08:00:19

The clock didn’t move.
The second hand still
To the rhythm of
My hospital room.
Nurses come and go
But the time stays the same.

Daylight comes with a
Fresh coat of snow.
Magpies hop around outside.
A frosted tree thaws.
The world beyond moves on,
But the clock stays the same.

The clock moves,
Spinning in my drugged vision.
Pain induced by a
Substance meant to ease it.
But I am in control and
The button leaves my hand.

The nurses are tired
Of my static clock.
I don’t care, I just want
A chance to eat.
Four days without food
On a diet of free clear fluid.

They took the clock away.
A simple battery
Eluding the grasp
Of the mighty NHS.
A bowl of porridge in my hands.
A taste so wanted. So welcome.

With new strength
Comes freedom to move.
Unbound from the tubes
That tugged and pulled.
Unbound from the absent clock
That’s stuck at 08:00:19.

A Light in the Dark

I knew it would sting, so instead I pulled back the curtain to let in the light in from the back of the house. It’s never really dark here. Our honeymoon gift from Leeds City Council was the addition of extra street lamps that were extended in a straight line from our house and up the street. The late night glare now double that of before. From the back, the neighbour’s caravan focusses yet another lamp on our house with a reflection from its large window.

With my daughter in my arms, we sway back and forth while I quietly sing to her. I’m not one for nursery rhymes, instead picking songs that I know how to sing. Ones that compliment the limited range of my voice in the tones that seem to please her. A little Counting Crows to start things off. The new shapes cast by the dim light and black shadows catch here eye as we dance. Her head occasionally turning to follow the unfamiliarities of our most familiar room.

This is the first time in months that I’ve felt the need to comfort her in the middle of the night. Our nighttime interaction usually little more than a nappy change and a short conversation of squeaks and gurgles. Tonight I feel the need to give my wife a little peace and a chance to rest a little, as she so often does for me on a work night. I’ll give her an hour if I can.

Sleep not coming, my baby soon gives the recognized sign of wanting to feed. Her mouth now buried in my shoulder as she looks for what I can’t give. In the dark, we take each step back to the bedroom to disturb her mother for what I hope will be the last time tonight. The map of our dark stairs imprinted in my mind, but like I said, it’s never really dark here.

Lanzarote Inspirations

It’s taken quite a while for me to around to writing this piece. We’re very close to the birth of our first child now and I’ve let my mind wander back to the last holiday we had as a couple. The last for possibly quite a while. Change has arrived.

Monday March, 5th 2012

I didn’t do my homework before flying off to Lanzarote so I was a little shocked to find how barren the island was. We’ve been to Santorini, another volcanic island, which was amazingly beautiful. Lanzarote wasn’t. Our bus drove past, what appeared to be, a very large building site. The only greenery being the cactuses on roundabouts and in various gardens. It didn’t take me long to create and memorise the first verse of my Lanzarote poem. Thinking back now, I should I have realised it was still winter despite the hot weather.

From a land of green
To a desolate heaven.
Scorched Lanzarote.

After this I decided to write a verse for each day of my holiday. What started out as a little haiku exercise, became an eight verse project.

Tuesday

We were staying in Playa Blanca on the south coast. On our first full day we took a coastal path east to find a beach my wife had read about, perhaps on one the many maps we’d been given. The path came to a sudden halt at a cliff face. Some walkers were climbing but it wasn’t something I would let my expecting wife do. Backtracking the path, we found the correct route to take and found the beach we were looking for.

The sun was bright and I sat watching the sea, composing my next verse.

Sunbeams scatter on
Dancing waves of the blue sea.
Bright Lanzarote.

Wednesday

Wednesday was windy and quite cold when the sun decided to hide behind the clouds. This didn’t stop many of our hotel’s residents trying to catch some rays. Either that or they were determined to make full use of an all-inclusive booking.

We left them to it and chose another walk. This time to the west.

Laying on sun beds
Fully clothed against cold winds.
Strange Lanzarote.

Thursday

On Thursday we walked west again, a little further than the day before to look for another recommended beach. On this walk I began to notice that many of the cacti had some form of graffiti. Mostly the usual initials loves another set of initials.

We hired a pair of sun beds for the day and I settled down to read a book I’d taken with me. The next verse soon followed as one cacti images had stuck in my mind.

Cacti graffiti.
Sex in the minds of young teens.
Lost Lanzarote.

I’d forgotten my camera that day so we decided to go back on the last day so I could provide some colour to this inspiration. I could not remember where it was.

Friday

A bus ride to Arrecife, Lanzarote’s capital. The wind had settled to a light breeze and we began to wilt on our quest to see as much variety as possible. We jumped inside many of the shops and also found the time to see many of the wonderful baby clothes that were too expensive to be a sensible buy.

