tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11440279952487380162024-02-07T02:18:07.027+00:00ink for thoughtjoe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-55481877737604670922013-10-02T00:19:00.001+01:002013-10-02T00:19:07.380+01:00it's about time too<div style="text-align: left; width: 450px;">
</div>
<br />
<object class="myWidget" data="http://www.blurb.co.uk/assets/embed.swf" height="300" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="450"></p>
<p>
<param name='allowFullScreen' value='true' /></p>
<p>
<param name='wmode' value='transparent' /></p>
<p>
<param name='allowScriptAccess' value='always' /></p>
<p>
<param name='movie' value='http://www.blurb.co.uk/assets/embed.swf' /></p>
<p>
<param name='FlashVars' value='book_id=4640391&locale=en_GB' /></p>
<p>
<a href='http://www.blurb.co.uk/books/4640391' target='_new'></p>
<p>
<img src='http://assets1.blurb.com/images/uploads/catalog/43/4526843/5008593-f71b87f51fcf058ce428c8cbdd80331d.jpg' /></p>
<p>
</a></p>
<p>
</object><br />
<br />
<div style="display: block;">
</div>
<br />
<a href="http://blur.by/19VFunb" style="margin: 12px 3px;" target="_blank">INK FOR THOUGHT by GD Raphael</a><br />
|<br />
<a href="http://www.blurb.co.uk/landing_pages/bookshow" style="margin: 12px 3px;" target="_blank">Make Your Own Book</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
finally did it folks....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
now I can get back to actually writing</div>
joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-59072928927144804142013-04-21T22:48:00.001+01:002013-04-21T22:48:15.587+01:00Deep down inside<p dir=ltr>Apparently I talk a lot. I'm not sure why. <br>
Once I start there's always a compulsion to keep going...and going...and going.<br>
Bubbling up within me, like a constantly growing, slowly emerging, overwhelming...thing</p>
<p dir=ltr>I know deep down inside there are things I really want you to know.<br>
The things that make me tick,<br>
The colours that flash brilliantly, crystalline clear when I think of you,<br>
But reduce to blubbering nonsense when I open my mouth</p>
<p dir=ltr>I want you to know that the sound of your laugh<br>
Is food for my spirit, light to my soul<br>
The world to me.</p>
<p dir=ltr>There's a part of me I want desperately to share with you.<br>
I can almost hear the clock ticking,<br>
My time running out.<br>
We are finite and our moments fleeting<br>
But know this, </p>
<p dir=ltr>While my tongue may struggle to form the words<br>
Deep down inside my heart does not falter<br>
And I will never let go of your hand </p>
joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-67392111035962225922012-11-07T00:41:00.000+00:002012-11-07T00:41:31.212+00:00thank you, for everything"Take care of yourself"<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
these were the last words my grandfather said to me. he was dying, he knew it, I knew it, everyone knew it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
I didn't really understand what he meant until I stood at the door of the funeral parlour. not until I stood there and saw the throng of people wanting to get in, to pay their respects, to honour him in passing, to share in the suffering of our loss did I understand what my grandfather meant.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
you see, my grandfather lived his life by one principle it would seem. one thread linking his actions together and that single motivation behind his thinking and decisions. my grandfather invested in people. he believed in the value of the dream and it didn't matter what the dream was. he understood how precious the spirit is and he had great respect for those who nurtured it.<br />
<br />
it's almost funny when I think about it but he never lectured me on his beliefs. and don't get me wrong, he could lecture. I grew up hearing his views on everything from religion and politics (not totally dissimilar topics to be fair) to economics and society. but I can't recall him ever saying very much about caring for others. instead, his most poignant message was preached through his actions. he seemed to touch lives everywhere he went. for a small man he cast a very large shadow.<br />
<br />
I want so much to write about what he meant to me. I want to tell the world how he believed in me and didn't stop for one minute.<br />
<br />
even after that mental fog had descended and my grandfather stopped recognising close family he still looked up at me from his bed, and he.saw.me. he saw the lonely little boy who couldn't make friends, he saw the hurting and angry teenager, he saw the failing and floundering young man, he saw his grandson and he believed in me still.<br />
<br />
