How long is a piece of string?

Sometimes, I feel as a piece of thread.

Containing turns and knots.

A frayed string.

Never truly aware what is happening.

Most often in life, enjoying the journey

Weaving amongst others with great accord

Every path is an adventure!

So come, see who we get tangled up with

Having twisted myself a good many places

I have taut myself in the struggle

Should I slack off my progress?

Is it good? Or does the tension help me grow?

I am vaguely aware I had a beginning

And that this tapestry is much greater than I

I, a single thread among millions and billions

Creating a picture that can only be glimpsed

I am scared. Scared of being lost,

Scared of my time in telling the story being done.

That one day my thread will tie off neatly

Never to see what the image will become

So it goes.

For now, I just have to be weave

Take my journey as it goes

For as long as it will take me

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/threads.html

You don't always see the darkness in the world.

You don't always know where the shadows lie.

Who is struggling, who needs saving,

Whose hopes are about to die.

Life. It's not pleasant. It's not nice. It's not pretty.

What it is, though, is filled with change.

So, for those times when things aren't going so bad,

I'm going to ask you something strange.

I need you to shine my friend.

Shine bright and strong and true.

From every inch of your being,

From every ounce of you.

Shine with every colour of the rainbow.

Drive every rag of shadow from this place.

Love with every atom of your being,

If you can, wear a smile on your face.

Be the mercenary we require right now.

Help all of us who want aid in the fight.

Because all we may need when feeling down,

Is to bask in another's light.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/shine.html

The traveller never went far from their heart

Except when they returned

For every time they rested

It was travel that they yearned

So they followed their heart away

Across the sky and sea

Finding rejuvenation in the waters

In each new land they'd see

It mattered not with whom they went

If they ventured out alone

Nor that they'd never see every place

For the thrill was in the unknown

And so the traveller went, and as payment for their aches and ails

They filled themself with memories, and told the world their tales

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-traveller.html

"You must enter the arena my child"

Said the father who had survived it all

Survived the feral without becoming wild

And stood at the end, proud and tall

"Only those tested ever get their name in a book"

He said with great aplomb and pride

Forgetting exactly how his legs fiercely shook

Before history was on his side

"It made me who I am today"

Said the man who was able-bodied and sane

Forgetting those with a greater price to pay

The cost for such a gain

"You shall look back fondly too"

If you're able to look back at all on this time

For each shoulder on which you stand

One has been crippled and one forced to crime

"I promise if - you win you live on in eternity"

But what about those with a weaker demeanour?

No one can promise with certainty

So get both sides before you enter the arena.

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-arena.html

In my village, nothing much ever changes

We don't like to leave and aren't open to strangers

Jobs are passed down from father to son

And have been since our village first begun

Everyone wants to be friends with the baker's son

You need to be on good terms with the house maker's son

And the distiller's son (if you ever need a comforter)

Never, never run afoul of the son of our governor

I had trouble making friends as a child

I had to be sensible and never be wild

Yet when they coughed they'd look at me often

Knowing, that one day, I'd make their coffin

My father taught me how to guide an axe into a tree

The dead wood reincarnated in the assembly

Add to it 25 nails and (of course) a cross

Give it an extra polish after a wash

And voila. One size fits any soul.

To make them sturdy was my only goal

If it was good, my father would nod, put a hand on my shoulder

As we marked a potential client in pencil in our folder

We didn't know. But work gets to you in the end

There's a reason the undertaker and his son struggle for friends

But it has to be done. And so to make sure we get paid

I am simply another son taking up the family trade

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-family-trade.html

A brief google search tells me a box of make up can cost anywhere from a couple of pounds to an entire student loan.

The reason I have to search is because I have never bought make up before, and it occurs to me this is something I should probably know.

In a similar way to how growing long hair gave me insights into the effort and dedication that so much of the population put towards a part of the human anatomy I had previous given little to no thought to.

I suddenly realised that I had no idea exactly how much make up cost or exactly why people wear it.

Not really keen to set aside an extra 5 minutes that could be spent sleeping in a morning trying it for myself (because, after all, I love my beauty sleep), I have decided to instead spend the next 5 minutes trying to work out why in a slam.

Because I now know how much make up costs. But it's the why which I find a little bit of a bother.

...

The first time you see someone that you know well but without their make-up on tends to blow your mind a little. It informs you quickly that, regardless of what you tell yourself, a lot of how you perceive someone is tied up in their physical appearance. Maybe not for good or bad, but you do feel like you've learnt something intrinsically personal about a person. You've learned what they actually look like. And that can be a bit of a shock to the system, even if it's just because you kinda thought you already knew what they look like.

