Tuesday, 20 October 2009

20/10/09 - another day, another blog post!



Greetings to you all! Its been three weeks but, hey, I've made it back to the blog for some more brainstorming. Some of it'll make sense; other's I'm not so sure about! But we'll see how it goes:
Some random thoughts, coming to you from moi's brain as I type away....
My Open University course kicked off just over two weeks ago. Since the offset of my last dose of studentship, in June 2006, I've mainly worked full-time, has a spell of being "Army-barmy" and got a bit of Glasgow in me.
Please spare a thought and a prayer as I go through this degree over the next four years. A few years back, I didn't get to do it as a full-time student for a number of reasons and, now, everything makes sense as to why that didn't happen. Now I'm ready to take it on and have a full bag of tools which equips me to take this course on.




Its been over a year now since I first met Sarah! It'll be a year in January since we started going out but, yeah: I met her in Starbucks as part of the C7 church's "Lifegroup" bible study. A couple of months later, after a lunch in Walkabout and a Celtic Connections gig, things materialised into something truly amazing. Still is today, too! :-*





Its been ten years - 10 - since my uncle David (McAllister) introduced me to the music of David Bowie. I remember one Friday evening, in June 1999, he brought down all these vinyls of Bowie's from between the years 1969-1983. Such classic LP's as Ziggy Stardust, Hunky Dory, Aladdin Sane, Low, "Heroes" and Scary Monsters...
Coming into work the other morning, I had a Bowie track called 'Survive' playing on my iPod - it was the third track on his '99 album 'hours....' which, as a 14-year old, I saved my pocket money to buy and being the first new Bowie release I actually purchased - and, so far, the last! - I still treasure the CD today.
Apparently it won't be long, if not already, when a 40th anniversary edition of Space Oddity gets released and I may just ask Santa for it! Why not...



Glasgow really is a beautiful city, isn't it? Even in the cold, the rain and the hail; there just seems to be an irrepressible charm about it. Now I know that might sound odd but, hey, because I'm not Glaswegian, I have a slightly different take on it all. I don't know.
This morning I met with my good friend Jonathan for a coffee and Bacon 'n' Egg McMuffin (delish, by the way!) and, whilst heading back to 64F a bitter chill came racing down and through the Gallowgate. I'm telling you, it was seriously cold! And, even though its far from the most spectacular of areas, there just felt like an underlying beauty of being there. Maybe it was because I'm away from home and standing on relatively foreign soil. Maybe its because I was with my brother in Christ. Or maybe its because I had just consumed some hot food and drink! Either way, in that bitter Autumn chill, I somehow wasn't complaining to be there.
About two weeks ago, for no real reason other than getting a couple of snapshots, I got in the lift of the Cineworld in the city centre and went straight to the top. I'm scared of heights too! So I got off at "Floor 6", when I'm sure it felt like called Floor 66, and I took a few pictures on my phone. They're not bad pictures, if I do say so myself. Probably not as good as the ones Laura Bridge takes on her camera but I like them; and I like the images they present.





Over the last week or so, the media will have run riot over the death of Boyzone singer Stephen Gately. Let me just say that, once the tabloids and the telly start to go wild over celebrities, it kinda turns me. The late Boyzone's untimely passing was different though, and I'll explain:
Although I'm no boy-band fan by any means, its no secret that I have a deep appreciation for '90's pop music; and, if its somehow associated with Ireland, I'll give it bonus points. What Boyzone gave to pop music in the closing decade of the 20th century was invaluable: classic songs were re-introduced to a new audience through the tightrope art of the cover version; female fans had new pin-ups to add on to their wall after the apparent break-up of Take That; and contemporary pop journals, such as Smash Hits, would be hits at the newsagents. Essentially, a lot of money was made but it was marketed in a way which benefited their record company Polydor, the list of musicians associated with their work and, not to mention, the Irish economy.

