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May 19th, 2009
Let me tell you about David
David was a kid I used to play with
back in Primary School we used to end our days with
high 5’s
raise a Tip-Top to future lives
choose our favourite members of 5-Star for our future wives
we both had sisters bout the same age
both had family coming here from overseas
the demographic same page
same rage
in our heads from lack of role-model
neither of us shut out
neither one molly-coddled
tight
taking turns for staying overnight
staying up late talking bout what the future might yield
him with the sword
me with the shield
spit on the palm the friendship was sealed
we hit 11 and we split
moved house, new crowd, new school
the same normal shit
next time I saw him we were 17 taking a hit
house party cheap booze and weed the full bit
he told me bout his brand new Nova with full kit
had a laugh remember we could both do the full splits
a weak moustache on top lip
above a broad smile lifting kiwi 20/20 full sip
he said he didn’t do exams
obviously the weight of expectation didn’t fit into his plans
he’d rather do stuff with his hands
said he had plans to lay brick, squeeze tits and sip cans
I told him I was off to college to learn
he told me he was off to the car park to burn
and just like that he was gone
the guy who helped me put my Batman suit on
is now a new poem
I blink and I’m 21
back home, fully grown, running and studying all done
life lessons mixed in with fun
that’s all good and well but when it comes to the plans
I’ve got none
man I’ve got the wallet of a nun
my mind is confused my body bruised and abused my head spun
pub
couple of Guinness and cheap grub
out on the street I feel the base of a real sub
woofer
guess who it is, he calls my name
he looks completely different yet some how the same
we play the idle chit-chat game
then he tells me to get in and pulls off rubber and raw flame
‘Oh you’re smart now? Can pick my simple mind apart now?
lifting up the seat, get out the bath to fart now?’
I stay shut
and fight the angry feeling in my gut
the truth is the pair of us are plainly in a rut
two paths, a few laughs, equal shares of skids
he pulls out his wallet and shows me his 2 kids
‘Jesus Dave, you’re a dad. Who’s the mother?’
‘One with the first girl, next with another’
I’m feeling like a copper undercover
out of place, but somehow like this guy’s my own brother and
man it’s not even a thing
whatever we’ve done since we both have our wounds that still sting
I still keep my father’s ring and David?
David still worries about what flowers to bring
‘Pop in the tape lets have a sing. Remember this old thing?’
‘STOP!’
‘What?’
‘Hammer Time!’
we cruise around the old streets
first kiss, first spliff, shop where the pair of us stole sweets
I get to thinking these are the beats to people’s lives
me still searching for something to feel alive
David just got out of ‘The Green’ on 3-5
and as I get out the car
I blink and I’m 25.
so you blink and you’re 25
and you’ve forgotten many things that used to make you feel alive
open you’re eyes you’re 35, with little lives
that you now have to love provide and guide
turn around you’re 45, and a woman who used to be an angel is lying by your side
blink twice you’re 55, 65, and it seems like things move too quickly for your eyes
they say it’s the foolish man who tries to fight the bright light that appears
through the grey of stormy skies
through all the secrets and the lies
you start to realise
a knowledge of self is true wise
© Polarbear 2009
May 19th, 2009
Everything looks smaller from above
As soap suds dance around my toes towards the plug
That’s what I’m thinking
And maybe the hair on my big toe that I was totally unaware of
means I’m a man
I used to pretend they were hands
that big toe was opposable as I tried to pick up the remote control to turn the telly over from Supergran
Thinking about it now it seemed like I was bare foot pretty much all the time.
With my eyes closed I could tell where I was by what I could feel with my feet
The cold tiles of the hall were the shark-infested waters and the start of the living room carpet marked the beginning of land
there were thirteen stairs in our house by day but one disappeared at night
Thanks to my Fantastic Facts annual I know that the average person walks 10,000 steps in a day give or take the days when you make it to the end of your street and realise you forgot your keys
Which means that by the time we die we’ve taken enough steps to walk around the world four times
Which you couldn’t really do because of the sea
Getting dressed now I notice I have an order to how I do it and it’s my feet that I leave til last
Pants then jeans then T-shirt and only then socks
I think back to how we had to take our shoes off for assembly in the gym and somehow it always fell on the one day I had a sock with a hole in and the fear of somebody seeing and me being that kid with the holey socks til the fifth year
I’d roll the cotton over my toes so the hole stayed underneath and shuffle to my seat
Thanks to beat street and wild style it was decided that the reason feet were invented was for dancing and displaying trainers
And if you had bad trainers you were famous for all the wrong reasons
I really believed that the right trainers made me faster. That I had to have them. But the umpteen detailed explanations and numerous ensuing tantrums didn’t convince my mom.