As a side note, when this happens and they go fishing for a comment do not blow it. Think in advance if you have to.

I was very young the first time I saw a make up box. I didn't really know what it was, but TV and books had taught me well enough to know it was something for Mummies. Leave it alone. Go do something wrong that your older siblings will later get the blame for. Make up was something for girls to aspire to.

So what were they aspiring to? The first time I ever wore make up, I was in the grip of adolescent hormones. I was performing in a play as an emo, and was told to wear make up to go with the role. Naturally, I hesitated, but went forward with it. After all, this would help me get into the role. This would help me change into someone else.

I think you might see what I'm getting at.

I did learn something else though - make up is very hard to do. It was a massive shock to the system to learn that I sucked at using eyeliner. I mean, I'd done Art. I'd drawn things before, and one or two pieces I'd drawn quite well. Never the pieces my parents put on the fridge of course, but I thought I was quite good at drawing. Turns out it's very different when the canvas is your face.

It turns out it takes a lot of time to work out how to correctly and precisely block sunlight from touching your skin.

It turns out, that those people who paint their face in make up often, are very good artists. It is said it take 10,000 hours to properly master something. And I realised I knew a lot of people who must have spent at least that long sat cultivating their own reflection.

***poem is too long for description box, see rest of the poem at https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/02/make-up.html ***

I just wrote something down

Hey, look at me: I just wrote something down!

And it may cause some people to smile and some people to frown,

But I did this. I created something new.

It's flawed and it's weird and it's me through and through.

I have no doubt there was hesitation involved in its creation,

And that motivation was the pursuit of procrastination.

But still. It's here. It's here and it's in my hand.

It starts off shakey, the ending wasn't planned,

And the middle is ok and overall it's just fine,

But it's here. And it exists. And it's mine.

It's mine to the word and it's mine to the letter,

And if the rhymes don't quite scan then that doesn't matter.

The trick was to start. Take it from my heart the trick was to start,

And not get caught up and lost in the state of my art.

I just put down some lines, hoped for the best,

Kept myself going showing no need to rest,

Until, finally, I'd got to the end.

And then, my friend, I'm not going to pretend,

You're supposed to just leave it as static and stale,

You should tell someone about it. Tell them your tale.

Listen to the feedback they do and don't give,

Let you work breath, let it grow and live.

But to get to this point there's only one trick I've found

You need simply to start. And write something down.

****

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/i-just-created-something.html

No flowers withered

At death's knell

The world was still

As his eyelids fell.

The lightbulbs glowed

And they did not flicker

The air was quite still

And did not grow thicker.

But inside. Man, inside.

Electricity that had made a man do a thousand different things

Made him think of love and loss and anger and regret

The spark that had made him once get up on a stage and sing

Had powered a laughter that could spread and infect

The memory of the time he walked in on his parents at night

The touch, so soft, of his true love. And also of his wife.

The electricity inside that powered every thought and light

It ran the end of its circuitry and it

Fizzled

Softly

The world kept its spin

But electricity stopped inside

The earth did nothing

As an old man died

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/as-old-man-died.html

Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why

In this world of fight or flight I've got a forest in my eye

Wood I remove it by moving my morals to act consistently

Sure would! But my groove as a human is to affect with hypocrisy

My comfort as I come at all the issues life will raise

Is to decide as I ride - and retroactively reconcile for days

Some times I come up good - as I should tend to find I guess

But in any contradiction I apply diction to redefine to my very best

See, my label of untitled might be a placeholder later

Appalling it appears, I'll often edit my edict for the final paper

And I'm sick of this schtick, so instead I'll be leaving that word blank

Letting you know quick I'm flawed - rather than swim through mud I sank

Sometimes things don't line up and finish in the way they're supposed to

Rather than chop around the edges I'm now just gonna flow through

Acknowledge as a scholar that I'll stumble and I'll sigh

Yo,

I made this one untitled and I'm being honest why

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/untitled.html

It is a singular delight

To find one with which you share a passion and flame.

As you both shine bright

With whom you need to feel no shame.

Far to often, we enjoy

Hiding ourselves and our inspirations away

For fear that our joy

Will be shunned and scorned without delay

We'd rather protect

That small flicker that makes us feel less small

Than let it grow and infect

To spread wide and to fully engulf all

The risk is far too great

What if they are right to bring us down?

One thing I've found of late

Is that passion finds far more smile than frowns

And so, to find that pleasure

One with whom you can share your flicker of light

To face all dowsing together

And merely emerge aflame is an utter delight

***

https://harryisapoet.blogspot.com/2017/01/sharing-joy.html