Hiding In The Shadows

It’s hiding in the shadows

I say it won’t last

The murky old memories

Cobwebs of the past

Detritus and debris

Lying on the floor

The body of regret

Dead behind the door

Bitterness and sorrow

Smells of rot and rust

Of damp, dark mildew

Of mold, dank and must.

It’s hiding in the shadows

The pain and the love

The joy and the anger

Mingle in the dust

The hopes and the what-if’s

Broken dreams, failed schemes

Scramble for the strip of light

That peeps beyond the beams

I listen for footsteps

But they are silent in the hall

What’s hiding in the shadows

Won’t come out at all.

Is frozen in the distance

And cannot move or go.

It’s stuck in aged decades

Of many moons ago.

This shadow is looming

And it won’t let me be.

What’s hiding in the shadows

Well, that thing…

Is me.

When I’m Filling A Stocking…

When I’m filling a stocking for someone special, I try to fill it with:

-Something to eat

-Something to drink

-Something to wear – usually socks and boxers or both (Obviously thinking about spouse here)

-Something to write in, diary or notepad with pen.

-Some type of useful gadget that needs batteries. I was going to buy a nose/ear trimmer for my spouse but realised I’d never actually seen any stray hairs sprouting from either orifice, in thirty years, and so thought this might be a bit insulting. Turns out he would have welcomed them. I suppose he’s been doing it in secret, trimming, I mean. (An ideal Christmas gift opportunity down the pan).

Some type of exciting but esentially useless gadget, that appeals to men’s little-boy-that-never-grew-up mentality.

Something to drink out of – Christmas themed or other type of drink vehicle filled with socks, marshmallows and/or generic hot chocolate mix. Got him a Batman mug and socks that I secretly wanted. (Christmas is nothing if not about sacrifice).

Something to splash on. (Got to be Brut lotion in his case)

Something out of the box/miscellaneous, unexpected, that doesn’t fit into any category.

Booby prize – Actually, only just thought about this one, as a possible stocking filler idea.

Toiletries- Just the few essential packs of razors and shaving foam.

Mastermind Vintage – A really cheap perfume for men, that smells like sugar, with a tiny bit of musk, which he obviously didn’t like, which he gave to me. Remember these are not the real present/gift items. It’s fun supplementary.

Lambrini Rhubarb – He likes sweet things and he doesn’t normally drink so I thought lightweight, sweet, refreshing and delicious, can’t lose, but again, he passed it onto me. I’m sensing a pattern here. Tastes like melted plastic to me. Like the Christmas Pudding and Custard Stout I bought, which tasted like nothing I’ve ever drank before, and hope I never will again, I thought it would go straight down the sink, and for me to pour alcohol down the sink, it has to be bad, but I drank a can of this, and now I have heartburn.

As usual, everything was last minute for me this year, like the men you see going out at Christmas Eve to buy perfume. Actually, it’s usually the day before, under cover of darkness, at 4.30 p.m, and you can see the pain in their eyes, even in the winter solstice.

I try to include a delicate balance of different useful things, but it was a bit hit and miss this year, more miss than hit. So… I’m going to have a P.S Day. Things forgotten and not purchased through lack of time, energy, indecision, trauma, hot discount store, or some other reason and we’re going to have another Christmas Stocking, in the next few days, a sort of add on, an expansion, like those video games, only with those nose hair trimmers nestling uncomfortably on top.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

The Sea

We know what it does

How it does it

Where it goes

Why it comes

What it’s going to do next

Yet are still mesmerised

By the waves

Lapping on the shore

And the tides going in and out

And the diamonds on the blue

When the sun is shining

And the fury of a storm

Foaming at the corners of its mouth.

Slow To Anger

Insults will put you down

If you let them

A jibe here

A stab there

But a criticism

Or an inneundo

Like a rotting wInter leaf

Before spring

Can sail away on the wind

If you’re slow to take offense

It’s tiring to be offended

Day after day

An exhausting round

Of mind games

Of word wars

Of battles that can’t be seen

Blood shed covertly

Will hurt just as much

But they know not what they do

Accept failure of others

Even if they can’t keep their hurt in

Long enough

To keep from hurting you

Sometimes, it’s not personal

If a glass falls

Its many shards will scatter

In all directions

And chances are

One or two willl cross your path

But sometimes, it is personal

Smiles and knives have been sharpened over time

And tipped with poison

With you in mind

Perhaps for many years

And expertedly pointed

At your back

For a well aimed

Well planned

Bullseye!

But whether it’s wrong time, wrong place

Or accidently on purpose

You can nurse a slight all day

And all it does is take away

From what is important

To you and your life.

MidLife Crisis

The desire to relive youth

Comes on like a contagion

A midlife crisis is an apt word

To describe the malady

Many go there

But some never return

A clock can be biological

Ticking loud enough

To cause ears to bleed

And heads to explode

And minds to claw

At the walls of time

Like a trapped animal

Remembering suddenly

Things never done

Places never been

Hearts never explored

Lands never conquered

Dreams never realised

Emotions never felt

Repression never lifted

Oceans never explored

Projects never finished

The clock can be cerebral

A desire or need to ram

And jam in, as much as possible

Like filling a suitcase to bursting

So it can’t be closed

Easily

Red sports car

Leather jacket

Guitar

A younger model

A need to re-affirm

Masculintiy

Femininity

Desirability

Or all three

And a hope to escape

The existance one finds themselves

Embroiled in.

The midlife crisis is actually

Three quarters of the way into life

Creating an air of desperation

Suffocation

Drowning

Falling

A need to fall

Sweet surrender

To practice for that other surrender

Of death

But hopefully

Once the crisis is over

You come away – unscathed

Without leaving too many casualties

In your wake

And it’s back to reality

Normality need not be

Stale soup and slippers

Instead, it can be sanity

And staid need not be stagnant

And dreams need not be broken

And summer can burst through

The illusion of spring.

Penalties

Penalties are…

Humiliation

For everyone involved

Penalties are…

The homocides

That never get solved

Penalties are…

The liars

That hide their stash

When everyone else

Is putting in the cash

Penalties are…

The shirker

Who gets in late

Penalties get lucky

And cannot wait

Penalties are…

Random

On a game board rolled

Penalties are easy way

Yet come up

Fools gold

Penalties are…

Unrequited Love

Dreams Unrealized

Hard Work and Skill

Count for nothing

When there are penalties.

Be Watchful

Be watchful of wolf

In sheep garments

And wary of sheep

In wolf attire

Discern motivation

What do people want from you?

Because they will want something.

Money?

Sex?

Power?

Other?

You’re not so much liked

As ‘loved’

Or ‘desired’

Or ‘wanted’

For their pleasure

For their id

For their ‘Dupers Delight’

What can you do for them?

What are they lacking?

What gap can you fill?

Or are you maybe

Simply stalked

And hunted for your fur

Middle Of The Road

Either hot or cold

Up or down

No centre ground

No temperate clime

Sweet or Sour

Here or There

Passion or placid

Love or not

No grey area

No neutral zone

Fast or slow

No sideline

No sitting

On the fence

Good or bad

Rain or shine

No point being

Lukewarm

Or tepid

Or mediocre

Or middle of the road

Because if you’re in the

Middle of the road…

You get hit by cars.