What Stephen Gately contributed to Boyzone was invaluable because he had the right type of voice for their songs. It was quite recognisable and respectable.
One thing I remember was post-Boyzone's own apparent demise and Gately's own coming-out: his brief stab at a solo career. Anyone remember it? A single called "New Beginning"? I think, for me, that stands out because of those two words in the song title; which, by the way, was also the title of his album to go along with it.
Ultimately, there was no follow-up. Its sad in so many ways but I think the saddest thing of all is the fact that there was potential there: a "New Beginning" was do-able.
Was it the second coming of pop music? We'll never no. Its easy to say no but, if marketed the right way, I think there may have been more of an impact than what there was.
As far as talent and "new beginnings" go, its just a crying shame that they so often go to waste. I spoke in the last blog about new beginnings as well. Maybe this is another recurring theme, along with cafes, in this page of mine; I don't know. But, if something good and full of so much potential is alive and well, why let it go to waste?...



If you read the last blog, you'll know I was writing from the Esquires cafe in Hope Street. Well, today I write to you from the iCafe on the Great Western Road! (Brilliant coffee shop, I highly recommend it.) Coffee shops, as you'll know, are great for all sorts of things: catching up with friends; reading a book; studying for courses; listening to music, either on the PA or in the comfort of your own iPod. Not only am I updating my blog, I'm also working on my next book. The follow-up to 'An Irish Memory' will be ready early next year. Don't ask when because bits and pieces like work, uni and, um, another thing.......CHRISTMAS will take priority over it; however I assure you, when its ready, it'll be ready.




That's me for now! 'Til next time....

Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Back to the blog! (after all this time)

29/9/09

Greetings to you all.

I thought I'd get this blog back up and running for a couple of reasons: one because I started this page up two years ago with the intent of making a consistent communication via the world wide web to those of you able to access it and, two, because a lot of things in my life have either recently happened, are happening or about to happen which I think require some sharing. As well as giving me the chance to "vent" it! And why not? Everyone likes a story to tell.

You have to know me or have some sort of association with me to have clicked on this page as I haven't publicised the blog link on large posters or mult-million pound dotcom conglomerates or corporations. Communication is something I think I'm relatively strong in but promotion wouldn't be as much. I guess its mainly because I'm not an in your face character or the type to ram who I am proverbially down your throat. However, this is my page and you're welcome to read at your own will!.....


As I write this blog, I'm sitting in Esquires Coffee House in Glasgow's Hope Street. About an hour ago, my gorgeous other-half Sarah and I went to a travel centre to check out flight prices for an impending trip to Australia next year. Sounds great, doesn't it? We started looking at quotes the other night on the net and, put it this way, the good Lord is truly blessing us in ways of planning and getting there. I like to travel and, even though the extent of my travels so far covers multiple parts of the UK/ROI, various European destinations and the sunshine state of Florida, I've always fancied going somewhere seriously far-out. Like the moon. At this stage, the moon doesn't seem that likely, but Down Under to my girlfriend's place of birth and upbringing is perfect. Growing up, when watching soaps like Neighbours and Home And Away, I wouldn't have thought that one day I'd be in that same piece of land. (I was going to say "not that far away", although that's not strictly true!...) I'm really excited about this. Mental note to self: all I have to do now is schedule a trip to see Christiaan in Holland now.....

What is faith? To me, faith is something that requires belief without necessarily being visible. Without giving the impression I'm getting all religious here, lets use a synoptic comparison: believing in something that you can't actually see. Lets say, for example, you wake up in the middle of the night and you want to get a midnight snack from the fridge. For some reason, you've got it drilled into your head that the particular snack you want isn't in the fridge. Maybe you don't even think the fridge is there next door at all! So you keep getting hungry and are too stubborn to do anything about it; even to go and see if your food of choice is in the fridge or if the appropriate cooling apparatus is actually in the kitchen. What are you going to do about it? Starve? Phone out for a takeaway? Tell your flatmate/partner to make somethng for the two of you while lying in bed? What are you going to do about it? Would you even want to believe and, more importantly, be open to the belief that there's a fridge next door with nutritious, ateable items of consumption just waiting for you? I'll let you work that one out.....

