Deep down inside

Apparently I talk a lot. I'm not sure why.
Once I start there's always a compulsion to keep going...and going...and going.
Bubbling up within me, like a constantly growing, slowly emerging, overwhelming...thing

I know deep down inside there are things I really want you to know.
The things that make me tick,
The colours that flash brilliantly, crystalline clear when I think of you,
But reduce to blubbering nonsense when I open my mouth

I want you to know that the sound of your laugh
Is food for my spirit, light to my soul
The world to me.

There's a part of me I want desperately to share with you.
I can almost hear the clock ticking,
My time running out.
We are finite and our moments fleeting
But know this,

While my tongue may struggle to form the words
Deep down inside my heart does not falter
And I will never let go of your hand

Fear, pride and other mind altering drugs, pt.1

I 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.

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.

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.

And you, you are my love and you, love, are precious to me.

behold what complacence has wrought

I'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.

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,

      "Black History Month, what a complete waste of time"

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.


-peace-

how pathetic...

I am pathetic,
but, you see, I embrace pathetic.

I am pathetic because I don't mind admitting that I am not self sustaining.
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.

I don't mind pathetic because I refuse to buy into the macho myth.
I refuse to throw myself headlong into a perpetual state of callous indifference.
I refuse to divorce myself from my heart.

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...

and to lose that...would have to be the hardest thing of all

what'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?

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?

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.

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?

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?

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?

ignore me for a minute...

ignore me for a minute while I laugh over the pain
ignore me hiding my tear stained sleeve in my pockets
my red rimmed eyes behind shades
my wounded heart with too many toothy grins

ignore me for a minute I said, the warmth of your care burns me so
ignore me being evasive, flinching from your concern
searing my feigned indifference like acid
making a liar of my trying too hard not to tremble lips

ignore me for a minute, just one or two, while I drown my sorrows in song
ignore me in my façade and join in my masquerade
my parade of grand illusions to cover
my dreams now bruised, battered and raw

ignore me for a minute while I gather myself
ignore me grasping for the fragmented remains
the shattered 'could-have-been's
the scattered 'use-to-be's

the things that made
nevermind
just ignore me...

hope

There is something to be said of hope.
That inspirer of creativity,
lifter of heads and
fuel for fire in the engine of change.

There is something to be said of hope.
That uncanny shaper of fates,
transformer of hearts and
source of grace notes with which the grey and solemn march of life is beautified.

There is something to be said of hope.
That sweetener of the sourest fortune,
lens through which every silver lining is found and
ceaseless caretaker in the orchard where dreams are nurtured.

There is something to be said of hope.
In a people desperately seeking it,
in hearts whose stores have run dry
to vision grown dim by disappointment.

There is indeed something to be said.
But the better things are often known yet,
rarely spoken enough.    

...have hope

days

there are good days and there are bad,

there are easy days and there are hard.

there are moments of pure emotion,

my eyes well up and the heart swells,

my pulse races and thoughts disappear into mist even before being fully formed.

those times when I would run to the moon hoping to shed myself,

when I would gather the clouds around to hide from the intensity of my own inward gaze.

there are times when sorrow masks itself with laughter,

a smile hanging loosely like a neon sign outside a derelict shopping district

a playful chuckle standing as sombre sentry

keeping watch over the true feelings buried deep within

there are fragments filled with such an immensity of activity

that finding the time to do anything is in itself a feat,

these days when the hands work so that mind will not,

the body is engaged in hopes that the heart be distracted

but there are always

choruses and verses,

places, both real and dreamt,

words and sounds,

sunrises and sunsets

all of these things and a dozen beside

that remind me just how much

imissu

the fight

fight, because there are things in life worth it.

there are dreams that will not rest unfulfilled,

passions that cannot desist.

fight, because there are battles that must be fought,

even if lost. there is victory in the losing,

there is honour in believing.

fight, because time indeed will tell

and now is the only story we can write

and the tomorrow will always remember

fight, because there will not always be the chance

fight, because when it's time to let go,

it simply is.

pondering yesterdays

alas,

here we find ourselves,

toes dipped in the streams of time,

forever flowing from eternity past

into the eternal to come.

here we sit,

astride the lumbering behemoth,

named Present,

stalking the elusive Future

forging History with every ponderous step.