There’s nothing wrong with the ones you’ve got on are words that still feel like a balloon deflating.
When you met someone the first thing you looked at was their feet. Like two pieces of personality at the end of their legs.
These days I’m more appreciation than need. But it’s still exciting to smell the silica gel in a new box.
As I leave the house. I remember sitting in dad’s footprint in the snow.
Driving the hole like a car as he shovelled coal in a bucket.
Standing with him on the terraces weaving between a sea of screaming strangers feet to get nearer to my heroes.
Someone put your foot on it.
The feet of these twenty two men meaning the difference between a grey week at work or the belief in dreams.
I think of running. Not running for the bus or to catch that train
running just to run.
It always seemed like the easiest way to get between places.
It was so easy it was funny
Go to the shop for me Steven. No
I’ll time you. Ok give me the money.
I pass an old man in the street. The pace of his steps means I leave him behind.
One day that’ll happen to mine and I’ll find myself remembering the times when I could dance up a sweat or get from here to there without thinking.
So I slow down.
I’m already late for work so a few minutes more won’t hurt
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
Your mouth moves
and I notice little grooves above your lip
my mind slips and
I’m a desert
a baron million miles
a billion smiles of hollow glass teeth
beggar belief while
violent undercurrents pass beneath
irrigation
there is no play at this station
my feet rigid with concrete
a negative beat makes the pessimist in me complete
as I eat
bad news
drenched in white noise
girls and boys let’s have a warm hand
for young, bold, cold-souled soldier
toe to toe with the only older ever known
grown ten fold emotional holder
so I told her.
touch me, so when your eyes close you don’t lose me
choose me, so when the sun comes up you won’t use me
man I’ll get a whole troop of girl scouts to beat box
and have em spittin an unwritten rhythm
so fittin and deep the whole street rocks
and to this beat
I’ll relay through wordplay
a new verse written with the warm air
you exhale as you are sleeping
my pen weeping
leaves letter shaped foot prints on the page
and even the caged bird
is struck mute by your beauty
the sweet fruit that suits me like passion
holding like it’s going out of fashion
Imagine
we know more about moon surface than seabed
and 16 times more about seabed
than I ever could about this feeling
my body reeling
and if I were able, I’d make my naval a portal
to release this gut emotion through a cable
straight to yours Pause
shared cause
fingers intertwined we’ll open doors.
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
Day breaks,
at a pace that makes the face ache
and just for his faiths sake, he tries to stay calm
he looks down at his young mans hands and at his arms
and remembers a time when they seemed so much smaller
outside its grey and as the rain beats a rhythm on the window pane
inside feels just the same
he remembers the game he used to play
at home on his own
racing the rain drops to the edge of the glass
back then he only had to ask
any questions
was always someone inside who seemed to have the answers
in that house, that smelt of fresh pumpkin
fried dumpling, beans and Saturday cartoons
old tunes, Lee Perry and James Brown
when Soul II Soul came round he was rocking a fade,
Super Mario got played and played
like the hand-me-down jungle tapes
his brother gave him from raves
everything was simple and nice, Granddad’s advice
Nanna cookin peas and rice for 10 children
cousins did the running man and whether it was sunny out and hot or not,
it never really mattered
first time he ever got battered by four kids
or on 4 quids worth of Tennents Super
shared with James Cooper
both times he got the same feeling
that all he wanted to be was back inside home
inside, nothing could hurt him, the fortress
Castle Greyskull with mom as the Sorceress
of course, things changed
people died, people left, people lied some turned strange
outside became home
2 steps from fully grown,
running with a crew but in truth all alone
sitting in the park hitting spliffs and getting high
not really fitting in, but not really knowing why
different, only thing in common was boredom
keeping score of how many lips and trips they’d had
it went bad, the same old role play
picking up the dole pay and smoking to find home
inside and outside got blurred
so when he got hurt the only places to go
were the dark rooms
now he’s sitting in, going out less and less
smoking sess got in a mess internal voices
blames himself for bad choices and
with only himself to convince it’s a sinch to hear voices
no outside inside became both
one minute haven, next second a nightmare
the whole world is right there
one third of an inch of that same glass is now too much to ask
now it’s grey on both sides
and nothing tastes worse in this world than wasted time.