New beginnings, new pairings, new unions. Beautiful, right? Some might say yes, until things become not so pleasant. Define pleasant. I say its pleasant if you want it to be. In the last couple of months, I've been to three housewarmings and two weddings. Before that, I hadn't been to one housewarming, ever - even one for myself! - and the last wedding I was at was my uncle's in December 2004. Maybe its a coming of age thing. You know when you were a kid you used to wonder what making adult decisions in adult lives would be like? Its almost as if, now adult life has come about, its like "Ahhhh! Decisions, decisions!" What's the right decision to make?! Fair play to those who've made decisions of the afore-mentioned nature; they're not light ones to make.

30/9/09

At time of writing, I'm in the midst of putting together some birthday surprises for a few close people to me in my life. Do birthdays ever lose their excitement? In truth, I think they do: my 24th was celebrated in Orlando earlier in the year. To say that I actually got to spend my birthday in Disney World and Universal Studios, all on the same day, is like a big rude hand gesture up to millions of children worldwide but, hey, it was my birthday, so ha-ha! :-p On the other side of the celebration theme, I think there's no better than feeling than organising someone else's birthday proceedings. I try to be a generous guy anyway but knowing that someone is going to smile at the thought of what you've put together for them is a great gift in itself. Especially if they're special to you. Even in tough times, where circumstances are neither ideal or what you were prepared for, everyone's entitled to a bit of birthday love!!

I'm going to see my favourite film at the cinema tonight! The Godfather is showing at GFT, and Sarah and I are going to spend a few hours in front of textbook film production. I challenge anyone to find me a better movie combining top-notch acting, music, art direction and production anywhere else in the field of movies. Ok, so that's a slight exaggeration, but if a film means a lot to you, you're going to promote it 'til kingdom come, right??

Ovation vouchers from work came through the post today!! What to buy, what to buy?.... WrestleMania XX seems tempting! Any other suggestions?.....


Have a good day one and all.

dw (dwwray1@hotmail.co.uk)

Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Monday, 24 August 2009

Poem - Someone Lost

Someone lost is in a corner
wondering where the past is gone.
Someone lost is feeling bitter
adamant they've done nothing wrong.

Someone lost has no direction,
nor can see the tunnel's light.
Someone lost could do with action
in their life, combined with sight.

Someone blind to other's sorrows
needs an urgent wake-up call.
Someone blind to their own failings
thinks they're big but is really small.

Some needing issues sorted
longs for healing, love and care.
Someone needs an ear to listen;
not for folk to stop and stare.

Tuesday, 21 July 2009

Poem - Following

She would follow him
around the house to
everywhere possible.

Into everyroom and out
again, the child would
sometimes mimmick wher her
dad (and her mum!) do.

No greater inspiration;
no bigger hero, other than
those animated on T.V.

Regardless of what physical
obstacle stood in the way,
she'd instantly find her way
round it; over to him.

A lot I can learn:
for today, my father follows
me. Why can't I reciprocate?

Wednesday, 15 April 2009

AN IRISH MEMORY - the book

Its here - my first publication and an achievement in itself! "An Irish Memory" is basically a photo album in written form. Some of the poems wer written in Northern Ireland; some of them were inspired by ongoings in Northern Ireland.

The actual title of the collection came accidentally one evening in Peterhead, Abderdeenshire, when I referred to my own memory as an Irish one in conversation with a few friends. When I stopped to think about it, I knew I'd stumbled upon something almost three-dimensional: a title for a new poem, a theme for a bolue of poems and a statement which can be interpreted in so many ways.

The poems themselves are mini-masterpieces, if I do say so myself:


NORMALLY I SLEEP IN ON SATURDAYS...

This was written in the summer of 2005, round about the time I was considering travelling more and getting away from Ireland, longing to relocate.