my friend,

a word to the wise is sufficient,

and a seed planted in season will bear fruit.

like cool water on cracked lips

and warmth of heart and hearth

is guidance to those attuned to

discernments whisper.

let tomorrow not be clumsily crafted

by ignorance

hearts turned by disillusionment

our roads paved with fear

and our streets lined with anger and it's offspring

despair

pondering yesterdays,

let us learn from where we have been

so that we may grow into the better thing

"We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid"

~ Benjamin Franklin

on integrity

"One of the truest tests of integrity is its

blunt refusal to be compromised"

~ Chinua Achebe

integrity. it's an unpopular concept at the best of times. the thought that who we are all the time is an integral part of everything we do all the time seems to strike an uncomfortable nerve. given the nature of the subject matter it touches on every person you and I know and a few highly publicized names will, without a doubt, come to mind.

with that said, and though it may be hard to believe, I'm not writing with a certain pro golfer (how is that even a sport?) in mind. I'm thinking of teachers.

these wardens of the future, these gate keepers of knowledge, these sherpas along the treacherous road to enlightenment surely they, of all people, should be held to a level of integrity.

the educator in question shares tales of books bought, photocopied then returned to the bookstore with glee and pride. as though, somehow, defrauding an institution for personal gain is to be applauded. really? though, we would hope, this is not what will be taught in classrooms, what ethics can such a person impart? how just will this person be to our youngsters when opportunistic dishonesty is held in high regard?


now, I've been a student and it isn't easy. I've bought books that cost more than I care to admit. I've spent more time in libraries than can possibly do my street cred any good. but this isn't sour grapes. no, this is me honestly asking, when one child takes advantage of the others good nature, when the cunning one pulls the wool over the kind ones eyes, will this teacher do the right thing? better yet, will this teacher know a wrong thing has been done?

as I search myself for personal application it's clear that there are areas where work is needed, some more urgent than others but all important. and by the same token, I'm throwing it out to you as a wider audience. do we do as we say, and if so, is it something we'd be happy for others to follow?

"It's not what we eat but what we digest that makes us strong; not what we gain but what we save that makes us rich; not what we read but what we remember that makes us learned; and not what we profess but what we practice that gives us integrity"

~ Sir Francis Bacon

for what is in a name...

there is great potential in words. within them lie the power of life and death. with them we attempt to capture the truest essence of a thing, animate or otherwise. we draw them from the clear air and form the corporeal stuff of the everyday.

it is with appreciation for this that I want to thank my parents. though they have never explicitly taught me this from their example I have gleaned much.

you see, I am named for the ancients, named for the numberless stars and mysteries secreted within the bowels of the earth. born of a time unfettered by memory, before forgetting begun. carved into walls of archaic tombs and murmured in awe struck reverence by the wise and uninitiated alike. long before the advent of script and spoken by drums over miles it was a title, to be earned, an honour, to be bestowed and a reputation not easily garnered.

for me it has been a responsibility and a burden but also a challenge. and while I may at times fail spectacularly, I thank my parents for the initial faith they showed.

the last day

we would wander through a nearby field with our shoes off. hand in hand, grass and poppies between our toes, we would listen to a distant stream gurgling over time smoothed stones like a new born with a favourite toy.

invoking the ancient powers of the storyteller we would bring cloud shapes to life and they would join us for lunch under the shade of a friendly acorn tree.

we would feast on the pure light of joy, filling ourselves with laughter and smiles. we would spend the afternoon contemplating the deep wonders of the daisy chain, mediating to the quiet melody of bird call in early autumn.

yeah, if today was my last I definitely wouldn't be at work

in the garden

once again the writer ponders.

once again he contemplates late into the when grasping for the how with which to form the why that is all that is.

clock face solemn, hands in clasped as if in reverent prayer, a devout acolyte pronouncing a salaam for the new day, a silent greeting for new beginnings of old tales.

the writer, head bowed in awe of the moment, eyes closed to better see the inner developing of ideas, the coming to fruition of hidden thoughts, the quiet murmurings of the unknown growing in unseen places, begins.

he carefully plucks a fully ripened concept. one moment casting an expert eye for the signs of potency found deep within, the next shaking it, to test for fullness and robustness. he sheds the skin of aimless chatter to make more readily available the rich fruit of cogitation beneath the surface.

