading truths
indoctrinated on paths
so early in our youths
no questions queried
by Kingdom come
and by the Word
will Thine work be done

no, I really don't think
I could believe in a God
who made up this world
and gave us the job
though there are many
who in Him do trust
we're all bound to ashes
and already dust

but that dust is the base
of the landscape around
it's into everything
as this old ball spins around
no more excuses
for the sins that we've done
the answer for peace
lies inside everyone

the answer for peace
lies inside everyone.

To the End of the World


My flat-cap snugged down upon my head
wind washed cheeks, crackling footfall tread
a tune in my heart, watching dreams unfurl
making my way to the end of the world

Green spaces glisten from tender wept tears
pure in their intentions, irredescent spheres
far beyond me, far beyond home
carried within, wherever I roam

No time to fret nor to regret
or worry for what's not happened yet
not given a thought to where it all leads
though often confused, the wants and the needs

My scarf snugged squarely around my neck
all those moments that my mind wants to protect
a song in my heart, watching dreams unfurl
making my way to the end of the world

Contented

O the sun is setting
now on my youth
it's ideal dreams
and it's search for truth
leaving it all
to where I'm now found
on the pivotal point
between womb and the ground
pray my days are still plenty
before my time is done
and by God I'll live each
as if it were my last one

Don't know where I'm going
but I've made it this far
so to love, peace and pleasure
I'll hoist up my jar
no longer pining or regrets
for that life not chose
through the kicks in the bollocks
and the smells of the rose
to be here is sweet
with music and friends
and when toe taps the bucket
I hope that how it ends
may the road rise to meet us
while we're on our way
and always seize the day

For Me Ma

My name it is Gloria

And my life’s a troubled thing

My husband, he would smack me round

But I still wear his ring

Despite his infidelities, his drink

And shite and lies,

For though long ago he left me

I must consider gossiping eyes

You see, to be a single mother

In these conservative constricted days

Is not a very kindly state

And I must respect our ways

While three of my four babies

To misfortunate death I’ve lost

I can’t afford this shame you see

So I’ll conceal at any cost

Motherhood is trying

And oftentimes I don’t feel well

The resentment, depression and anxiety

In my mind and heart does swell

And when I feel I can take no more

To the point that I might crack

My son suffers the brunt of my pain

With wicked words and with a smack

Sometimes I can not control myself,

The sting in my flailing hand

It falls and falls as if on it’s own and why,

I can not understand

My self-esteem is all but gone

To a guise of dignity

That’s why I cling to my “Mrs.” Name

Though that I’ll never be

By God it’s such a torturous task

To face yet another living day

Resentment murdered all my dreams

And it’s driving my son away

My words are harsh and hurtful

Thinking not of their future price

For all the tolls that time is taking

A baby, another then thrice

And though my pride is all I have

In the only surviving one

I fear that he’ll turn out like me

Never to become someone

I push him hard in his school

Though I, myself, can’t read,

And every time I beat him blue

It’s of want for him to succeed

I know that this is all fucked up

But I’ve nowhere else left to go

It’s so hard to wake each day

And put on this pathetic show

So this is my existence

And my gracious lot

To accept the little that I have

With hopes others don’t talk

All I pray is in the end,

Some God will wait for me

To give me something beyond this bullshit

For the rest of eternity

For my name is Gloria

I’m old, and now I stay

In the house where I was raised,

My son a nation away

I pray now for forgiveness,

And still live with my shame

And still I wear my husband’s ring,

It’s band near worn away.

Edmonton, AB, Canada

An Ode to Guinness

glass filled ebony
head, yellow cream, silky gold
friends sharing darkness

View From Meditation Room

Chickadee dancing
red berries, branch flutters crisp
Autumn's feathered breath

Link to my Main Blog

Dear Visitor,

This is one of my side Blogs. My main or "motherblog", MASOCHISTIC TRIALS & TRUTHS, where I write most of my ideas about a plethora of topics ranging from Yoga and Eastern Philosophy to rants, letters to editors and recounting of assorted life adventures, can be found at:

www.realerant.blogspot.com

Jenny



Her brown eyes they have saddened
O'er the past 14 years
and I fear that I have left her wanton
the cause of her raining tears
though I know it's not been perfect
that it's cramped in our embrace
I hope she knows I love her
beckon back the light of her face

Never was it intended, cruelty,
that we've battled is a fact
it's all in the process of solidity,
putting the strength into our backs
I dream we'll be together now
as the years go by the score
She'll always be my Jenny,
the girl that I adore

We wed for life and eternity
for richer and for poor
I regret how we have found ourselves
in the latter more and more
the ring slipped on her finger,
it's lilywhite, gold stripped band
my dreams are buried with her hopes
and for her I'm a better man

Life is our anthology
and always on the cusp
N'ere have I wanted more,
nor no one more do I trust
I pray she will remain with me
through the ebb of the ocean's tide
for I'd be washed away without you girl
and my soul it would subside

