Hammer At the Heart

Nobody can take you from me
It's inconsequential that I can't reach out
and touch your bones
I keep you behind the door
The one to the heart they keep a-hammering at
We are home
My dear
I'll keep you still

Shadows of Yesterday v.2

Everybody has a past. Some are still being chased by it. Can't quite put to bed. Can't move forwards. Sinking sands. Yesterday looms large, casts a tremendous shadow. How do we move on? It's exactly in the actions we make now and will make that we can change the lighting that falls upon what went before. We have the power to change everything. We need not only imagine.

Shadows of Yesterday v.1

Everybody has a past.
Some are still being chased by it.
Can't quite put to bed.
Can't move forwards.
Sinking sands.
Yesterday looms large, casts a tremendous shadow.
How do we move on?
It's exactly in the actions we make now and will make that we can change the lighting that falls upon what went before.
We have the power to change everything.
We need not only imagine.

All the Yearning / The Death of

You are dying at my hands. Your time is almost up. Nearly over the hill. Out of sight. Pretty little thing. I type away, my fingers know you well. I have shared with you a great magic. When you leave it will all continue, but something will have changed. I love you all of the time, even if I cannot possibly always show it. Sometimes it hides, sometimes it sleeps, but it never goes away. It burns ever brighter. I know it well. From the inside out, the scars would show.

and the stars are still shining, and she is as mine as I feel, as close as I can bear. All of us are writing a tale, with every single step, some of them should even be told, some of them are kept. She weeps in the shadows at the end, but look what will grow in its place... she only has to take a few steps to see something new to take her onward. From there, to here, to all that the heart has.

Honey, become, again and again, never fail to start over. Never be afraid, my dear. All the yearning, always the tears, always you, my dear.

Fall Forever

Never let these days end. The chasm of loneliness and how it fills eventually and the thrill is so much greater. The ride, the neverending ride. I long for, I reach out, we make contact, communicate and feed off each other. The desperate longing. The addiction to the edges, maybe we could fall. Maybe we would fall forever, arm in arm, bodies entwined, I want all of you.

Looking back and hoping for... just a trickle of love gets through, a flood awaits, a circus of opportunity, waiting to be translated into...

Never let these days end, never give up, follow the ticking heart, like the clock that marches us with meaning and passion. Be as you are, beautiful flower, be as you are. We could tell ourselves that nothing lasts forever, but we would be wrong. All of this is ours, a garden, without boundaries, a universe in the palm of the hand.

Surprises (The Third)

Maybe one of the true beauties of life is the unexpected, how it lurks and just attacks when  it couldn't possibly have seemed further away. The glory of something lovely just snapping at our heels, grabbing our attention and saving our souls again. Always a woman, always magic comes to find those. Those who know of it's intentions. Winter warmth arrives like arrows from over a wall, stright through the skin, making a mark. Love, in shapes and numbers that we cannot fathom. Thank you for keeping me on my toes, thank you for keeping me alive.

The Second

If this is us

We made it

The mountain

The view from here

Just you and I

If this is life

Then how golden

To hold you

For even a second

Of such precious time

If you hear

My whispering words

Then you know by now

In your head like birds

They flutter and swoop

and peacefully glide

I'm never going to leave

Your side now

If this is us

In this room

The kingdom is

The universe

All for you and I

The Fairytale Out There

Truly a wonderland. My darling, Wonderland. She is almost in a permanent state of whiteness, as one blanket lays itself down upon the last, or on a landscape that has turned to its natural winter colour once more (usually only hours before). It really snows here. Like Polish winter couldn't live without it. It's spectacular. The white snow is so much more beautiful than what lies beneath. It gives winter here some sense of magic. The flakes are falling all around. I feel like i am walking through some continual fairytale. I got wet today, walking through thick snow, falling at an angle, getting inside the shirt collar, which was mostly surrounded by clothes and a scarf, yet still the snow somehow sneaks its way inside. Everything looks like a postcard. Some of it old fashioned and stunning, some of it modern, cold, some winter paradise. I could send it to people around the world and show how beautiful my home in Poland is, just how stunning this city is. There is magic coming out of the cracks in the pavement here. Home at last.

Joe Strummer 10.2

Oh, life. When you are alive it could end anywhere. Nobody knows. The beautiful surprise of it all. If we knew, it would all mean less. Perhaps. But once we depart our bodies, these vehicles for the days the counting since our ending will continue forever, or at least until we slip from the memory. Each day we get further and further from the days of warm and pulsating bodies. We slip ever deeper into the ghostly realms we know not of as we live and breathe.

Mr. Strummer, from life to death, we are eternally connected.