in this fruit he sees deliberation and debate, he sees received knowledge tested and new ground broken, he sees fresh life breathed into jaded dreamers and walls broken down in archaic minds. he meditates before this fruit of reflection, the ripened seed of revolution and he breathes deeply of its aroma.

he breathes deeply, drinks fully and sinking his teeth into the possibility of what could be...

he writes

parting

a knot in my chest. a lump in my throat. lips pursed on the cusp of trembling and a tear on the verge of fullness.



clouds weeping like saddened angels on the day of rebellion. sky shuddering under the weight of thunderous sobs yet to be born. shards of lightening providing momentary glimpses into the sorrow.



a knot in my chest. a lump in my throat. a hole in my heart.



goodbye

pondering blues

I am blue
blue like the moodiest shades of miles,
laid heavy over the melancholy tones of holiday.

blue like purest sapphire soaked in a cloudless autumnal night.
nights, blackened navy, untainted by celestial jewels.
I am blue.

this blueness, drawn from deeper wells of being,
not like the violent reds of anger, demanding attention
or radiant yellows of bliss, glowing for the benefit of many

it is an introspective blue, a contemplative hue, simple and understated,
I am blue.

on imposition

a friend once asked if I thought she should tell her son about her beliefs. her problem, as she saw it, was that by imposing her views onto the child, 10 years old, she would inhibit him from making reasoned choices later in life. conversely, if she chose not to share with him he would be in a better position to consider all options when and if he got around to making up his own mind.

I am in the habit of speaking plainly with most of the people I know and have to admit, on this occasion, I may have used derisive sarcasm to emphasize my point somewhat, but the main gist was as follows...."bull!"

as a parent your very role is an imposition. you tell the child when to go to bed, when to wake up, what to wear(and increasingly) how to wear it, what to eat, how to eat it, sometimes who to talk to, often who to listen to, how to walk, how to talk, what they will and will not do in supermarket aisles, school playgrounds, roads of all sizes and parks. You demand from them certain behaviours as are in keeping with societal standards and your own. you insist they follow the laws of the land with the hope that they continue to do so as they grow older. all of this and more is not only your right, it is your responsibility.

so I suppose then the real question is this...do you believe that your beliefs are important, relevant, or even true? because when you get down to it, that's all that matters.

the child will always make a choice. you don't teach them to lie, you even encourage them not to, so you can't really hide behind that. there will be choosing.

and there will be imposition, I think I've made that clear. but there is this to consider also. what you don't tell a child sends a loud message too. not challenging littering when you tore him a new one over swearing says that littering is not important. ignoring selfishness when you routinely punish him for fighting says the same.

doing away with the smoke screens and the excuses the only real question is...do I really believe or do I just tick the box and hope no one asks?

and that's one I can't really help with.

teaching by numbers

so I work with children...

some would argue that it's a step up from the world of knuckle dragging , mono browed avarice but you'd be surprised. don't get me wrong, there's a sense of 'giving back' that pushing paper and counting coins didn't provide but school, education, learning....this is big business.

I don't suppose many people realise that education in several London boroughs is contracted out to firms with very little experience in actual teaching, much less interfacing with younglings. Take, for example, the considerable corporate mass that is the fleet constructing, army training, waste recycling, nuclear decommissioning (the list goes on) Group that presently holds the contract for delivering education to young people in Waltham Forest.

Maybe there's a lot I don't understand and undoubtedly there are huge swathes of information that I do not have privy to but I remain unconvinced that these well meaning business people are best suited to do this job.

Spending each day in classroom I am constantly growing a new and deeper appreciation of what it means to succeed. I say this because no one ventures into business without carefully considering what they would find a successful result. but, and this is where it gets interesting, what counts as success for the average nuclear decommissioning company probably differs greatly to what any one of my teacher colleagues would recognise by the same name, not to mention the children.

you see, money is not and cannot be our bottom line. as my father would say 'teaching is a noble vocation'. of course he what he means by that is that one would have to be incredibly self-sacrificing (or at the very least, nuttier than squirrel shit in a peanut factory) to try it. he was a teacher for 20 years before making this declaration...and he's not very self sacrificing, but that's another rant altogether. I guess the point I'm trying to make is this, the bottom line is the children. yes, schools don't run of smilie faces and polite nods, but when we start seeing little pound signs running around playgrounds and stop seeing individuals with often more hardships than hopes, more disappointments than dreams and more afflictions than aspirations then that's when we ought to step out of teaching and perhaps, maybe...consider banking.

do you believe in karma?