Masochistic Me


Me father beat me mother
he'd beat her black and blue
then he up and left her
with another mot to screw
me mother in her agony
on me her pain did vent
and I grew up an angry lad
bruised and somewhat bent

then one day the world did open
and I walked in through it's door
I left the shite hanging over me
and knew I wanted more
but this world is not a kindly place
to a young man with no means but dreams
frustration and motivation
left me bursting at the seams

Never knew just who I am
a wee bit brash and lazy
bit the bollicks the best I can
drivin' me self crazy

First I crossed the ocean
and lived in Dublin town
after paying respects to my kin
buried in County Down
first night in the city
I drank with Ronnie Drew
amidst bodhran's and fiddle
filling the craic in O'Donahouge's

Upstairs lived a lass named Mora
a lawyer for Sinn Fein
and I dreamed of being a rebel
playing in the patriot game
but of hate and violence I had my fill
wanting no more in that way
you'll never get peace filling a violent land
God rest the I.R.A.

Never knew just who I am
a wee bit brash and lazy
bit the bollicks the best I can
drivin' me self crazy

After many months in Erin
I roved through Europe's cobbled streets
and seemed to make a lifelong mate
with everyone I'd meet
spent some time in Slovakia
and really loved it there
shooting Slivovice
with the lasses o so fair

another six months after
I found me self in Leeds
still searching for that something
to satisfy my endless needs
but I never seemed to get it
there or in my native land
I just seemed to be wanting more,
feeling cursed and damned

Never knew just who I am
a wee bit brash and lazy
bit the bollicks the best I can
drivin' me self crazy

Now I've found me self settled
in such an unlikely place
Forty years are in my bones
but there's still something that I chase
I find it hard to settle down
to be thankful for what I've got
though by Christ I'd never trade away
the things that are my lot

Nothing's ever good enough
no matter what I do
still haunted by my childhood
and still feeling fuckin' screwed
for me mother in her agony
on me her pain did vent
and I grew up a tortured lad
battered and somewhat bent

Never knew just who I am
a wee bit brash and lazy
bit the bollicks the best I can
drivin' me self crazy
Never knew just who I am
a wee bit brash and lazy
bit the bollicks the best I can
drivin' me self crazy

Misanthropic Lament

My thoughts are often afflicted
by starts of misanthropy
when my mind does
dwell to the point
of weary atrophy
at a world so full of beauty
drowned in ignorance and waste
the simple pleasure of
society that some will never taste
we'll chase our riches and obsess
of britches, breasts
and youth's eternity
ignoring suffering, each other's needs,
intoxicated on "all about me"
at the end of the day,
much to our dismay
we reckon something's lost
like a forgotten tune that echoes
through the ruins
scarred and frigid beneath the frost

we realise we never gave a toss,
no we never gave a toss

never more alone now do we die
in our living's unfulfilled
as much is dead and densely lead
behind a thin gold leaf gild
so away I go with the pain I know
and drain it in a jar
I don't give a shite,
but then again, I might
when I sing and play guitar
for I wrote these words,
somewhat absurd
to give a hopeful shake
that you might live and
for your life give
a shock so you're awake
my thoughts are often afflicted
by starts of misanthropy
but by now you know, it's how my mind goes
when I dream of what could be

Song Written after 4 Whiskey's and 4 Bowls of Tobbaca

I draw on me pipe
watching my smoky breath escape against dusky lamp light
Reminiscing of the sweet and soft
caress of your slender neck's nape
but as the peaty embers in my wooden bowl die
I dwell upon our one greeting and one goodbye
the mist of the evening enshrouded us
as we escaped the pub that crowded us
the scent of stout upon your mouth
mine of whiskey and together we both
knew this evening was the only one
we might ever have
for we were young and free
two rovers with our rucksacks, you and me
enjoying an evening's frivolity
makin' warm affections and memories
that keep us comfortable in our descending age
It was not about sex but of poetry
the ambience of an artist's heart
vulnerable in its innocence
in an embrace destined to part
now an ember extinguished
but never gone out
a memory tender
of a long hard lived life
and thankfulness to eternity.

"A Lament for Education and Academic Freedom"


I was the mainstream -
a rich running river of life
once flowing forcibly, natural
determined, etching malleable landscapes,
now drowned in dust.

Animals grazed harmoniously and prospered over my lush leaning banks,
I sparkled pure, crystal, white,
while others flourished beneath my mirrored still
and ferocious foam

I fed streams, tiniest tributaries, bogs
teeming with living, amidst teasing twists, cryptic mists and fogs
what was given was as well too me given back
forging canyons from fragments and finger-like cracks

my silt settled, evolved into stone,
my purpose was my purpose, with all and nothing to be known

I once built wonders that made wonder grow
my currents, respected, their tempo and flow
but the respect now evaporates
in billows of dust,
leaving me dry upon a tegument sedimentary saline crust
for I was the mainstream,
but now am no more
a forgotten scar upon the planet's floor.

Edmonton, AB., Canada