EAST BELFAST

A commentary from a period and nostalgic points of view both in one. This came about from actually coming home to visit after relocating and deals with a before- and after- sense of my home area growing up.

AN IRISH MEMORY

A poem of optimism fighting against negativity and remaining hopeful for what is to come, backed up by, and appreciatively acknowledging, beauty surrounding it.

WINTER BELFAST'S MORNING

Analysing the city in a cold December, asking the question if the climate is brought on by the season or relations across the community.

THE WATER WORKS

My tribute to an area in North-West Belfast which I used to pass nearly every Saturday morning while working as a postie and how God was with me every time.

SOUTH BELFAST

A snap shot of various sites such as Queens University, Lisburn Road, Donegall Pass, Donegall Road and University Avenue, along with its respective inhabitants and characteristics.

WHEN FLOWERS BLOOM

The parable of an Irish farmer planting his crop, which subsequently comes into fruition upon a short absence and return to the site in question.

ULSTER SONNETT

A Shakspearean prophecy of a united Ireland conquering all division and joining hands together in the way the emerald isle was intended in its' creation.

PRAYER

Probably the most intimate poem in this collection and the most personal. A true monologue with me speaking to my heavenly father and a plea to develop my faith.

GETTING THERE

Chronicling the experiences of highs and lows, like being on cloud nine and heading upwards slowly, only to watch yourself come down at a similar pace.

Want a copy? One can be yours for the tender price of £3. Get in touch today and we'll see what we can do for you!...

dw :)

Thursday, 26 March 2009

Poem - Walk along the Gallowgate

We begin by crossing over from the top of
Duke Street, then another cross of traffic lights
where Tollcross Road and the Gallowgate both
meet: connecting two roads for a long journey
either way, in unity and harmony.

From here, another cross past Springfield Road
is necessary; four out of five ways isn't so
bad, however we only have the one way to
journey forth toward. Rain, hail, snow and
shine. We've done them all and we've met
them all along the way!
The penitents departing
en-masse from mass at the chapel; the biddies
with their daughters, complete with trollies
from the Forge; the jakies standing at the
bus stops, outside and across from the necropolis;
football fans in green-and-white jerseys and scarves,
heading up the way, either for home or for a hot
carry out (and they'll be spoilg for choices in
carry-out venues!); the car-wash dudes at the
old BP garage venue; and, at night, we even
see foxes running across the road! Hiding from
humans, scurrying from being noticed or potentially
an HGV running them over!

Then we see them, just behind where
the main road ascends up a slight hill, but fully
visible for everybody to see; even from as far as
West George Street when its a nice day:
the massive
pair of tower blocks. Comprising of many inside,
high and low, top to bottom. They can see us
walking past, two little dots. Or at least they
can see me! My walking partner next to me
is only visible in another tower of his own,
right next to their own. And they put Him there.
I even put Him there.

We walk along some more together: apartments
being made up; chippies gone for good; mixtures
of kids in tracksuits, builders in construction gear,
men walking their pooches and dormant shopping
trollies left to the side, with rubbish inside them.
The biddies musn't have bins inside! Then again,
neither must half this road's population, for
council workers spend as much time here as
my walking partner, trying to cleanse and rid
this road of desecration, defamation, defecation
and demotivation; in turn blessing it with
determination, definition and declaration.
Sometimes
we have to duck little neds winging stones
from behind the railings of the sports park
next to the school. Instead of a four-lettered
curse, my walking partner covers my mouth, in
turn saying, "Bless you my sons! Go forth
and sin no more". Then the hostel, in all
its glory, stands afresh with odours, images and
sounds of empathy, (in some cases) sympathy,
(more often than not) confusion and (in a twisted
way) curisoity. Perhaps one day, they'll be invited
with the neds and our fellow tower-block
comrades, for my walking partner has passed by
but He doesn't pass them by.

