Solitude

I wrap it around myself like a blanket for the cold months. Nobody knows at all. Some graveyard, consuming, taking the days from. I slip into poetic gloom, you say you don't understand. How fragile, tender and confusing. Demons and ghosts, all of them at us, on the back and the shoulder, memories that never give up, never rest for a second.

Should they be short little lines or just blocks of text? In my solitude I have not the answer. As long as the words swim out there, from the mouth of the computer, into the pool of your eyes.

I saw a hollow cross, hanging from around your neck. You are not what you say you will be. Not what you promised. There are many of you here, I struggle through the crowd of you. You seem to often multiply. I cannot for the life of me work that out.

I sit here alone. Nobody to hear the voice. Or to even matter to. Crippled by the silence, words, where have you been? For now we are over. All we ever had was now, to look after, to blossom in. Abandon me when I need you the most. I am lost in the maze here, all of this again. For me.

...Roger Federer Will Be Laughing Again

I don't doubt it for a second. I am a big tennis fan. I do not deny the grace and class of Federer at Wimbledon on the gorgeous green lawns. He has reason to laugh. If there is no Nadal he has every chance of winning the title, any given year. Should he meet any of the other big four he could be beaten, but the Spaniard is his nemesis, and has been for a long time. I think his grasp on the top of men's tennis is as tentaive as ever now. He still offers the game much, but the others get stronger and hungrier and if they are on form, his chances diminish, though still existing, as they always have.

The laughter to me is arrogance, and yes, of course, you could say it's fully justified. But there is a way to be humble, as graceful in both defeat and success as on the lovely courts that require a different type of tennis to the other surfaces they play on all year round. People want Nadal to go out it seems. They most likely appreciate the way Federer plays, all laughing too. Odd though, despite the lack of beauty to the game of others, a player like Nadal is as impressive if not more, as his will, his desire, his mental fortitude and commitment to battle is astonishing. If people cannot appreciate that, I question how much they really love sport. Sport and life is about so much more than grace. It's about passion and love of what you do.

The laughter makes me myself laugh. You are nothing without something to make you laugh, and to be quite frank, you can only do what you do because that man has been removed from your path. Laugh, as you will, you know you couldn't handle him.

PS- He waited for his conqueror to accompany him from the court. You would never, ever have done such a thing in defeat. One of the very few deserved of the title 'gentleman.'

Heaven's Child

It could have all been over by now. The last strum would have rung out days ago, a ghost I would have become. Those songs would have been sealed as the only ones, with no new additions to follow, which is also the case for the words and thoughts and everything else we do in the course of our lives that has meaning. It was hard not to think about it, not to feel grateful to be drawing breath. To think of the things and people that had shaped my short existence. To think about the causes of my happiness and sorrow.

My family, my natural one, the one I have little contact from, let alone ever see, would have been as far as they'd ever been. They would have heard the news of heaven's child and felt whatever they would have felt. The silent ones would have contemplated their silence and felt it had been necessary or felt true guilt and regret. Life is too short for that, but some live as though they have no sense of others around them, no sense of even understanding the simplicity of mortality. Of so many others facets of human nature. Of sharing, of loving, of not succumbing to all those temptations and selling something to the devil down at the crossroads.

I would have translated into another one of the lost bodies, soul swimming toward freedom. I could have seen the lights like never before, evolved into some haunting memory for some, casting a shadow on their days, though I doubt it would even be possible really. To think of it as over, this life as we know it, as I experience it. To ponder what lies beyond, over the fence, up those heavenly stairs. I am you and we are all the things that know no limits. I will never abandon you as you did me, I will simply carry a weight, needless and glowing. I am all the things you never could be, a heart that nearly stopped beating that would have lived long beyond your own ticking bomb.

To those who show their true selves the remaining body and soul pulsates to your names. The utterance of the nearness to tragedy reveals genuine emotion. I can only ponder what it would have been like afterwards, for now. I can only give thanks, and feel blessed. Heaven's child will arrive eventually, but for now it can wait. All those notes and words and love, it can all continue to erupt, like the volcano, for days and time to come. I can't avoid the thoughts though, the endless stream of thoughts of what might have been...