you see, even though I hadn't found it yet my grandfather already believed in my dream and he believed deeply in my ability to fulfill that dream. I remember being really worried about telling him that I hadn't performed as well as perhaps I should have in some test or the other and his response was always the same "what have you learned and what do you do next?" he never chastised me, instead he encouraged me not to chastise myself too harshly but to learn from my mistakes and keep pushing forward. he encouraged me to never settle, never to become complacent, never to be content with second best from myself. his faith in me and my ability was unshakable in the face of some very persuasive proof to the contrary.<br />
<br />
but that was just like my grandfather, stubborn.<br />
<br />
however true it is, I would be lying if I said that me learning to believe in myself through my grandfathers persistence was the point of this piece. I would even love to say I have a firm grip on my dream and I pursue it daily. but that would equally miss the point. what I learned from my grandfather was this...<br />
<br />
believe in others. value and invest in them. give them your time, give them an ear, give them a shoulder and an arm if needs be. helping others believe in themselves, helping them find their wings, these are the things that make a life worthwhile, makes a life significant, makes a life memorable.<br />
<br />
I remember standing at that parlour door thinking, 'if I can just do this one thing then I might one day be half the man he was.'<br />
<br />
you see, my grandfather was a great man because he made men believe they were giants. </div>
joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-56341866186921244142012-11-06T23:48:00.000+00:002012-11-06T23:48:47.804+00:00and how are you?<br />
we all know what it's like. it's been done to us and, if we're honest, we've probably done it a few times ourselves. the smile (with or without teeth), the limp-wristed hand shake, the sympathetic tilt of the head, the lifeless, empty..."Hi, how are you?"<br />
<br />
I understand that social norms exist for a reason. I recognise the need for niceties, pleasantries and politeness. and of course one must appreciate the function that the unwritten social contract that governs each and every exchange plays in maintaining a sense of order in society. BUT,<br />
<br />
"How are you?" is not a vague, ephemeral concept. it is not abstract, distant and unrelated to who I am. I cannot comment on it like a work of art, a current event or the weather. I can't just click 'LIKE' and move on.<br />
<br />
you see, when you ask how I am, you're asking about my hopes, however grand and my fears, however terrible. you're asking if I still wake up feeling distraught in the middle of the night, if I still shed tears at the thought of loved ones lost, if I've found peace with my purpose in life, if I've begun to dream again, if I love myself enough to try loving others and if I trust you enough not to lie about the answer.<br />
<br />
when you ask how I am, you release the genie from his lamp and fearsome is his wrath.<br />
<br />
just something to bear in mindjoe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-58500807362161510532012-02-24T13:02:00.001+00:002012-02-24T13:02:14.535+00:00so muchlike the infinitesimal detail layered upon layer to create all that we behold,<br />
or the immeasurable potency found in a kind touch.<br />
<br />
like the staggering depths glimpsed briefly when eyes hold contact,<br />
and the speechless eternity of silence holding the universe in its place.<br />
<br />
I love you so muchjoe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-43487627325419854082012-01-07T18:58:00.000+00:002012-01-07T18:58:00.706+00:00and so we begin, anewI think over again my small adventures,<br />
my fears,<br />
those small ones that seemed so big,<br />
for all the vital things<br />
I had to get and reach.<br />
and yet there is only one thing,<br />
the only thing,<br />
to live to see the great day that dawns<br />
the light that fills the world.<br />
<br />
-inuit prayer-<br />
<br />
<br />joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-82328910023188322492011-11-18T02:56:00.001+00:002011-11-18T02:57:36.494+00:00vive l'interrogationI hadn't expected this. I don't know what I had thought would have happened but definitely not this.<br />
<br />
in my years there I had never seen the insides of that room before, and if I never set eyes on it again I shall die a happy man.<br />
it was cold, unnaturally so. the floor was lined with a discoloured, threadbare worn, cheap carpet as stained as it was old. the walls were bare with the paint peeling in a variety of places. in the dim light of a lone, naked, flickering bulb I could just about make out the silhouette of a flimsy little plastic chair besides an even smaller table.<br />
<br />
I shuffled over.<br />
<br />
"bonjour monsieur ordinary, asseyez-vous s'il vous plait"<br />
<br />
the voice from the darkness seemed to be coming from a severe bun perched on top of an almost inanimate, desiccated and menacing scowl. if she was trying to intimidate me she had failed miserably. I was much too terrified by the entire ordeal to be intimidated by anything in particular.<br />
<br />