"Are we nearly there yet?" I ask. "Why didn't
we just take the bus?" Like a disciple of the
biblical sort, I didn't fully get it, until a
corner came for me to turn: new apartments
already built, in the shadow of older buildings
with longer histories, more familiar stories, images,
sounds and emissions of their own trademark.
Now there stands a big gate, where fortunate
people in this area have passed through and they
get by comfortably, without a trace of hassle.

My walking partner says to me, "Aren't we going
to pass by them either?" I said. "No need,
they've made their way through a big gate - the
others still have to." He wasn't going to pass
them by: "Bless each one of you, the invitation
is open". I was amazed, somewhat overwhelmed
but more appreciative of it all.
Finally we
pass Bain Street, pubs and other merchants of
a carnal nature. Passionate people going about
their business, interjecting into their community
with support and enthusiasm. Fair play to them!
At this point, the road splits in two....

I turn round to ask another question and
He's gone; out of visual sight. Yet, I can
still feel His presence. He's still holding my
hand, keeping me from danger, acting as my
shield, myhelmet, my immunity from bodily
harm in one of Glasgow's more cinematic
neck of the woods.
"Can you spare some change,
son?" No. "You got a light on you?" No.
"Looking for business?" You're doing this for
badness, aren't you. "They don't know what
they're doing", He says. "Pass by them but
don't pass them by. "This road will be cleansed,
the people have been blessed, and will all you
and me up here." They put him on that third
tower, yet I'm hardly any different.

Should I walk back or take the bus? It
matters not, without slight or major, for
perfection in His eyes is different from mine.

Sunday, 22 March 2009

Poem - Union Canal

Heading up the ways, to get a
clearer view of the ochills on the
other side, we pass a sight so
new, yet so familiar. A fresh
feeling combined with God's wry sense
of humour he playfully interjects in
times of soa operaesque moments this
world cries out for.

We see the river that normally
flows along - but today, its come
to a halt! Imagine that: time
standing still without a trace of
movement, when the intention and
blessing of union is explicit in
the name. More so onwards, the
image becomes even more striking
as nature takes its course via
alternative movements of life:

Birds singing, young couples out
walking, squirrels climbing up and
down various trees; each form of
living animal subsequently in search
of the union necessary in fulfilling
their creator's prophecy - to revive
and restore; not dive in where its
sore. As the water floats along,
so do "what if's" from before hand,
silently into yesterday.

Poem - A mother's love

A mother's love is whole and pure
like lying snow on a winter's night.
Its spotless, clear yet strong with
many emotions filled behind the frost.

A mother's love forgives for worse;
she dismisses not a sinful child.
Accepting features, warts and all,
behavioural or visually present.

A mother's love, a solid rock,
a fleet ship's anchor: they are one
with one another as a unit,
keeping me at bay from drowning.

A mother's love is ever present;
the past has proven precisely and
my future days are strengthened
by her understanding nature.

A mother's love replaces never,
nor retracts throught tempests tossing.
In times of darkness, hail or
cloudburst, she is my compass guiding.

A mother's love will win the
battle should my opposition strike;
when at peace, my mother's love
remains and wraps around me.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

Poem - An Irish memory

To many, there will be one unforgettable
moment-in-time, describing day gone by in
the emerald isle, unique and incomparable
in comparison to any other.
It may be in
the rain: skies of grey bursting apart
with clouds erupting, soaking all walking
below. Those who require cleansing from
above, in need of moving on.
Perhaps
an ounce of grace handed over to the
unhappy tourists, disappointed by what
transpired on their visit. Unequalled
in every structure of home, for there
isn't any place quite like home.
Maybe
the grateful and goodness in those
remembering all who appreciate special
times, most of which still yet to happen.

Who can forget? A memory such as this:

peace, tranquility, hope and optimism,
all wrapped into one parcel of faith and
presented to the already gifted one, who
depends on what they see.

Like a picture on the wall, completed
by cross-stitching and effort, it looks back
thinking all is truly well.