To the north of the town, was the welcome sight of a walled lake. We found a bar on one corner and staring out at the boats in the distance, my imagination turned to the next verse.

Enjoying drinks in
Waterside shade’s cooling breeze.
Fresh Lanzarote.

Saturday

The island’s history was the order of the day as we travelled on another bus for the volcano tour and on to Timanfaya. All that barren land we observed at the beginning of the week was brought into focus as we learned of the lava flows that rolled over villages, farms and livestock. The complete devastation of over half the island.

We also learned that Lanzarote does not have any natural fresh water. A curious place for a growing hotel trade, or early settlers for that matter. Most water today is imported from neighbouring islands but Lanzarote also had a desalination history where salt was also traded.

Lava flow desert.
Buried homes and buried souls.
Grave Lanzarote.

Sunday

What better day to top up our sun than a Sunday? A day of ease by the hotel pool finishing my book. The history lesson from the day before still weighing heavily on my mind.

A sun bed graveyard.
Our naked skins sacrificed.
Hot Lanzarote.

Monday

Lanzarote had grown on me. It might not be a destination that I’d choose to go again but it has left its imprint on my memories and it’s always sad to travel home after a short break.

Flying home to life,
To responsibility.
Bye Lanzarote.

Hunter’s Moon (Evil Moon part 2)

The silver moon reflects her image.
My sister’s wraith I had envisaged.
Pointing to the moorland highs,
Armed with crossbow, I now rise.

Following a ghostly guide,
Upon the moor, no place to hide.
It pauses, beckons me to follow
And points down to a wooded hollow.

Crossbow steadied by my shoulder,
I creep down past tree and boulder.
Just ahead a ghastly figure.
The Darkman laughs. I pull the trigger.

Bolt passes through a wisp of smoke,
As branches grasp my neck, I choke.
The demon now before me stands,
With ointment’s jar in boney hands.

The screaming pain of ointment’s burn.
The cracking bones from curse’s turn.
The tearing flesh releasing wolf,
And claws reveal an awful truth.

My body changed by Darkman’s tricks.
By Hunter’s Moon the curse now fixed.
Hunger born by smell of flesh,
Though conscience holds my will in check.

Power of wolf but heart of man.
Half the wolf, still half the man.

(2011 – I’ve been holding this one back with the intention of creating a new piece of artwork to go with it. Time has been an issue here and I thought last night’s super moon would make this topical.)

Figments

The figments move.
Never in direct sight,
They skirt the edge of my vision.

Some watch.
Some dance.
None wish to be seen.

The figments move.
Human shapes in the room,
But looking, none are really there.

Some walk.
Some run.
None will ever be seen.

Missing Presumed Blocked

Every eight to nine years, Change comes knocking at my door and is welcomed in by myself and those around me. While nothing in our lives can really be considered static, the changes I am currently experiencing are forcing me to switch habits and shuffle the time I have available for my creative ideas.

The biggest obstacle to my time right now is my work. Having just moved to a shiny new warehouse, the opportunities seem evermore abundant and exciting. But they have stolen my privacy. In the old building, I could find a quiet corner to read or write in my lunch break. Now, a single person sitting on his own seems to draw others to the empty chairs around him in the café like canteen. My phone’s data is blocked by the metal in the building and new rules prevent me from finding a private corner for my musings.

At home we prepare for the arrival of our first child. This is the most exciting change that has entered our lives and one of great inspiration and possibility. Multiple projects lay part complete and the next two months see me busier still.

So, OmniFocus sees tasks dropped, put on hold or new dreams entered for some future me to complete. Byword fills with part written poems and inspirations. iPhoto holds my recent holiday photos that have yet to be viewed. And, I will finish that iPhone app that I’ve worked on for so long now!

My dreams are still active, my creativity still has its spark but recording those visions may have to wait a little while longer. I’m far from blocked, Change always sees to that.

As Creativity’s sparks lay fading,
The explosion is rarely far behind.
All our senses awaken
To a new world of possibilities.

Lanzarote

From a land of green
To a desolate heaven.
Scorched Lanzarote.

Sunbeams scatter on
Dancing waves of the blue sea.
Bright Lanzarote.

Laying on sun beds
Fully clothed against cold winds.
Strange Lanzarote.

Cacti graffiti.
Sex in the minds of young teens.
Lost Lanzarote.

Enjoying drinks in
Waterside shade’s cooling breeze.
Fresh Lanzarote.

Lava flow desert.
Buried homes and buried souls.
Grave Lanzarote.

A sun bed graveyard.
Our naked skins sacrificed.
Hot Lanzarote.

Flying home to life,
To responsibility.
Bye Lanzarote.

(March 5 – 12th, 2012. One verse a day while on holiday. Each verse in a separate haiku style format with some debate over scorched being one syllable or two? I hope to write an inspirations piece to follow soon.)