at this point the narrator steps up out of the paper and slaps his face to wake himself its now 10 years later
days rolled like snow, avalanches of years
tears run off flushed cheeks and drown in his beers
it appears that things change and people move on
but if you just squint your eyes that perception is wrong
inside to outside it’s nobody’s choice
but what better way of getting out, than using my voice
from inside me to outside then inside you
from inside me to outside then inside you
© Polarbear 2009
May 19th, 2009
15 and I’m sparking a joint
in the park with the boys
chatting fart making noise
the girls are on a bench way over there in the distance
to put space between our best means of resistance
it’s getting dark and we all wanna kiss them
but we don’t have a clue what to do so we just kiss them
too embarrassed to talk it over
then John’s like, ‘hold on, somebody’s walking over’
oh no yo it’s two of the girls
other half of the species confusing our world
if they choose you it proves you’re mature to the world
fingers crossed in my pocket, foot’s moving the dirt
never sure whether they’re gonna smile or bite you
they walk right over like they’re ready to fight you
they both look at me and say Jessica likes you
my mind goes numb
my mouth’s like, ‘alright cool’
man let me tell you bout Jessica Brown
every single maths lesson I’ve been checking her out
there’s something in her eyes makes my chest wanna shout
and that freckle by the neck of her blouse I’m like, wow
turns out she’d been checking me too
and though I never asked her out she’d been expecting me to
so just for good measure extra pressure to boot
now my penalty’s up but am I ready to shoot?
at this point I know I’m supposed to follow em
and if anyone’s got kissing techniques, I wanna borrow em
I can’t swallow and the possible horror of tomorrow if I get it wrong’s
got me hollow I can’t breathe
man it’ll be worse if I run so I can’t leave
and I’ve got no control over the bones in my knees
my friends are egging me on
telling me I can’t leg it
man if you run now then you’ll regret it believe
next thing I know we’re in the middle of the park
her friends, my friends watch from afar
neither one of us is even sure where to start
the stars are coming out the whole park’s getting dark
she looks at me, my mind goes numb
and I try to fight the urge to just pull her hair and run
next thing I know her tongue’s touching my tongue
and I’m not sure if I’m doing it right but I’m like nice one
for some reason I’m closing my eyes
the whole park melts and we’re frozen in time
her hands on my shoulder I’m holding her side
then my hand goes down slowly strokes her behind
I don’t know why, what a joker am I?
Oh no in my mind, something’s poking her thigh
It’s not how it’s supposed to unfold I won’t lie
but she’s holding me tight just to show me its fine
this girl’s wicked and I wish we could kiss forever
I hear my name and I try not to listen
open my eyes I’m in the foetal position
on my bed, aged ten, not even dreaming of kissing
even getting into my clothes feels like a mission
but I smell fried dumpling from down in the kitchen
no television in my room like I’m wishing but there’s football to play
to the park’s my decision
Mom shouts up, ‘I hope you’ve got your vest on!’
and even though I know that I don’t I’m like, ‘Yes Mom!’
I know now its better never to test mom
forget TV detectives; believe she’s the best one
‘can’t stop Mom, kick off’s at 2’
‘Boy come back after 7 you’ll catch a lick off my shoe’
I smile as I leave Raleigh Burn up the street
two dumplin I’m eating too quickly to chew
“Welcome back to this 40-a-side, week-long grudge match,
the score is 34 all, Steve gets the ball, out on the right
cuts back inside, square ball to John
John goes to turn, the crowd shouts MAN ON!
pass back to Steve, who lets loose a shot you won’t believe
top right hand corner out of goalkeeper’s reach
the team goes mad PILE ON! behind the goal”
- man what’s the time? Twenty to nine?
I’m like oh
poo
racking my brain for an excuse
even though it’s no use I still choose to make one
Mom’ll take none, but I gotta say something
close the front door, can still smell the dumpling
can’t see mom, so I dump my stuff
just enough time to make tea and butter her up
‘what time do you call this?’