My Hungarian School

It's a far way off, and yet I hold it inside my arms. A sea of golden memories. I never had such a feast, such a wealth of happiness before. If the country is poor then it is not easy to tell from the way people unite to create a sense of community within the school. That was often transferred to me and has remained with me, hence my return here, at a key stage of the year in my current post in Poland. I made a promise to my group from last year who graduated today, back in September at the start of the academic year, that I would be present today. I did not want to break that promise, though it didn't always seem so likely. Appendicitis among other things tried to stop me, but I defied the obstacles and saw a wonderful group of kids in their smart dress on the final day of their early education. Yesterday, they had felt to include me in their presentation and given me a small gift, a year after my work at the school was theoretically finished. The gesture was fitting, surprising, and totally typical of the school, the staff and kids within and the experience and accompanying emotions I had celebrated here.

It's hard for me to judge Hungary in any way unattached to my time here at the school, quite simply the best year of my life. Everything since has been an uphill struggle, which has served to make me appreciate the things I had and in which direction I would like to progress. This school, here, in this poor part of a majestic city, with a grand heart, has been a lifeline. To return here has fuelled my fire, my passion, and inspired me yet again, as always it did. All the things I love, the music, the writers, the art, the films and comedy, the sportspeople, the other sources of profound inspiration, the wells of magic, and this school. It is one of the saving graces of my days, and so many children who are bright and alive and hopeful attend there.

I stay with a family here. I consider them my second family. They are dear to me. An extension of the school, that perhaps and hopefully I shall always be affiliated to in some way. I like to keep the parts of me that mean something and hold them close. Today, the photos and music, the celebration, the small kids singing to me, sharing their moments, just having fun, wide eyed and absorbing.

Money means nothing. It has no purpose, not really. These are the richest people I have ever known. I know a secret. Nobody else seems to know. Yes, well, the kids know, even if they aren't truly aware of it. You have a shotgun childhood, gone in moments, you emerge into an adult world and lose the wonder and innocence and magic, to sell your soul for the magic beans of the real world. Except it is never what you hope. It looks so good from afar, as you step closer and closer, exiting childhood in favour of the adult world, and it can only really disappoint. Why lose the things that make children so special? What for? It makes no sense. All that matters is looking after one another. All that matters is love, the sense of nurturing those around us, having fun and being safe. Education and patience, knowledge and trust, kindness and honour.

Thank you for the good times. Who knows what is coming next. Let us be not afraid and approach the unknown with out heads held up, with hearts full of love, and ready for new challenges. These are the best days of our lives, however they may feel. We can do anything, all we have to do is believe. I know the most special school on earth. It is my Hungarian school. Nobody can take that away, from me, from us, from the blades of grass growing under children's feet outside in the playground. The way the sun beats down, the way everything was, so perfect, so precise, like a fairytale really.

God bless everyone there, and the best of luck to those who move on from one spectacular and special school.

Maciek

Always somebody there with a smile. You look like some replica of the grandpa in one of Roald Dahl's tales. Yeah, the one with a moustache and long silver hair, the one who explodes with joy when something good happens. You had a warm manner. Friendly, talkative, helpful. One of the hospital faces. Yeah, yours will burn brighter for longer, I do not doubt. You have been released by now, I should hope. I wish you well, Maciek. It's so easy to not care, when people like you appear it is like some grandiose event. It should not be so, but your beauty is evident. Thank you for loving strangers, thank you for your heart, I hope it never slips from your sleeve. There are others who are not, but you fill the holes they leave gaping. Completing each other's gaps, and even those of others.

You will never see these words, I imagine, but nevertheless they are sent to you. I hope they soar the skies and enter your home through an open window. That they then lay down beside you and embrace you, giving you some peace and love. The smallest gestures so grand. Open your heart, and be. I hope you are looked after. Thank you. That is all I have.

Salvation

There's someone there to save me. The lights. The guardian angel. The nearness of death's door. You shepherd me away, without knowing how close I came. It's hard not to consider, now that I know, for I could have transformed into a ghost. All the tears and joy that people would have cried and felt, and still be feeling, if I were to have succumbed.

Our bodies are so durable and yet fragile, utterly perplexing to ponder. I was once a baby, now I am racing (hurtling even) to the end, not knowing when, sooner or later, in the meantime just being saved. Someone there to love me, someone is there. Doing the best they know how, putting a forcefield around my body whole.

Those little butterfly thoughts, they were almost set free, for now though they flutter and vibrate, all huddled together. One day they shall be released and Heaven-bound become.

I know I was lucky. I know you saved me. Salvation comes, thank the Lord it comes.

What's Next?