I heard little else that was said during that meeting, my fear pounding in my chest, pulsing in my ears. I kept thinking, "this is how it all ends. right here, right now"<br />
<br />
I remember mumbling responses. I tried to say as little as possible. the less you say, the less you have to remember, right? "self incrimination is the real killer here" that was the other thing going through my mind. apart from that, it was all white noise. white noise and a nasally drone, barking out an interrogation in french of all languages.<br />
<br />
I was broken by the time they released me. the clocks around me said I had been detained for twenty minutes. I knew they had been tampered with. it was all part of the trick. the endless mind game.<br />
<br />
a few friends, fellow inmates mostly, gathered around. my fractured mind couldn't begin the comprehend their barrage of questions. my tongue was heavy in my mouth and my head pounded on the verge of bursting. and then, as though hearing a stranger speak I heard my own voice saying,<br />
<br />
"french oral really isn't that bad, but we'll just have to wait until results day."joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-52387571905293656412011-09-03T19:38:00.000+01:002011-09-03T19:38:01.343+01:00mr. what if?what if the stars above us were dreams waiting to be borne?<br />
what if the cosmos held its breath with stomach taut anticipation, eager preparation for the breadth of your imagination that will bring futures into being?<br />
<br />
what if we look too hard for the silver lining?<br />
what if in our pursuit of the best in every situation we lose sight of the magnificence of the cloud that brought us there, the cloud filled to the brim with life giving waters and soul cleansing streams?<br />
<br />
<br />
what if we didn't let pain cripple us?<br />
what if we saw through our pain and turned our tears into the healing balm that our neighbour so desperately needs?<br />
<br />
<br />
what if we lived in a world where people loved?<br />
what if with every life we touched we shared value, we communicated importance, we left a finger print of care?<br />
<br />
what if dreams, food for our souls, and love were all we needed to truly live?<br />
what if you were that for me and I for you?<br />
<br />
would I then be enough?<br />
<br />
....what if?joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-12512350554272474602011-06-07T10:43:00.000+01:002011-06-07T10:43:33.895+01:00Fear, pride and other mind altering drugs, pt.1I am infected by an insidious parasite that drains me of creativity and feeds a sense of impending failure. I am accompanied by an almost ever present sense of overwhelming humiliation and crushing shame hovering just beyond the horizon. I am stalked daily by the long shadow of disappointments past claiming my every possible intention of progress. Crippling and restraining, this is my fear.<br />
<br />
in you I see a beauty that profounds me. I am without words and this causes me to be uncomfortable. you see, I am the master of all I survey as long as I can name it, classify it and finds it's place. you, are without classification. magnificence without boundaries, splendor that I fear would only be defiled by my amateurish attempts to describe it. challenged and found wanting, this is my pride.<br />
<br />
yet, the sun still shines. unaffected by the triviality of our storms. unstirred by our quests for power, our struggles for significance, our petty mortality. it shines because this is what it does, sans fear, sans pride, whether we like it or not. not seeking approval, it doesn't try, it does. perhaps it's relentlessness teaches me something, maybe I've learned something from it's stoic persistence. maybe I'm just damned fool enough to think trying anyway will make a difference. so, to the hounds with shame and tongue-tied excuses be damned. this is my hope.<br />
<br />
And you, you are my love and you, love, are precious to me.joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-44104612108284307672010-12-02T11:51:00.000+00:002010-12-02T11:52:10.747+00:00let it snow, let it snow, let it snowso it's snowing. schools are closing and kids are going home early or not going in at all. and...parents are complaining.<br />
<br />
"teachers take any excuse to have some time off" and "we don't get to go home when it snows so why should they?" is being muttered around water coolers and over desks around the country. talk radio hosts are whiping up a frenzy and everyone from the middle aged to the long ago retired are recycling tales of "in my day this would never happen."<br />
<br />
but I have a couple questions. who is this really serving? <br />
<br />
consider this, teachers pay is decided by the performance of the students and parents, in case you haven't realised, many of you aren't providing us with great material to work with in the first place. this means, keeping our homes, feeding ourselves and our children, wearing clothes that kind of fit, keeping the lights and heating running, often depends on your little bundle of joy succeeding. <strong>we don't take closures lightly.</strong><br />