Wednesday, 18 March 2009

Poem - Organ grinder

The monkey does his thing, performing
away for the audience who spectate
this little affair. His chief executive
stands in the shoadows, directing all
that goes on; with authority and directness.

One can't change little mannerisms or
habits of an authoritive measure when
many are influenced either for better
or for worswe, albeit silently. Still, the
monkey is keen to challenge and conquer.

All the organ grinder does is vocally
direct and dictate, until one day, his
apprentice decides to change the game's pace;
for the real boss is revealed upon his
departure and lack of independent status....

Poem - Take-off!

Sounds and noises coupled with
rhythmic ongoings produce the
beginning of what happens next.

Any second now, a rocket will
go sky-high, taking optimism
with it, leaving behind negativity.

One must wonder how to be
like the rocket - open up and
receive beauty and goodness.

Heavens above and multiple
galaxies spread out, allowing
escalation and elevation united.

Poem - A richer man

Today you will go from here
a richer man:

Blessings have been poured out.
Prayers are being spoken, as
well as being answered.
Sins have been forgiven; one's
redemption wipes the slate clean.

In another moment, long ago,
times were miserable, somewhat
borderline pathetic; now, things
have changed considerably. Amen!

What happens now is crystal clear,
minus fear and loaded with cheer.
The spirit wins again!

Thursday, 12 February 2009

3/2/08 - some thoughts sitting in Starbucks...

I found it interesting that the choice of this evening's Lifegroup is to be at Frankenstein's, at the bottom of West George Street. Not a venue I've actually been in, if I'm honest, but to hold a bible study and spend time with some great people there is an honour and a priviledge.



When I got the text through about it, the Frankenstein bar/restaurant stood out and it reminded me instantly, not of the monster whose image is immediately recognisable, but of the Doctor; the mad scientist who created the famous creature. Here was a man, very intelligent and ambitious; well-educated and came from a good family. And yet, the hunger of developing experiments got to the point where he wanted to create life. In essence, he wanted to play God ad create life-forms in the form of a human being. In the process, he did this by piecing together remains of dead bodies, thus attempting to resurrect the dead but also caused mayhem in his home village, as his creation was monstrous and was on the hung to kill. The monster is a devotional thought in itself, which I think we could all identify with but Dr Frankenstein stood out for me because of his somewhat warped desire to be responsible for a living creation.



As we know and, as touched on, his monster was not exactly peaceful, beautiful or natural and, as hard as he tried, Dr Frankenstein was not God when it came to creation. As we are reminded in Psalm 8, God's creation among the heavens, the moon and the stars (v.3), as well as us living, human beings (v.4,5) are blessed with so much with what else he's given us. What he's given us is to appreciate all of his creations everywhere we look - and its imperative to remember and share that.



Frankenstein's monster is a popular Halloween character but, after Halloween on the calendar comes Thanksgiving, a few weeks later. Lets be thankful that we're not amongst the creations of a psychotic physician but the great physician: healer, creater redeemer and Lord.

Thursday, 15 January 2009

Gen 1 - "...He saw that it was good"

The other day, I took a trip to Glasgow's Mitchell Library. Now I'd been on the first floor a couple of times over the last few months, where its done up real nice and very modern looking now, but on this occasion I went upstairs into the 4th and 5th floors, where I hadn't been for just over three years; since before I even moved over to Glasgow. I had been to the library on one of my many excursions over from Belfast, in December 2005, and you'd think that on this wee trip to the 4th floor, in January 2009, I'd just been in the same area the day before - it was identical to how I recall it three years prior. Same carpets, same furniture, same layout of the bookcases and desks; in fact, its probably looked the exact same way over the last 30 years, let alone the last three!

