Come in, it's lovely to see you. Pull up a cushion and stay as long as you like.

Thursday, 21 June 2012

Flash Poem # 3

tree branches sway wildly
in the strong wind.
Teeth bared and head high
an excited horse runs
displaying his giant cock.

pictures hang on white walls
wellington boots stand guard
by the door.
A snail has made itself at home
on the leg of your rocking chair.

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Father Dear Father

To Dad.

You are a stranger to me as I am to you, would you even recognise me now after all these years? I have some memories that I cling to but they bring me no comfort. Why don't I just let them go, like I did you that time? One too many humiliations and I was never good enough. Maybe you weren't good enough either.
Are you happy with your life now, have you arrived at your destination?
I often wonder what went wrong, if wrong is the right approach? All I did was to be born as your son, but felt like an unwanted parcel and always seemed a disappointment. You were a disappointment too.
Just a few kind words would have made all the difference.
These words are not long enough and do neither of us justice. Today I will try to put this all behind me and remember a good time or two. For myself I have been a father so long now I forgot I was a son.
Dad, say my name from time to time, just to humour me, and when your life flashes before you and you draw your last breath, know that I love you still.

Your son.

Friday, 8 June 2012

To Write or...............

I haven't blogged for a while or written very much at all, the reason being I have slipped into the old habit of waiting 'till I feel inspired' or 'in the right frame of mind' or 'feeling like I have something to say'. So of course, as is the way of things, no writing gets done.
An obstacle has been put in the way.
Also, in my defence your honour, I've had a visit from a very old aquaintance, my good friend anxiety. And the thing with anxiety is it tends to paralyze, roots you (me) to the spot afraid to move for whatever reason, such as 'not feeling like it'. Actually I am always anxious lately, in fact I have been most of my life.
Also anxiety (fear) is a very powerful attractive force and leads to hypervigilance, black and white thinking, catastrophe thinking, more and more and deeper and deeper anxious worried thoughts and it is, on top of all that, extremely tiring.
And this has affected my confidence which, at the best of times, isn't great. I think of a topic, like it, think about what I might say (in my head), think and think about it (analyse it), feel it's a load of crap then decide not to write it.
So, I haven't written (or done very much at all lately if I am honest) because of:
  • Anxiety
  • Waiting until I feel like it
  • Waiting for inspiration
  • Tired
  • A lack of confidence in my ability as a writer
  • Analysis paralysis
There are probably more reason's I can find if I really try. And I wouldn't have to try very hard either. But the truth is I don't want to, I'm tired and fed up. I want to write, honest. And what occurs to me is that, although I could use any one of the above as a reason why I haven't written and sort of be ok with that, not give myself a hard time, the truth is that not writing is actually harder than doing the writing, it takes more energy not to write, to stay anxious etc.
What all of the above are, rather than reasons, are excuses. And pitiful ones at that. Pathetic attempts at justifying my own laziness and lack of confidence. They don't ring true and the reason I say that is because I know they don't.
Reading, as I have done, many writers tips etc for writing they all say pretty much the same thing, and that is to write, every day, and to read widely, and never give up.
Here I offer you the latest, recieved by email today  ray-bradbury-writing-advice

Now they don't say write every day 'if/when you feel like it' or 'when you feel inspired' or 'only write if you're not feeling anxious' etc, it's just write, without any conditions attached to it.
The more you (I/me) write the better you (I/me) get at writing.
Even writing this now I know it's not hugely entertaining, or maybe even interesting, it's certainly not thought through or worked on. It's just me writing about what is going on for me right now and my attempt to work at, by taking action, my writing, one word at a time.