<br />
so why do we do it?<br />
<br />
short answer. safety. that and litigation. you see, parents have, time and time again shown that they will go to great lengths to divorce their children from not only, responsibility for their actions but any kind of consequences. how many times does the urchin need to steal something before it'ss parents accept that their little ray of sunshine is a sociopathic kleptomaniac. so, in the interest of the childs safety and not ending up in court, we send them home. think about it, if you have to choose between these three phone calls which would you rather have,<br />
<br />
1) your child is being sent home due to unsafe conditions outside of our control. please make provisions for him/her.<br />
2) your child has been taken to the hospital due to the foolish and irresponsible actions of either himself or a fellow pupil during this time of unsafe conditions. please make your way to X hospital.<br />
3) your child is to be interviewed by the authorities in connection to another child being hospitalised. please make yourself available to accompany them.<br />
<br />
it really is that simple. and can you imagine a child falling down some stairs at speed, the fractures and broken bones, the contusions and concussions, the bandages and stitches etc, and the parent walking up and saying..."next time be more careful"?? it's not going to happen. <br />
<br />
so parents, when you're tempted to complain about teachers, take a moment to think about what you're really saying. 'cause t sounds like you're saying you'd like us to keep your child in a dangerous environment because it's convenient for you. and at the end of the day....<br />
<br />
that's all there is to it, isn't it?joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-92200332681349165422010-11-03T13:17:00.000+00:002010-11-04T10:41:34.313+00:00behold what complacence has wroughtI've been away for a while. A whole month in fact. and not without good reason. I've been busy with the everyday stuff. hands full with the stuff that keeps the sun in it's place and the earth spinning on it's axis. the stuff that living is made of.<br />
<br />
but something has all the while been brewing under the flimsy cover of my busy ness. my hand has been itching and I've had to bite my tongue. but now that october is over I finally feel like I can come out with it boldly and say,<br />
<br />
"Black History Month, what a complete waste of time"<br />
<br />
I'm not even going to try to apologise for that sentiment so don't ask as blatant, overt and blunt refusal is likely to cause further offense.<br />
<br />
to the original designers and implementers of this 'celebration', with their lofty goals and hopeful ambitions, I say thank you and to those who, through their yearly observance help keep it alive, I offer my profound gratitude. you have both groups, brokered, on behalf of black people throughout the western world, a compromise that will forever segregate us from the mainstream of education, the mainstream of history and the mainstream of the future. <br />
<br />
tell me this, mr. onemonthayear black man, from whence did you come? and where are you going? and who are you for the other three hundred and thirty three days of the year? and you ms. blackforthirtyonedays, what is your language? where is your country and who are your people?<br />
<br />
no. black history month is more than a farce, it is a travesty. it is a slick used car salesman specialising in sleight of hand, dazzling us with its trivialisation of the very history it claims to promote while it simultaneously sells our future on the cheap.<br />
<br />
when we have literature lessons all year long that never mention achebe, du bois or even dumas, how dare we claim to acknowledge black history? as long as we have mathematics sessions innumerable and no one hears of benjamin banneker, science semesters that pay no tribute to george washington carver and budding politicians who are unaware of the efforts of booker t. washington how dare we speak of celebrating black history? how dare we?<br />
<br />
black history month is a fools gold. it is the festering, putrid, vile scab of complacency that has grown over the nasty, hideous truth. this uncomfortable truth simply put is that black people are not yet seen as equal. in anyone's eyes.<br />
<br />
we are not a spectacle to be gawped at or a foreign species to be investigated for presentations and I'd like to think we're not immature ignoramuses to be bought with a wink, a nod and a month of half hearted recognition....or are we?<br />
<br />
you see, my history is the story of people and civilisations. it is the story of love and war, greatness and great foolishness. it has shaped the world of today and will shape that of tomorrow because my history is the story of all that there is and no matter the colour of your skin your history is no different.<br />
<br />