It sounds silly but I couldn't get over this because, in the period of time between the last time I was there and on this occasion, I had experienced a number of changes in my life - I mean loads! - and, in a lot of ways, was a different guy from who I was in December 2005. Yet the room seemingly hadn't changed in the slightest. (I don't know if you've ever been at, say, a party or a gathering of friends/family where there's akways one quiet man or woman sitting comfortably in the corner and, you could be walking out of the room for long periods of time, yet when you come back, they haven't moved a muscle - that's what it loosely put me in mind of!) Ans as I wandered round askimg myself why I hadn't been here for such a length of time, I was reminded by how much God never changes and remains the same today and tomorrow as He did yesterday.

Maybe you're at a stage in your life where you've gone through too many life-changing experiences that you wish to even care about any longer; perhaps you're not necessarily like myself but like the casual library-goer who hasn't been there for years and you've done all the changes enough for both yourself and your area of context. Or maybe you're like that Mr or Miss Cool at the party, just sitting there taking it all in, watching the world go by, and you've barely lifted a finger. Regardless of which category you fall into, the day God kicked off creation, "He saw that it was good" and today He looks at each of you and sees that you are good. You are His child, His creation and He's not going anywhere anytime soon.

I know its not always easy to believe that but its the truth and He constantly reveals thr truth so we are reminded of His constant presence.

Saturday, 10 January 2009

Poem - Substance

Yesterday, I owned a pair of shoes;
today they sit at the bin, worn out.

Last week, I had a ticket to fly away
but, this week, I'm still here because it ran out.

A few months ago, my credit was interest-free!
This month's bill is in, reminding me nothing's free.

When I was a child, I owned many toys.
Where are they now? My playtime is no more.

In my teen years, I had the best video games -
before technology advanced and I was left behind.

Once upon a time, this was a happy home!
Today, in its place, is a half-empty house.

Mum had a parcel arrive, saing "Fragile".
I now see why, for rattles inside.

Loved ones seem to come and go....
Jesus is still here, didn't you know.

Friday, 9 January 2009

Poem - Ulster Sonnett

A combination of the past and now
will blend together if we all allow;
for in the land where time seemingly stops,
a ruin comes among the harvest crops
which promise hope and value in the morn',
instead of pessimissm, hate and scorn.
Our fathers and our neighbours will unite
forgetting any reason left to fight.

When day returns forever and a day,
my people on my turf will see the way
that they should follow, like some follow on,
in stark contrst to Peter, James and John.

Unholy world, we have to leave behind;
the way, the truth, the life: indeed, we'll find!

Two new poems

REST

In the busyness of it all, my shepherd
lays me down to rest. Among the quiet
pastures appears a certain serenity;
my restlessness is vanquished by the
touch of peace and tranquility.

A door
opens, following the closure of another:
inside there is bedding, so comfortable
and cosy.

My eyes deceive me from the
wonders of the world; when they say
"seeing is believing", they don't always
test the waters before jumping right in.
Temptation is there for me.

Give me peace
and solitude to hide away from what is
recognised as life's freewheeler, for I don't
want to fall asleep at the wheel.

Search me and protect me Lord; allow
relaxation and tranquility to come my way.


I LOVE HER LAUGH

My jokebook collection's going to
expand today! So I can crack a few
gags and hear her laugh all day. Its
music to my ears and it sounds so
sweet; it brightens up my day each
and every time we meet.

I love to listen to her reaction whenever
she gets tickled; this makes a change
from today's worldly society - oh so
fickle. Be it black or white the colour,
I don't really care - as long as she keeps
laughing, I just want her there!

Poem - When flowers bloom

When a seed is planted into the ground,
the farmers sowing hasn't started.
He's a patient man. But, even still,
his patience is tried so much so he exits.
And when he leaves to go away,
the tempests come to try our patience,
for we only want what's best for all
and protect what we've got while it grows.

So up it grows, while the farmers gone,
and radiance beams on a daily basis;
the bees will come and attempt to make
their honey, because its only natural
while its sunny. For the farmer would
even find it funny. If only he had
a little bit of money, which he'd saved at
home before but greater things are even
more across the water, where he needs
to be; because he's not a bee.