I don’t reply, just act surprised and close my eyes to get licked
but the licks don’t come
I stand struck dumb, count down from 5-1 then I
slowly open my eyes to my surprise I stand dressed smart I’m now 21
‘well done son’, mom gives me a hug
‘young man grown up, graduated and done’
she wears her best close and I don’t suppose
she know her son owes the man 10 grand for fun
but right now it don’t matter
as she’s sat chatting with Jess’s mom and dad over a cold platter
they’re all laughing how we’re still together
as we sit to the side with their wine, they get leathered
she looks amazing, better than I ever remember
in those lessons when she drove me crazy
she looks at me a little nod for maybe it’s time
that we should tell em that we’re having a baby
open my eyes I’m 29
my 8-year-old son wants to learn how to rhyme
standing at the foot of our bed and off the top of his head
he spits a flow showing perfect time
you know that deserves a smile, ok lets get dressed
brush your teeth and we’ll work on style
get your clothes on and don’t forget your vest lad
and even though I know that he won’t he’s like, ‘Yes Dad!’
a cup of tea in my mug that says Best Dad
more rhymes in the house? That’ll be driving Jess mad
she just smiles as she sips her tea and as I tickle her feet
he comes back with his best pad
ok, first thing, you must observe the time
a good flow is like a fossil it preserves the time
and the only thing of worth that you can learn from mine
is that the spaces between words deserves to shine
you gotta find your own style son
and if the flow feels right to you the rhyme’s done
sometimes looking back in time is good
cos some things don’t change as you find what you love
speak what you know, breathe deep as you flow
some people are gonna bite you to keep the light down
and they can say what they like, but when you’re gripping a mic
just make sure that you write for right now.
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
They say that John won’t get out
Never to be let out the box
Sat working at supermarket checkout
He lives alone, no phone in his place, they say it’s plain in his face
He’s too safe to stick his neck out Or even speak up and
In the weeks that lead up to his 29th Birthday Nobody knows
He rides the bus home in the rain
And the windowpane holds the whole world in it’s frame
Most days look the same
People at work call him ‘Whatsisname’ and talk under their breath
His head leans to the left as he thinks
And as he’s stacking the drinks the bottles clink like they know best
Gillian stares at everything,
from how light plays through raindrops to how rain drops through light
for her, the night releases reality
so fiction comes to play
as the bus sweeps through wet city streets
her mind begins to sway
-she sees raindrops falling lengthways
and storm clouds lined with gold
so when lightning comes
it comes sun coloured
so storms never seem cold
she sees a man whose head leans to the left
and this secret should be told,
-a man whose head leans to the left,
this secret should be told.
He talks with Miles Davis
and the spaces between notes hold enough gold
to float in confined spaces
on the faces of strangers
he sees the range of possible dangers
and while angels need faith
inner devils appear safest
certain places hold meaning and whether he sits reading
or indeed simply feeling the wind breathing
his reasons are his
and as sure as cuts bleed he just keeps feeding
the birds
with no words interfering with
his reason to live
the post hits the floor
and before he can get to the door
there is more light in the flat
than there ever was before
she’s a cross between a wide-eyed window
and an open door, all that bear breath
are welcomed to her floor
while scars of heart- torn
are surface-skin visible
the blue battered John seems
this side of reasonable and
hope has a habit of making
cold hearts seem warm and
the rain splattered window sitter
sparks a tiny flame on
- all Gill does is wish
that her scattered small thoughts-
forming a list of movements,
will gather, gain form,
start a fire in the mist…
the kettle begins to whistle,
there’s a stirring in the quite
miles from here Davis welcomes
the light fall’s form–
Once a year a card arrives
a well-known note posted to a broken life
it says she is almost five
and that they hope old cold feelings
can grow warm and learn to die
strange how it can burn to cry
and how in concrete shoes old news
can make him yearn to fly
he won’t try
to find them, long time now have they picked up any breadcrumbs behind them
the faded postmark tries to hide them
but truth be told he
let go hope long ago
and hot burns every knot
of the rope turned inside him
Outside schemes scrape
inside hymns, she bides her time right and tapes
a smile to her seams; brims bursting
to welcome John to come sing,
on a grey day when thunder claps ring,
a chance park passing and a casual glance’s seen
spots him on a bench, clothes and eyes drenched.
over light conversation and under dark clouds
Gill speaks in such conviction to make a braver man proud
- I’ve known no wall-breaker greater than a gentle ear
and John speaks, Gill listens, like a breath kissed his fears
New laughter – old smile reformed,
John’s voice song fuels that tiny flame’s burn
The clouds break formation and light comes stronger
A goodbye handshake held a small second longer
and Gill’s John hunger is quenched a little bit.