so when this story is sterilised, segregated and forced on to a reservation we all lose out. and that is my whole point. there is no such thing as 'black history'. there is history and we are all in it. let's represent it like that or not at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
-peace-joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-6150782556751489722010-09-27T18:22:00.002+01:002010-10-06T12:35:39.614+01:00how pathetic...I am pathetic,<br />
but, you see, I embrace pathetic. <br />
<br />
I am pathetic because I don't mind admitting that I am not self sustaining. <br />
I don't mind admitting that another person can mean so much to me as to cause my days to be brighter, colours more vibrant and living like poetry to whispered gently into sleeping ears.<br />
<br />
I don't mind pathetic because I refuse to buy into the macho myth. <br />
I refuse to throw myself headlong into a perpetual state of callous indifference.<br />
I refuse to divorce myself from my heart.<br />
<br />
for it is only in being truly pathetic that I have come to see what it is like to be wholly vulnerable, wholly alive, wholly...human...<br />
<br />
and to lose that...would have to be the hardest thing of alljoe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-3155555692160438762010-09-25T04:00:00.000+01:002010-10-06T12:35:05.797+01:00what's your poison?I'm sure we've all heard it said and many of us have said it ourselves, 'I can't think yet, haven't had my morning coffee' but what does that mean?<br />
<br />
as a non coffee drinker I must confess that I am perplexed and just a little concerned about the freeness with which we, as a society, accept this drug dependency. because at the end of the day, isn't that what caffeine is? are we not medicating ourselves to make reality more palatable? and what does that say about us and our ability to live in the real world if we are only able to competently interface with it under the influence of a stimulant?<br />
<br />
that got me thinking...why fuss about caffeine when there are harder substances out there? why fuss about tea and coffee, deeply engrained in the history and culture of many ancient nations, when society and humanity itself is under the attack of much more virulent forms of drug addiction? but that's just my point.<br />
<br />
addiction is addiction. the inability to live and function without the aide of some sort of crutch, be it caffeine, glucose, adrenaline, nicotine, opiates, amphetamines or even the staggering array of behavioural addictions, to only gently scratch the surface of our neurosis, is what really causes me some despair for us as humanity. are we so poorly prepared for living and it's stresses that we are forced to create these buffers between our lives and our living? have we always been thus ineptly equipped? and is there a cure?<br />
<br />
it bares pointing out given the definition of addiction religion is not exempt. some would argue, using sweeping generalisations, that the beneficent nature of most religions, the morality and ethos they preach and oft times inspire should discount them from such a label. as if the addictive nature of a thing, by association, makes it a bad thing. but, if we take a step back and dare to be completely honest, what is religion if not a crutch for the soul and an addiction of the heart?<br />
<br />
so that brings me back to the original question. it's not about whether or not you have an addiction, for it seems clear that we humans cease to behave rationally without one (oh the irony), but what is your addiction? what does it do for you? does it simply get you through the day or does it compel you to something better?joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-17909278709585662822010-09-20T19:28:00.001+01:002010-10-06T12:35:26.408+01:00ignore me for a minute...ignore me for a minute while I laugh over the pain<br />
ignore me hiding my tear stained sleeve in my pockets<br />
my red rimmed eyes behind shades<br />
my wounded heart with too many toothy grins<br />
<br />
ignore me for a minute I said, the warmth of your care burns me so<br />
ignore me being evasive, flinching from your concern <br />
searing my feigned indifference like acid<br />
making a liar of my trying too hard not to tremble lips<br />
<br />
ignore me for a minute, just one or two, while I drown my sorrows in song<br />
ignore me in my façade and join in my masquerade<br />
my parade of grand illusions to cover <br />
my dreams now bruised, battered and raw<br />
<br />
ignore me for a minute while I gather myself<br />
ignore me grasping for the fragmented remains<br />
the shattered 'could-have-been's<br />
the scattered 'use-to-be's<br />
<br />
the things that made<br />
nevermind<br />
