Our hero is on route from the retail park, smile, a tinge of excitement, a little pee dribbles down his left inside thigh. Having purchased 50″ of Samsung widescreen pleasure, that moist feeling, he can’t wait to get it inside. A re-re-rerun of action-packed shows, Netflix colourisation of bygone wars. An immersive marathon of X-box exhilaration sits waiting behind black tinted glass television stand doors. Our self-made hero can conquer mythical lands, battle armies, while joying his small joystick, fragile, bent, in the palm of their hand. Before embarking on his adventurous night where can the cardboard box purchased be dumped without sight? A small spark ignites in our hero’s vassal mind like a reptile he sliver and slides to the public park in the shadow of night. Back home feeling admiration and pride, our fuckwit sighs as his blank screen flickers, ignites and the room bursts into artificial colours of radiant rays green, red and pulsating blue. The wanker, he wanks, wanks and he wanks.
Every moment you were physically here.
Every second you remain with me to this day.
Every lesson you taught me.
Every memory you left me.
Every bruise you kissed away.
Every time you ruffled my hair.
Every face you pulled in distaste.
Every sacrifice you made, and;
Every time you said. “it will be okay.”
Every birthday card signed in your name.
Every time you offered me a hug.
Every sigh you made when I said, “I’ve fucked up………..again.”
Every shopping trip for shoes that would never quite fit.
Every pain, ache, and discomfort you handled with grace.
Every time we refused to say, “goodbye.”
Every time your husband tried to cook a pie, and;
Every time my sister teased me about being a mummy’s boy deep inside.
Every day I think of you Mum.
Because, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
I will be forever proud to be called your son.
The pathways to horror are many, but most are man-made. Causes belied with hatred, greed and intolerance. The manufacturing of the tools to extinguish life. The devastating impact when the horror in a far away land becomes a horror in your neighbourhood.The ritual over analysis of 24-hour news channels struggling to fill time with empty words. The peddling of shaky images and grainy films from mobile phones across social media. The silent space vacated by reasonable people who just want to live a peaceful life. The bigots and political thugs with their contorted facial expressions, gasping for air, to fill their lungs and expel their prescribed rigid ideology be it faith, Marx or Smith. Those who hide behind the artificial boundaries of nationality, those who pull the trigger, those who embrace the ends of days, those who manipulate and spread poison in the shadows of ignorance your darkness will ultimately consume you. Sometimes it’s ok to say nothing and just reflect that a chair once occupied is now empty and an embrace once given is no longer provided.
I am your innocence
Bring the broken bones
Wrapped in woven sack
Tied then opened
Released and spread out
Assembled they are a body
For you to collect again
To gather and place back in woven sack
Placed on shelf
Amongst the past
Awaiting to be opened
In candle light