I got stopped the other day by a girl wanting me to sign up to some charity. now I'm a fairly charitable person...but at the same time I'm broke, not only am I broke...I foresee myself being broke for some time to come. I don't really have a problem with this, in fact, I'm pretty chilled about it but it does mean I really oughtn't be giving away any new money on a regular basis.

when I tried to explain this to the eager charity worker she countered with 'do you believe in karma?' didn't take me too long to say no. I don't believe in very much to be honest and karma never did appeal to me.

but the question has stuck with me. days later I'm asking myself, what did she mean by karma? I mean, I believe in actions and consequence and if she meant that then we've pretty much agreed but if she meant that when you do good things, then good things come back to you...in a kind of cosmic balancing act where all things exist in equal portions and reality as we know it is constantly in a battle to maintain its own equilibrium...then I ain't buying it.

if somebody out there can pin down what exactly karma is then please let me know. the way I see it, good things happen to bad people all day (and double on the weekends) where's the delicate balance then? and what about bad stuff happening to good folks? where's the karma in that?

I'm gonna get personal with this one because I know I say some cruel stuff sometimes. I've been known to be mean to vertically challenged people, sarcastic and not especially kind to domesticated quadrupeds amongst other short comings. but what karma says to me is that one day, bad things will happen to me as a result. period. well....what happened to grace? ya see, in my book grace doesn't give you what you deserve and mercy gives you what you couldn't earn.

I guess that's my main problem with karma. as far as quasi religious theories go I have to say that "shit happens" works much better for me. with karma there's no room for accidents. there's no understanding of mistakes. the human is elevated to a state of infallibility that no wrong doing can be forgiven and punishment looms over us all. that's a harsh way to live. besides, if I'm only doing 'good' stuff so that 'good' stuff can happen to me (I call that "the santa syndrome") then surely that doesn't count. does karma differentiate between actions and motivations??

no charity worker lady, I don't believe in karma. but can I ask you something as you stand there collecting money for unfortunate children who are beaten, abused and abandoned, the cancer patient who may never see their childs wedding day or even the mentally challenged, daily facing an onslaught we could never imagine, a war in their minds we could never begin to comprehend? if you believe in karma.....what did they do?

how's that for enlightenment?

so let me make sure I'm understanding this....

a professor of education has stepped down from his position within the british academy of science...because he urged teachers to be prepared to discuss and debate the relative benefits and possible weaknesses of a theoretical explanation to our existence?

so basically, science has won a battle over curiosity. well done science! no longer will you be subject to the whims and fancies of the inquisitive. no longer will you be goaded into reaching further and further into the unknown. no longer will you be held responsible for the enlightenment of minds and the broadening of horizons.

finally, the search has ended, science has found out everything it has ever wanted to know and is content to simply congeal in its superiority, mold over and turn into dogma.

I'll come back to dogma in a bit, bugbear of mine that it is, but I have to ask...isn't debate and discussion, exploration and exposition the very foundation of science? isn't science about knowing clearly the dark mysteries of the universe? isn't the point of science to prove without a doubt that which defunct tradition, age old ignorance and (dogmatic) superstition have kept locked away?

surely if children go to school with errant beliefs and misguided convictions it is the teachers responsibility to educate them, but you'll catch a lot more flies with honey than with vinegar, and to suggest that teachers not be prepared to talk about creationism in it's various forms is to deprive students the opportunity to grow in their ability to think and deny science the ability to grow in it's understanding of the world around us.

it amazes me that when religious groups become this defensive about their deeply held beliefs the question always arises...."if you're so sure of what you know then why can't you debate it?"

well, I put that same question to the cowards at the Royal Society, and the relevant education authorities...if you're so sure, then why can't a child ask a question and expect a reasonable, fair and dare I say, educated, response from a teacher?

so the religion of the day is science. it's dogma shall not be questioned and it's decrees are absolute. it's prophets, adorned in the priestly robes of the high office of the lab tech, speak with the unerring voice of those truly attuned to the whispers of purest knowledge. and we, simpletons and plebs, the unwashed masses dare not contradict.

how's that for enlightenment?