just ignore me...joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-37829942574239447492010-09-14T22:47:00.003+01:002010-09-14T23:54:54.663+01:00be afraid, be very afraid<div>I'm about to say something that may prove unpopular. to be fair I'm about to contradict centuries of conventional thinking and the teachings espoused by most positive thinking gurus.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>Fear is a <b>good</b> thing.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>that's right, fear. it's fear that makes me look both ways before crossing the road. it's fear that prevents me from putting my finger in electrical sockets. it's fear that keeps me from lighting fires in petrol stations, extinguishing said flames with my bare hands, trying to 'fly' off the roofs of tall buildings (with or without cape), and a host of other life span shortening activities.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>good old fashion fear. but, and let us be clear about this...I'm not talking about the paralysing fear that causes courage to wither, halts all progress and stunts development. I'm not talking about the yellow streak of cowardice that lurks beneath the most macho displays of bravado. and I'm hoping you're not confusing this with the fear that retaliates without concern, lashes out without control, preys on the vulnerable and feeds on the weak.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>what I'm talking about, the fear I hope we can all cultivate, is probably better translated as reverence. it's a word that's fallen out of favour and a concept regarded as dated in our times. websters dictionary defines reverence as "honour or respect felt or shown" and I guess my point is if we carried a little of it around for the people we meet, the work we do and the lives we live, things might be just a little different. if we were all to consider our spheres of influence, immediate and long term, the repercussions of our actions, trivial and considered, and the futures we are presently in the process of creating...maybe, just maybe we'd do things differently. </div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>so politicians, take a little fear with you to work, it might keep you honest. soldiers, take a little fear with you into the field, it might keep you alive. police officers, fire fighters, doctors and nurses, take a little fear with you in to the office, you might save a life. and you, teachers, writers, musicians and artists, take a little fear with you to work because you shape the days we live in. but above all, parents, take a little fear with you wherever you go, and you might just change the world.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Fear has it's uses, cowardice has none"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~ Mahatma Ghandi</i></div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-14768136787136784352010-09-01T00:17:00.000+01:002010-10-06T12:35:57.729+01:00....so soon?<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: black; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 8px; margin-right: 8px; margin-top: 8px;"><div>home invasion,</div><div>too much sunlight much too early,</div><div>eyes nearly open,</div><div>vision still clouded, doubled and blurry.</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>pain shooting through legs</div><div>ears ringing and head sore</div><div>then it hits you, like a pro ball player swinging a 2x4</div><div>damn...</div><div><br clear="none" /></div><div>it's the morning after the night before.</div></div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-24189683190568014882010-07-22T08:58:00.001+01:002012-02-24T13:06:58.612+00:00you arethe dream I cling to in the waking moments, the limbo moments, the moments in between moments when reality is at it's faintest, it's thinnest, as yet undefined, as yet unadulterated by the stuff of being<br />
<br />
...as yet perfect.<br />
<br />
the air I breathe, the gasping breath, the rasping breath, the life giving breath tasted much more than felt, like honey to the tongue, golden sweet to the eye, like silk to the touch, rich and sultry to the skin<br />
<br />
...like beauty unspoiled.<br />
<br />
the earth beneath my feet, the birthing place and final rest, the foundation and fount of sustenance, more than the heady heights and the darkest depths, more than the cacophony of colour and the simplicity of still nothingness, more than words, layered and complex, more than sound, soothing the savage soul<br />
<br />
...more than the sum of all alls.<br />
<br />
<div>
<br clear="none" /></div>
<div>
you are</div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-79742791814007882672010-06-15T21:47:00.002+01:002010-06-16T01:03:49.987+01:00hopeThere is something to be said of hope.<br />
That inspirer of creativity,<br />
lifter of heads and<br />
fuel for fire in the engine of change.<br />
<br />
There is something to be said of hope.<br />
That uncanny shaper of fates,<br />
transformer of hearts and<br />
source of grace notes with which the grey and solemn march of life is beautified.<br />
<br />
There is something to be said of hope.<br />
That sweetener of the sourest fortune,<br />
lens through which every silver lining is found and<br />
ceaseless caretaker in the orchard where dreams are nurtured.<br />
<br />
There is something to be said of hope.<br />