A gardener waters his gorgeous fields
with the right idea to maintain such
beauty. So when the roses blossom and
flowers bloom, it could never be like
any other, like a daughter running to
her mother. Or a hero fighting for
his lover. What a plot of land we
bore in front of us! The battle grounds
exist no longer; there's new life to
keep us stronger - and why not?

Poem - East Belfast

Interestingly enough, the smell still
pipes from the Fryar Tuck; with many
locallers queuing up. I don't blame them -
the fish suppers are amazing.

Almost like the Blue Lagoon but with
more history attached to them.

While standing at the top of Bloomfield,
looking down to where Beersbridge runs
across, the stars and city lights look
shiny and electric. A charge connects
to me and longs to take me elsewhere.

Its picturesque down Cyprus too, where
Lottie likes to make a mess and walk
me while I pull her lead. She charges
at a smaller mutt; serves her right
for even looking over this way!

The rain is starting and I'm off
home; I cut through Kirkliston and think
about getting a house like these. But
I don't have the money.

(Neither will half of them, for a
crunch is munching everybody.)

Perhaps tomorrow, I will return to
the Newtownards Road, where so many
went about their business day-to-day
when I was a teenager.

Poem - Winter's Belfast morning

Without a spick or speck of rain,
the sun shines through the bitter cold;
no snowflake, hailstorm, cloud in sight
but frost and temperatures are down.

And down south is a different land -
the currency and language alter
from our part of town; as if to say
they are not like us. Well I'll disagree
myself for, even though we differ,
we are stubborn and could do with
moving on across the bridge and not
fall through the icy water.

Without a sighting of a storm,
the ice melts with the sunrise coming
up above what's horrible and lifeless
but the temperature's still down.

The city has advanced somewhat;
in many ways, its changed a lot
from years ago, when flying stones
could more than likely break my bones.
Like the ice before me, melting further
into waters still that circulate the Lough,
under the Lagan river. Memories still
cause a quiver.

Frosty fog leave months and spread
into the air, never to be seen again;
like the ice today attached to all
the runaway from yesterday.

Tuesday, 6 January 2009

Poem - South Belfast

Children of the education
run amock and their salvation
lies among the Avenue, where
friends will meet, both old and new.

Bars and clubs are rather dear,
and leave me skint each time I'm here;
the artists, they aren't far away
with plenty to sing about or say.

Windsor Park will show a match
which finishes with a punch and scratch
between the players, green and blue,
and children grow up like that too.

Round the corner is the Road;
it runs for miles while carrying the load
of violent outbreaks from before.
The scars inside remain quite sore.

QUB is looking strong; the
children are right, they're not wrong
about the way this area looks;
they do not need anymore crooks.

Not to far away's the Pass,
where Harold's numbered days were last.
A man, he was, in South Belfast
where buildings crumbled with a blast.

Poem - Will they or won't they?

He walks in, sits down to take a seat.
She's been there a little bit longer and feels comfortable.

Throughout the duration, he contemplates flirtation,
as time is short and precious, without little to spare.
But no high sign is given. She sits looking exceptionally
gorgeous, without even a dab of make-up on her face.

He glances over as subtle as possible, yet makes himself
obvious to everybody, including her, but himself. She sits
there thinking, "Is he going to approach me or not?"

A sign is all he needs; not because he feels insecure
but because, for ll he knows, she could cry "Rape!" or
scream the house down, with many looking on.
Now, our boy's not easily embarrassed but this would
seriously be extracting the uring - so-to-speak!

"My word, she looks so sexy. Blue is her colour,
brown is her hair". "Why won't he just talk to me,
even if its to say hello? He'll get my number anyway!"

She strokes her hair and plays with it discreetly,
wishing those were his hands. He's thinking exactly the same,
only neither of them know this because both are either
too shy or are convinced the other isn't interested.

As soon as he gets up again, she'll be gutted but,
you never know, she may decide to follow.