Joe Strummer 10

It's hard to believe at times. Just how quickly time passes. Faster and faster, leaving us for dust. Enjoy the ride, because we won't escape alive, we aren't getting to a safe place to live forever, unless you know about souls. Oooh, that is an interesting one.

Joe Strummer. I was lucky enough to meet and know the man a little. I don't claim to have known him well, but I also shared a love for Andalucia and I too made acquaintance with a stunning little fishing village in the South coast of Spain, with gorgeous little hidden beaches and sunshine to fill the heart and mind for years. That was where our paths collided. No wonder we both returned so often. It was the summer of '99 and the one the following year too. We chatted, we even had a drink or two together, I served him cool drinks in the warm afternoons at the bar/restaurant I worked at. I even met Bez (yes, Happy Mondays and Black Grape cartoon dancing legend) through him and even my poor memory has a few special memories of Mr. Strummer in that there village.

I can't do it justice. But somehow, already, the tenth anniversary of this great man's death has passed. It was several weeks ago now, but I can't let it pass totally unnoticed. I still remember clearly the day my mother came home on 22nd December, 2002 and told me that Joe had passed on. My heart in my mouth I simply couldn't believe it. I mean, I was going to see him again. Surely. It had only been a question of time. The very time we don't have, or we cannot be certain we have. This man, down-to-earth, humble, a bit crazy (in the best way possible), and full of life and energy and passion was gone. Astonishing. I guess there are lessons everywhere. His popularity seems to only grow, for despite the man he was outside of his profession he was fucking good at what he did. He cared, he bled for his art and he will be remembered as one of the best. He did what was right to him, not the vultures, and he deserves great respect for that. For he made some astonishing music.

When I knew him I had not been a fan of his band (which is not something to be proud of, but may have tempered my excitement to know him a little at that time), and since I have become someone who completely appreciates what he accomplished. Some moods could only be matched with his band's music. Uplifting, life-affirming, ballsy. Put simply, I won't see his physical body ever again, though I dive into the concept of souls. I am happy I met him and shared some moments of that oh-so precious time with him.

Never forgotten, always with us, rest in peace, beautiful Joe.

The Table

A man rested on the table, shifting the pen, or the pen shifting his hand up and down the page. Eventually, the children followed his example and started writing, showing thought, concentration, inspiration perhaps even.

The man wondered how long that table had been there, as it stood almost at the centre of the room, mostly surrounded by tables, ones the students were also leaning upon. He pondered all the other figures who had leaned on this particular rectangular, four-legged table and considered where and when it had been made and who by. Was it as mechanically made by machines and men of the modern world as it looked or had it been carved and shaped with love? It did a valuable job, people never seem to truly appreciate all the things that surround them, but it all makes our days, our times, our lives easier. The table was ugly, but who could truly say what was ugly, beautiful, special and so on?

To consider all the people and their moods and hearts and minds moving near to, around, in contact with this table was immense. The scale of it all. Mankind and the world he has constructed, and the way we operate and use each little thing. All in all, it's just a table, and I would never ask it to be more.

Bedridden, Part 2

Come save me. Swallow me from this room, before she takes me instead. Three days trapped in bed, within the small confines of this room. It's enough to drive a man to madness. I like this place, but to hold me for this long, a continuous stretch, feels a struggle, too much. I contemplate the Art of Patience, and I allow myself further time to recover. A few people care enough. They come to me, contact me, love me, from different places and angles. I know they consider me, and it helps. That bed, just over there, but a few steps from where I now sit at my computer (my strength returning to me all the while), must be covered in my sweat and torment of illness, as it cushioned the blow. It made me ache, such was the aeon for which it held my body. Come save me, my muse, my darling young angel. Swim into view and take my hand, and pull me toward sleep, until I am all new once more.

The January Blues

It's only a matter of time before it comes. The comedown. The aftermath of the crescendo. Everyone was looking to the year's end, with eagerness. Every great ending means a beginning that can never quite feel the same follows immediately after. I call it the January Blues. It hits hard. It feels like having to work your way into it, like any book, it takes effort and passion to break past the barrier. It requires enough love to see through the darkness. If you are not up for a fight, then how did you make it to an end that even led us to this new page? The new year was beautiful. I had the hand of someone. I had a sea of candles. I had the eyes of a woman. She was perfect. perfectly there. In a moment, the two of us. The whole world and its fireworks and noise and booze was outside, making some perfect racket. Colliding like stars, trying to finish off the night. We were inside, holding everything else. The January Blues was waiting, like she does, just around the corner. Ready to pounce. just like she always does. Let's enjoy that feeling, sinking and fighting and doing it all over again.

PS- have a healthy and golden year!