The barrage, the unknown. Whatever could be riding a wave this way next. Who knows, the eternal inquisition. The answers always come, sometimes when we really don't expect. Say something of meaning rather than just any old throwaway words. Speak from the heart. Otherwise, why bother?

I don't know how I will remember you, if I ever escape. I feel sure it will not be with fondness. It will sit somewhere with invisible brothers and people who care only for money. Those who don't feel nor think their way, but simply watch others fall at their own expense, as they try to climb for a higher view. Of a bloodbath they could have helped to avoid. One day, perhaps, you will see things as they truly are. For now, it is evident you are blind. Living life in some tunnel, that consumes you, it possesses you. The city. One of the vultures now are you, seeking that on which you shall feast, to ensure your own survival.

I don't know what's coming next, but you won't be there. You never were. You were born with no heart. What a work of art.

They Brought Me Flowers

They sit beside me
In a sawn off bottle of plastic
Filling the room
A few small flowers
They look like everything
Undelivered
Finally there
They had been uprooted
Now kept me company
From love
With love

They brought me flowers
Pennies of love
Bought them for me
Unfathomably
Always I miss those petals
Now they are near
God, I love that one
Couldn't imagine such eyes
Or other walls

We tick with time
Musical passion
Songs and hurt and gongs
We are leaving here today
Tomorrow we shall see
She brought me flowers
For the road
For our journey
Darling
We never need look back

You Are Not There

I'm leaving here. I'm leaving you for good. You are not there (when I needed you). All that was wanted was magic, all you do is disappoint. Somewhere something beautiful waiting, why let it wait longer? You had other plans, so do I. I am engulfed in these tragedies, for seek them not did I. They chase me through blackened streets, snapping at my clicking feet. It was miles from here, where you were. You didn't understand. I'm better on my own. Walls are us. Around us, crashing down, letting down us.

Nothing will ever be the same as it was, especially not when we imagined it all from the start.

The Polish Thank You

Close To The Edge

How can we come so close, on so many occasions, permanently on some dangerous periphery of things, and yet not fall off? Gravity doesn't pull so hard, after all. There is some weight on shoulders. There is her force that also pulls down, and yet we stand up, we walk tall, well, as tall as we can walk, and we dabble with dark magic on the fringes.

Perhaps it is to feel far brighter and more alive than to reside many moons from here, safely tucked away in some imaginary forcefield, held in by lies, and rules, and secret dictatorships. Close to the edge, and perhaps you will fall off, but that feeling of falling, I imagine, also to be far greater than the safety that isn't even a reality.

Roots Are Screaming

Life ticks on. I hear your call, but it doesn't quite make sense. There is much on this mind, sharply feeling the brunt from all directions. Time marches. It is coming for us all. I think of a dream, or did it really happen...

I watch her bend down, tear a beautiful little weed from between the paving stones on the driveway, and I think to myself 'roots are screaming.' I can feel the agony of that living organism. The small things, they just seem so grand at times. All the corners we turn and yet backwards are we. Magnificent we are. Lost in a multitude of things. 

Perhaps it was real, it certainly seems vivid. Like some polished stone, carefully attended. It was an odd day, yeah, even by the usual frame. I guess we only get deeper and further, no let up, just let downs. The sky, so grey, and somehow it moves us to other quarters. I try to think about what is behind the clouds, not what they make me feel, as they attempt to shroud my spirit.

From here I can see it all happening. The carnivores are coming...

When God Conducts the Thunder and Lightning

Snails and slugs crawling across the pavement. God, I hope they make it in one piece, shell still there or not. He's up there, with what looks like a wand, conducting some magical sound crashing it's way around the entire sky, filling everything with noise. There is gonna be lightning too. It has all been planned beautifully. The rain comes in faint drops, then as the thunder crashes the rain erupts from the clouds overhead and soaks the land, the plants and trees having never looked so green. Nature in all its majesty.

It's like some classical piece created by nature, God leading the way. Suddenly all around us is an instrument making a unique sound in the rain, drops slapping on the ground, in gutters and puddles. The storm goes away, takes itself elsewhere, but later another round appears, and all the instruments play a new song. It's amazing, the wind comes in through my open door, I let the song wash over my chilled bones. We kill nature and then ask questions. It would seem to be the most beautiful force on all earth, and I am not sure whether we even deserve it.

Here is to the snails and slugs making their way, just making their way. I hope they get across alright.