In a people desperately seeking it,<br />
in hearts whose stores have run dry<br />
to vision grown dim by disappointment.<br />
<br />
There is indeed something to be said.<br />
But the better things are often known yet,<br />
rarely spoken enough. <br />
<br />
...have hopejoe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-76789515161791717042010-05-06T08:54:00.003+01:002010-05-16T00:14:58.758+01:00she<div><br /></div><div>There are only so many reasons to do anything. Correction, there is only ever one reason to do anything. Desire. Everything after that is nothing more than purest moonshine. The plethora of excuses, explanations, rationales and whatnot that mankind has, throughout civilization, employed to mask this, our base motivation, is a testament to nothing more than our equal loves of fantasy and social acceptance. Since Adam, juice stains on his lips and sin in his belly, attempted to deceive the Almighty, Man has schemed to hide his desire. Often the delicacy of the cover up rivals even the intensity of the initial compulsion, but rest assured, at the foundation of any conscious action are the co joined twin offspring of Desire. I Want and I Need. Insatiable, omnivorous and never resting they devour, demand and dictate.</div><div><br /></div><div>I say all that because I need to you to know that I am no angel. My writing for you today is by no means some act of altruistic benevolence. Not in the purist sense at least which, if the above is to be believed, never truly happens anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>Every good story deserves a beginning and most good story tellers will admit that that is rarely where any good story actually starts. With that in mind I will attempt to be as forthright with you as possible and cut straight to the wick. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love her.</div><div><br /></div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-26188633497856311052010-05-05T00:27:00.002+01:002012-11-13T02:40:35.353+00:00days<div><br />
</div><div>there are good days and there are bad,</div><div>there are easy days and there are hard.</div><div><br />
</div><div>there are moments of pure emotion,</div><div>my eyes well up and the heart swells,</div><div>my pulse races and thoughts disappear into mist even before being fully formed.</div><div>those times when I would run to the moon hoping to shed myself, </div><div>when I would gather the clouds around to hide from the intensity of my own inward gaze.</div><div><br />
</div><div>there are times when sorrow masks itself with laughter,</div><div>a smile hanging loosely like a neon sign outside a derelict shopping district</div><div>a playful chuckle standing as sombre sentry</div><div>keeping watch over the true feelings buried deep within</div><div><br />
</div><div>there are fragments filled with such an immensity of activity</div><div>that finding the time to do anything is in itself a feat,</div><div>these days when the hands work so that mind will not,</div><div>the body is engaged in hopes that the heart be distracted</div><div><br />
</div><div>but there are always </div><div>choruses and verses,</div><div>places, both real and dreamt,</div><div>words and sounds,</div><div>sunrises and sunsets</div><div><br />
</div><div>all of these things and a dozen beside</div><div>that remind me just how much</div><div><br />
</div><div>imissu</div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-89542065939927936022010-05-01T13:28:00.007+01:002010-05-15T23:42:22.246+01:00the fight<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JS0UHMBntQk/S9wxn_FKqwI/AAAAAAAAAOo/s9cixdhyaTs/s1600/images.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 136px; height: 212px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_JS0UHMBntQk/S9wxn_FKqwI/AAAAAAAAAOo/s9cixdhyaTs/s400/images.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466298610738703106" /></a>fight, because there are things in life worth it.<br /><div style="text-align: left;">there are dreams that will not rest unfulfilled,</div><div style="text-align: left;">passions that cannot desist.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">fight, because there are battles that must be fought,</div><div style="text-align: left;">even if lost. there is victory in the losing,</div><div style="text-align: left;">there is honour in believing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">fight, because time indeed will tell</div><div style="text-align: left;">and now is the only story we can write</div><div style="text-align: left;">and the tomorrow will always remember</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">fight, because there will not always be the chance</div><div style="text-align: left;">fight, because when it's time to let go, </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">it simply is.</div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-28216555476330903492010-03-09T08:44:00.004+00:002010-03-09T09:00:51.485+00:00sleep writingI write my best poetry when I'm asleep.