…
Where silences were once golden
wooden words have taken fit
perhaps the future unfolding
will speak with love’s wit…
It wasn’t supposed to happen
but deep down dreams like rabbits run fast
given a chance to dance after you trap them
a tap on the shoulder, a smile
unspoken token
sitting next to this girl who seemed to come
out of nowhere
from closed ended questions
to split second mental undressing her soft lines
reminded him of a long forgotten lesson
old eyes and every single gently dealt gem
made him melt into a park bench
for four years his best friend
he knew her
at least it seemed so and without
meaning to he forgot to put a lid on
the pieces of feeling he gave to her
stop.
the voice told him
and behold the cold ghost he knows
well can hold spell over every last hope
that was once chosen
never again. we can’t do it
you’ll open and show her
your corn soul and she’ll
throw her torch to it.
walk away
forget her mouth and the way
afternoon light played
with the back of her hands
and the strands that frame her face
safe
cos nothing is worth the hurt
of a blurred recurring day
knowing all you had to say
was stay
They say John won’t get out
never to be let out the box
sat working at supermarket checkout
he lives alone, no phone in his place
they say it’s plain in his face
he’s too safe to stick his neck out.
Copyright 2007 Polarbear & Inua Ellams
May 19th, 2009
The pieces of two people
sit on a sofa
either side untouched teas
sit on strategically placed coasters
each one breathes out when they’re supposed to
the way it’s always been
the whole scene
some sort of ‘could’ve been’ poster
One of them wears an out-of-date suit
while Billie Holliday’s ‘Strange Fruit’
stays on a loop
and seems to creep from the speakers
the 1970’s cabinet against the wall
holds little at all
two commemorative coronation plates and
a just unfinished bottle of ‘Teachers’
the other wears a blouse
that has never left the house
smells of mothballs and doubts
a twenty five year old present
her skin is tissue paper thin
as she sits a yard away from him
the space between
although unseen
has long been an ever present
Double-glazing keeps the streets away
a repeated defeated day
the grey screen of the TV retreats and they
don’t need it
the daily paper arrives they don’t read it
but to cancel it now seems too drastic a measure
if he feels bold
he might mention the weather
the tea’s cold and
without being told she’ll fetch another
so she does
and now the picture is moving
an old-age independent movie
in his head he calls her Susie
like he used to
in her beautiful ballroom outfit
can she remember?
he never doubts it
and for the times he feels to shout it
he smiles but
only once she has left the room
In the kitchen she lays teabags into cups
and puts
a spoon beside the sugar as she already has
three times today
she moves to the fridge in her slippers
inside there is milk, butter, kippers, four eggs and
an assortment of children’s chocolate bars
she checks the door
smiles then
towards the teacups pirouettes
thinks of vanilla flavour cigarettes
smoked through plastic holders like movie stars
as they sat next to the dance floor
resting
after testing the tea she
returns and the split second
before he sees her he stops
smiling as does she
outside through the window
there is a cricket bat against the wall
a half deflated ball, two Hoola-Hoops and beside the shed
a bike
‘I could fetch down those jigsaws if you like’
and his words throw colour on the walls
‘Now George’, she replies, ‘He’s only five. Those things say ages 8-12’
‘Well. We could help and when he’s ready he’ll do it himself. He learns fast
Just like his dad’
‘And his Granddad’, she says
as she bends at the knees
and places his tea neatly
on the coaster
he stands up and holds her
like he is supposed to
and in three hundred and sixty degrees
she sees herself
in his arms no older than 25
outside
the air is much colder
as they sigh
then sit back down on the sofa
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
It was the biggest argument
my sister and I
had ever heard
laying with our chins
feeling the rough carpet
on the top step
of the narrow staircase
We were silence
It began with Robocop
he knew
not to let me watch it
they had agreed
I was only eight
But I pleaded and he
gave in
now my nightmares
pointed the blame
and he could not lie
so they fought
My sister
did not understand anything
but the noise
looking back now
I think I already knew
that was the beginning
of the end
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
I’m running a bath
hot
seat on the edge
on the window ledge
is toothpaste
and shampoo for men
my hands look strong
in this light
and I think that
you might
be doing the same
somewhere
running a bath hot
with strong younger hands
like a misplaced
male Russian doll version of me
but I guess
that’s not for me to think
run when I should’ve walked
walked when I should’ve run
son
but don’t I know.
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
May 19th, 2009
Do ya
ever walk just a little off pace?
and take a look at a stranger’s face? Point in case…
Sunday morning and I’m crossing the park
it’s only bout an hour after dark. Still Fresh
the cold breeze seems to bite at my flesh, I turn my collar up
my face is far from impressed. Then I
pick up something from the corner of my right eye
it’s a white guy
slumped across a bench
suited under businessman’s trench, I recognize a slight alcohol stench
man looks tired.
staring into space, he has a pensive, yet sullen look painted on his face, so
I change pace. But
I don’t speed up. I slow down
drawn to the source of the force behind his frown, I sit down.
he looks about 45 and as we sit together in silence
there’s no one else alive
like a scene from some sort of placid apocalypse, him with his vodka lips
me with my headphones
we sit and breathe the morning’s dead tones
people still in bed tones sleepy, yet appearing clearing head tones
(Ahem) A cough
and for a second I think our bench might take off
like a spaceship
made of concrete and wood.
