When I was a kid we had a retort
– it was a lie –
but a reply we could use to respond to any verbal taunt
we said, “sticks and stones
may break my bones
but words
will never hurt me.”
It made us strong
but we’ve always known
that words cause harm in other ways.

Those bones you broke in fights
or falling off the jungle gym
were set in cast and sling
A plaster cast
Graffitied with good wishes from your standard four class
and those bones healed.
But souls and spirits and a small person’s sense of self worth
can be worn away by unkind words.

And it’s not that we were wrong
to use an adage to feel strong
untrue, perhaps
but the comeback
brought power.
A force field of our own words
to repel attacks.

Words have always been my tool
but a tool can be turned around
its handle used as a weapon
or even the end designed to fix, create
to join two things together
with a different motion
and in different hands
can be deadly.

But then, your words can’t hurt me
because I’ve learnt of strength
not in muscle or size
not in an intense stare from dull eyes
not through volume, curse, anger
I’m not strong because I stride through life fists clenched
ready for a fight at the first sign of danger!

Strength is integrity.
The way things hold together.
You might be tough with battle scars
lines on your face that show me your life’s been hard
you may be hard
but be strong.
Use words with gentle intent
speak calmly and know yourself
again through your own words
your own way to discover truth.

Choose words carefully
Don’t shout me down
firing off a poisonous round.
Then I will speak to you with respect.
and I’ll hand you my tools
handle towards your open hand
so you can use words too
not like sticks and stones
but as sling and cast to healing bones.

Miles out of town down
gravel driveway, dog-
greetings at the gate, incidentally
alone but for smooth jazz
volume 2, log burner I’m yet to light
cups of tea, books. So far
away from the stresses that keep me
awake each night of the week
keep me weak, in a trance as the
working day ticks by, shaking
thin, anxious prone to injury
far from the thoughts, advice
demands. Miles out of town a valley
lined with leaves that dangle, cling
refuse to fall just yet.

26th JULY 2014

I like metaphors. No, I love metaphors. I like images of birds on branches, I like concise sayings that sum up the human condition. I like sharing, sure, and I like being positively affirmed by strangers every now and then. Who doesn’t, right? But I’m becoming increasingly cynical about the meme-ifying of “author unknown” quotes that are readily and thoughtlessly shared around social media without analysis, context or commentary. It’s the equivalent of my students “quote dumping” in their essays, rather than weaving examples cleverly into their own sentences and opinions. Yes, being an English teacher brings about unexpected frustrations every day, especially now that mass communication has become such a perpetual part of our lives, but reposting anonymously written “inspirational” quotes has got to be the laziest form of self-expression yet.

When I first skimmed through my news feed and found a friend had posted the above, I thought that’s quite nice, yes, ok, let’s all believe in ourselves a bit more. It was actually quite timely and a reminder to trust my instincts on an issue that had been stressing me out for some time. But then I read it again and kept thinking about it and it started to make me mad. Yes, we could make like a bird and trust that no matter what happens we can always fly away, but where’s the hope in that? Where’s the sense of community, humanity or belief in the innate good of others? What this quote is really telling us is that other people will let you down and you can only rely on yourself (there’s bound to be a meme circulating with exactly that message on it too, of course.) A lot of people do believe this, but I’m worried that the more we imbed this in our collective psyche, the more it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If people are not to be trusted and we can only rely on ourselves, then we become suspicious, selfish and the kinds of people who are not to be trusted, because we’re only looking out for ourselves! That sounds like an incredibly isolating place to get to as a society.

The false sense of community that is created by liking and sharing each other’s memes on facebook is merely proof that most of us are very pessimistic about society and are really not interested in connecting with or building trust in others. Perhaps many of us have reason to believe this: we’ve been hurt, people have let us down, we’ve learnt to look to ourselves for strength. That’s fine, but there has to be some hope, right? We have to be able to keep trusting each other and keep letting each other know that we believe in each other (not just ourselves) if we are to help each other become better people who look out for others. Knowing someone is relying on you is a huge motivation to be reliable. Personally, I’m sick of having to fly away and move on just because someone else lacks the integrity not to snap or break branch-like beneath me. Believe in yourself, definitely, but let’s start believing in each other too.

I’m hard work, you said to me
Black ink pools bear rocks for sure.
New paths will be forged to set us free
I’m hard work, you said to me.
On windswept dunes it’s hard to see
The late waves power their tidal lure.
I’m hard work, you said to me
Black ink pools bear rocks for sure.

Black ink pools, you’re indelible, for sure
but concealable in the tidal flow
that comes and goes beneath my eyes
with rhythmic tug of lies, reassurance, lies.

Those waves might seem to lure you now
the power, surge and brightening foam
until the jagged rocks appear
and words alone can’t forge a new path here.

So who works hardest? The patient or demanding?
Whose painted smile keeps her near.
Perhaps too close. On windswept dunes it’s hard to see
yet I’m hard work, you said to me.

Several nights now I come home late
find fat slugs feasting on the cat’s food
in a corner of the kitchen.

They must find their way
by smell, extrude slimy bodies
beneath a gap in the door, sucker
their mouths onto meaty biscuits
gorge themselves until girth and greed overwhelm.

Slow slide back out into the garden
a mere glistening trail
by my morning’s approach.

 

More Tuesday Poems here

A burn the shape of a swift bird in flight
fades slowly from my hand
reminds me my sleepless week
past.

 

I wrote this as an exercise for an amazing online Iowa course I’m currently doing. When I’m stressed and exhausted I do clumsy things and injure myself. It’s well documented. But it’s always reassuring to find that tiredness can be remedied; flared tempers (of others) can be calmed; injuries heal and I find something to laugh (or write) about every day.

 

Rabbit Island memories are captured in your lines,
my lines record the capturing and not the scene at all.
I told you of past fears as we drove between the pines
Rabbit Island memories are captured in your lines.
In the chill of Wadestown I’ll recall those warmer times,
your sketch and my connection make warmth easy to recall.
Rabbit Island memories are captured in your lines,
my lines record the capturing and not the scene at all.

 

More Tuesday Poems here.

Legs twitch a constant itch longing for action production and purpose.
No indent left in sagging bed – so tense it’s like levitating.

Leave to learn new verbs: Rest, breathe, stroll. Think things through.
Wings uncrumple, sea air inflates lungs clouds part and regather.

A risen ford forces stillness, blocks the only way out.
Trapped relaxing causes back aches and a cold turkey come-down.

Breathe. Think. Visualise the empty city house.
Fill space with light. Buy a new bed. Make an impression from now on.

 

More Tuesday Poems here

Autumnal mix
signals warning and welcome

push through the leaf window
glassless, opaque

leaving no fingerprints, no clues
to discover a place

where healing is possible
beyond the leaves of a paperback

beyond the rustle
the growth.

 

More Tuesday Poems here.

Dad calls to tell me he’s well
and life is just a drama
from Monday to Sunday.

He says someone plays music
another dances into view
we’re all just acting
until the curtain comes down.

I don’t know if he’s ever read Shakespeare
but his metaphor, apt
on a day of walking to the beach
worrying about Grandad (pipes
and whistles in his sound)
calling each other to describe our lives.

Here, he says,
someone is in the cupboard
deciding what to wear
another has left to buy chillies.

Someone else has called his daughter
as she walks to the beach
to say everyone is well here
playing their part
and life is just a drama
until the curtain comes down.

 

More Tuesday Poems here