Witness

I am swallowed by my bitterness

and I swallow it

in this fractal frame of failed relationships.

Cynicism soothes my wounded seat on shelf.

I can’t stand going out.

I’d rather sit here by myself.

I’m past all the politics,

all the pitifully petty pecks of poison.

I’ve destroyed some neural pathways -

traumatic mistakes in my past days -

I’m taking small steps to start to fix them.

Small steps are fine, but small talk is a human affliction.

Fill the air with comforting fiction:

soulless banality hosed down and repeated as wisdom

by those who love to speak but have never learned to listen;

giving advice even they don’t believe in.

It’s deceiving

telling everyone you’re

Fine

all the time. It’s not

Honest.

Holding back - substitution of feelings in place of facts.

Illogical reasoning misleads and distracts.

Choreographed outward expression to avoid exposing inner lack

of belonging.

This wrongling has always felt that gap.

When I started reading Phillip K Dick

I felt seen. Something in me clicked and it all made sense.

Let’s just say, for argument’s,

that you understand

how it feels to live life as a grain of sand.

Watch unreactive distracted citizenry

wail and gnash and wring their hands;

apathetically prophetic taking knees 

instead of making stands.

Trembling. Waiting for breath.

And when it comes, the hurricane howl ignites the spite that underlies society.

Sparks to the skies, and hang sobriety!

Times of extremes clouding clarity of conviction.

If we’re all victims, 

Then surely we’re all, too, perpetrators.

Ears filled with these half-baked statements of journalistic tinnitus

pushing the same old them-and-us.

Propaganda pervasive; twas ever thus.

Psychological soundbites and deep cuts.

And as above, so below. 

On a personal level, it’s starting to show.

Look among you! Do you even know

how many are masking? How many know?

For all of the feeling that’s public displayed

how little is shown when the mind’s whirr is stayed?

This adrenaline engine is seemingly binary:

tectonic plate movement rate

or warp times infinity.

Where is the nuance? Where the gradations?

Where are the plateaus and smooth undulations?

Youth speaks in infinites, we speak in finalities.

Counting up daily accounts 

of fatalities.

Powerless but to bear witness 

to all of it.

Kate

When discussing women who can change the world

I would be remiss not to mention this girl.

She is witty, bold and beautiful. She loves debates.

You can keep your Catherine, it’s Kate that’s great.

Optimistic to the point of rebelliousness,

she brings out the best in the worst of us.

She is naughty and notorious, not B.I.G at all;

a pocket-sized and perfectly formed know-it-all.

She puts effort in the details, so you’d better pay attention

or you’ll miss the little touches that betray strength of affection.

We went for a quick coffee the first time we met

which stretched into hours, days, months and a set

of brand new wrinkles for my happy-creased face

which deepen every time we talk, ‘cause she’s ace.

Some people have suggested she has bats in her belfry

But I reckon she should be on Made in Chelsea.

Is that it, Kate? Is your secret out?

Is that what moving away’s all about?

Are you trading in Alex, Chris, Ed, Beth and Jo

for Binky, afternoon tea and prosecco?

All joking aside, I know we all wish you the best

and support your decision ‘bout what to do with the rest

of your life. You’ve adventures ahead

and you can always come back, when all’s said

and done. This island has open arms.

We’ve all fallen under the spell of your charms;

of your perfect diction, your painful puns,

and your clues for quizzes that leave people stumped.

You stand five foot eight (in your seven inch heels)

but we’re eye to eye on the issues that are real.

Shine your light in dark places, start the conversation.

Don’t accept pauses, repetition, deviation.

In the game of life you’ll find that no one has a clue

so you just have to do what’s right for you.

As a mark of respect from the Empire of Whimsy

I hereby grant right of indefinite entry.

(I’m hoping she’ll reciprocate, I must confess.

Her micronation’s spelled: [are you ready?]

N E T H E R L A N D S)

One last thing, Kate, you’d better keep a blog

so I can keep up to date with you and Frank the Dog.

Destined for greatness and determined to achieve,

I will shed my tears privately when you leave.

You’re not just cool, you’re cool-cool-cool.

You’re a credit to your parents, your island and your school.

You’re a treasured-ever friend of the rarest sort,

so go – explore – conquer – and report.

                                                                                                                                                   

I was lucky enough to meet award-winning journalist and all round wondrous soul Kate Holland through poetry work, friend connections and the general magic of the island around about this time last year.

 She has been working at Manx Radio presenting the Women Today program along with Beth Espey and Jo Pack for the last year. She has now decided to fly this little island nest. Today was her last day and as a surprise, a secret show was planned. I wrote and performed the above for her.  

Love you Kate. Have a magnificent time. 

Xxxx