LINES...

written on 28th June, 1989.

These sterile walls are bare, except for a framed representation
of a nursery rhyme whose title escapes me.
Apprensions dwell within it's symbolism - and my worst nightmare.
The mouse's burnt dress is a portent of my destiny.
The sun creeps across these walls, dazzlingly white.

Darkened walls now. Blank, devoid of hope. Utter desolation.
Wish I could escape my own mind: thoughts
spiralling down into a black pit, with emotions swiftly following.
There is no way out of this place
of perpetual profound agony.

The red depths wince continually:
a broken pump and two struggling bellows,
mechanically clinging to a pointless existence.
This is all I am now. This - and the terror
of glancing behind myself and seeing what I know is there.

Suddenly, outside, deafening thunder and lightening.
It's as if the World's very Soul, like mine, is being ripped apart.
All hope of salvation is lost on this ward.
Petrified, I turn and approach the incubator:
my tiny, helpless baby is still lying there,

but now she's no longer moving.
She is turning grey as a leaden sky.
She will have passed away in the next few moments. It
is only now all the myriad tubes have been removed
that I can finally hold her for the very first (and last) time...


I have more medical tests and treatments coming up in the next few weeks and months, but will visit as often as I can.
Do hope you can forgive my absences as and when they occur...xxx

THOUGHTS

We are shaped by our thoughts: we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves. 
THE BUDDHA

They permeate your every waking moment,
these warring factions, yet so subtly
you barely notice them. Until you're in crisis.
Then disquiet prickles your spine, precipitating
something akin to panic, and your health
gradually falls into decline. The nerves
beneath your skin contract and your heart
bolts away like a prize racehorse
into nightmarish scenario after scenario.
If you understood how you got there,
then you wouldn't be there at all.

It's the secret of anyone who thinks too much:
the impulse to cover their ears and try
to shut it out. The entire Universe
isn't vast enough to contain it's multitudinous
train. It fills your entire being,
totally controlling you. Never were you
more powerless: a mere puppet whose strings
stretch up into infinity. If you value your equilibrium,
don't think!

But, of course, every coin has its flip side:
that intoxicating sense of vitality in your core
when you're possessed by enthusiasm
and can barely believe the heights
you have reached. You love everyone, everything:
you now are infinite - a brilliant ball of positive energy
rising above all earthly nuances. And when you fall asleep,
you fall into beautiful dreams, surrounded
by fragrant bluebells rustling in a spring breeze
as if dancing to spiritual music. Your Soul is present.
You are whole and perfectly in balance.
Live it while it lasts. Think on...

I am taking a short break guys, so will be back in a couple of weeks or so. Missing you all already...😢

GHOST HOSPITAL

The Cambridge Military Hospital

                    photo:  The Hampshire Independent.

Watching the bulldozers from the roadside,

it's hard to believe my eyes.

What sacrilege is this? In a short time

it will be no more - not in it's present form anyway,

but will have become yet more housing no one can afford

nor ever really wanted. Greed. That's all it is.

And it's Soul will be consigned to purgatory,

taking with it all those who throughout it's long history

have fallen totally under its spell.

But what they fail to understand, these developers,

is the legacy of their actions: deaf ears 

to the heart-rending cries in tumbling walls, the old voices

that still catch in my throat.

And in the rising dust, I see a face

I saw in a mirror some thirty years back,

her blonde hair shimmering in a broken window pane.

Has she really remained here for so many years,

still clinging to these eerie darting shadows?

And when the devastation is complete, what then?

When the occupants move in, will she stay

along with all those others who languish still

within time's endlessly repeating loop?

There is so much they don't know

about this living relic they're tearing apart.

Materialistic eyes cannot see beyond their own avarice.

There is no respect for the multitudes of disfigured servicemen,

nor for all the rest of the battered and broken humanity that has passed

through these hallowed corridors...or those

like myself, one time patients who have left

traces of themselves in these ethereal wards

that will remain here, unseen, until the end of time.

                                    

ASTON MARTIN

Drive me with your skilled, sure hands;
keep me within the legal speed limits
displayed on the road signs;
make sure my tyre tread always conforms
to the ideal safety depth gauge.

Try to keep me well inside the margins
of the white lines and cat's eyes;
and please don't over-rev my engine,
just keep me purring easily
without straining my aged gears.

When it is rush hour, try to remain calm.
I have no desire to race - although I still could.
Let no one ridicule you for respecting me,
or goad you into a road rage mode
filled with deadly competitiveness.

If there are accidents, let it not be us.
My biggest phobia is blue and white tape
across a closed carriageway. Don't let that happen -
where a forty-two ton truck has devoured me
and we are enmeshed within it's pistons and drive shaft.

Instead, cruise me gently along quiet country lanes
away from insane motorways, crowded city streets
or treacherous mountain tracks.
Just let your phone ring,
don't answer it while driving me.
Please, bring me safely home to my garage.