<div>pioneering paths through the uncharted unconscious</div><div>I plot wordy insurrection</div><div>overthrowing tyrannical grammatical conventions</div><div>deeply rooted inventions, created through subconscious retention</div><div><br /></div><div>Or so I'm told....</div><div><br /></div><div>I write my best poetry when I'm asleep.</div><div>the shoemaker's elves working like dwarves in a mine</div><div>but from it's the mine of my unaware mind </div><div>that they chisel out the gems I don't speak.</div><div><br /></div><div>I write my best poetry when I'm asleep.</div><div>those few precious hours rest are</div><div>where I display my art</div><div>for an audience of none or </div><div>as many as my dream may hold captive</div><div><br /></div><div>I write my best poetry when I'm asleep.</div><div>words woven like silken silver, </div><div>dancing in moonshine, ethereal like.</div><div>and only the faintest glimmers remain,</div><div>once the consciousness takes hold.</div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-26501463276568785742010-01-28T08:26:00.007+00:002010-01-30T13:45:20.897+00:00...in timeif in our time I could teach you one thing,<br />if I could speak this into the heart of your being and<br />sew this truth into the fabric of your self<br /><br />I would this one thing impart.<br /><br />in all your getting, get patience<br />learn to wait with forbearance<br />and bide time with grace.<br /><br />in all your taking, take endurance<br />for the race is not given to the swift or<br />the strong but one who with tolerance for hardship<br />completes it all<br /><br />in all your growing, grow fortitude.<br />see the beauty deeply rooted in anticipation,<br />the glories to be found in silent meditation.<br /><br />more is grown under duress than in plenty<br />and more is to gain from contemplative stillness<br />than ever a flurry of activity could achieve<br /><br />we are built for eternity you and I.<br />and thus a time for everything<br />and everything<br />in time.joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-45516105353444270352010-01-20T08:34:00.003+00:002010-01-20T08:55:40.230+00:00famous......last words of a dying dream.<br /><br />I lean in to catch the slightest whisper,<br />breathing laboured, face drained of life,<br />body ravaged by anxiety and disappointments looming<br /><br />I see your lips move, sound visibly struggling to escape<br />only the finest gossamer thread of hope holding body and spirit together<br /><br />panic clutches my heart as I recognise the familiar<br />glossing over of the eyes, focussing on the middle distance<br /><br />you gather the last of your strength and beckon me close<br />and say,<br /><br /><br />"I'm sorry, I've found someone new"joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1144027995248738016.post-70058555492522500592010-01-04T10:15:00.012+00:002010-09-14T22:40:24.493+01:00pondering yesterdays<div style="text-align: center;">alas,</div><div style="text-align: center;">here we find ourselves,</div><div style="text-align: center;">toes dipped in the streams of time,</div><div style="text-align: center;">forever flowing from eternity past</div><div style="text-align: center;">into the eternal to come.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">here we sit,</div><div style="text-align: center;">astride the lumbering behemoth,</div><div style="text-align: center;">named Present,</div><div style="text-align: center;">stalking the elusive Future</div><div style="text-align: center;">forging History with every ponderous step.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">my friend,</div><div style="text-align: center;">a word to the wise is sufficient,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and a seed planted in season will bear fruit.</div><div style="text-align: center;">like cool water on cracked lips</div><div style="text-align: center;">and warmth of heart and hearth</div><div style="text-align: center;">is guidance to those attuned to</div><div style="text-align: center;">discernments whisper.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">let tomorrow not be clumsily crafted</div><div style="text-align: center;">by ignorance</div><div style="text-align: center;">hearts turned by disillusionment</div><div style="text-align: center;">our roads paved with fear</div><div style="text-align: center;">and our streets lined with anger and it's offspring</div><div style="text-align: center;">despair</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">pondering yesterdays,</div><div style="text-align: center;">let us learn from where we have been</div><div style="text-align: center;">so that we may grow into the better thing</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div align="center">"We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid"</div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>~ Benjamin Franklin</em></div>joe ordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00130989674947236361noreply@blogger.com3