-It’s all good
As he speaks he turns to face me
and I notice he has a black eye that I didn’t see before
I see more,
than the average quota of worry lines around his eyes
which are deep, sunken and dark
two strangers meeting in the park Stark
differences in appearance, but there’s nobody here to judge
-You should never hold a grudge
His voice is gravely and
wisdom unravels me, so I try and stay focussed.
I ask him what he means,
he says,
-We spend too much of our time awake to be ever concerned with dreams
He looks older than he seems
and has the aura of a man coming apart at the seems
know what I mean?
-What’s all good? My next question
he says,
-Try stepping out to look in. That’s my suggestion
I say,
-that’s all good and well, but you can’t go through your whole life in 3rd person. Can you?
His face changes, position re-arranges, and what’s strange is
I’m getting more and more intrigued
both of us fatigued and yet
we proceed
to discuss the difference between what we want and what we really need
-We all bleed. Even if we never see it. So take heed or else you’ll blink and then you’ll be it. The person, the thing, that which you hate, and the ones who say it’s never too late, have never lost.
Strive for the best in a life, at what cost? Kids you hardly know, wife colder than Jack Frost? Embossed, raised questions printed on bones that never cross the mind of a million clones.
I ask him,
-Is this then a means of escape? Last bastion of manhood a beautiful poison grape.
he says,
-Don’t be dramatic. I’m just her for a drink and my thoughts I think nowadays
they call it ‘me time’
I say,
-I know what you mean, room to just breathe and be time. Close your eyes to see time.
He says,
-Yes.
Now there’s about 3 feet between us and if you’d seen us, you might’ve thought this was some seedy pursuit of penis.
but all this was was a meeting of two souls
one young, one old, one warm, one cold
-I hope you don’t think me too bold, I say
-but is there a chance that you’ve become passive as a way out? Failing to see the day out seems common in the unsure. An empty house built on bad foundations.
He says,
-Let me tell you something, contentment is a myth…
-But what if?…….. He cuts me off
-I didn’t finish. Contentment is a myth. If you have regrets
I say,
-Well, don’t get upset but, no shit Sherlock
I mean that much seems obvious.
His eyes move forward, become less hideous
As the morning son rises.
He asks my name as if he doesn’t know,
I say they call me Polarbear
but my birth certificate says Steven
-Ah Steven. Steven. He who is non-believing
I say,
-No. Somebody told me Steven means king and if I only know one thing it’s that a middle-aged man’s inebriated generalisations
should go no further than his piss-stained throne.
He hears the change in my tone and adjusts himself in response
ensconced in his own state of mind.
I find myself thinking, did I ever know this man and did he throw away his plan or was he genuinely wronged?
not sure that I’d ever know
but any and either way I feel it’s time to go, so I start to stand up, and as I do he puts his hand up. And clears his throat.
-So what’s your philosophy? What’s your ethos? Do you believe in Jesus? Or maybe the good in all men? You haven’t even seen anything yet.
I look at him, his collar wet with sweat. His face wet with tears now dry
-All I can do before I die,
I say,
-is try
to keep my eyes, my ears and my mind open. And if I do that there’ll be no need for hoping or anxieties about coping with life’s oh so many obstacles.
-You’re young
He says,
-Time changes a man
-Time changes everything
I reply.
-I have to try and change myself.
So enjoy your drink and your thoughts and as you add up the 1’s and the noughts, be sure to allow for the future.
He offers his hand
to shake it do I take it?
of course I do I can’t begrudge this man anything.
But as I walk away from his coch of cold concrete and wood
I feel somewhere between good and not so good
yet none the less inspired
the thought grows in me that I could be pre-wired to share that same fate
whether early or late I could wake up in that same state on that same throne of the once great.
Maybe
or maybe
If I remain bold I can break the mould of the old grown cold
and breathe out the false promises told.
I don’t know
I hope so
A dog barks
just as I reach the edge of the park
and for the snap back to reality I am glad
cos see now every epiphany feels like a gift to me
as I glance back
at my distant old man
Copyright 2009 Polarbear
