musings of a damned mind

A lifetime of lines

And a whirlwind of words

Spun together in time

The true and absurd.

 

Rhythm for heartbeat,

Words for a dance,

Ink for blood.

A dweller of chance

 

Unfulfilled and possible dreams

Wrapped around until

Finally it seems

To be impenetrable.

 

Words spin from page,

A dance and a trance,

Enrapturing those

Who hadn’t the chance

 

To run.

 

Or chose not to.

 

What am I now

But a lifetime of lies

Illusion and dream,

Hopes and the skies?

 

Are any of us else?

As we dance to the sound

Of the rhythm of stars

And the beat of the ground.

 

I call myself ‘worddancer’

‘inked-one’ and ‘shiner’

And say the names as if

They’re somehow a decider

 

Of me being different to everyone else

Instead of a dancer,

Or a toy on a shelf.

 

I say all this not

To make you see me

As something other

Than that which I be.

 

Gratification is not

My aim on this night,

As I sit in the dark

Beneath a solitary white light.

 

I wish only to show

One this night among many

Just what I mean when

 I say I haven’t any

 

Clue what will happen

To me or these others

Dangers abound

To my lover of lovers.

 

A curious thing is the human heart,

So strong and so vulnerable

So ignorant

So smart.

 

It seems to control,

More than the mind,

The actions that lead

Like the blind and the blind.

 

I have no real reason

For writing this now

No great point to make

No wondering how

 

Just thinking in verse

‘Rambling’ I could say

As this night turns inexorably

Into the day.

 

I know i’m in love

That much is clear.

I’ve no doubt on that

But which way to steer?

 

A hound from the past

Haunts me again

But no cave to be discovered

By holmes and his men.

 

Its my own mind that haunts me

And a personified devil,

That’s found in my heart,

Dapper, dishevelled.

 

I fear her love,

And mine for her,

I fear i’m misleading

And stealing from her.

 

My rhymes are all wasted

Word-bullets all spent

Lines exhausted

Last orders long sent.

 

I know not what to do

My control is lost

Im caught in a dream web

But at what cost?

 

She says she loves me,

How am I to know?

How is she for that matter

No matter how  I show.

 

What do you say

When you don’t kow your heart?

You’re your own worst enemy

Where do you start.

 

No battle to fight

No war to be won

Ink devil is laughing

The games just begun

 

The chase and the catcher,

the game and the web,

the Star and the Faerie,

the Love and the Dread.

 

I’d give it all

For one taste of her hair,

The smell of her skin

And her laugh on the air.

 

But have I the right

To wait for her here?

While she waits still there

With salt-loving tear?

 

I don’t know the answer

I pray that I find

An answer in night

And poetry of kind.

 

This paper I’ll burn,

By keep hard copy

One night’s musings

Un-tempered and sloppy

 

Yes this page I will keep

For the time when i know

What to keep secret

And how

My heart

To show.

Something for exams, bitter endings, lingering partings and new beginnings.

I have had debates with people over who is meant to be singing this song, quite a few think its coming form a lover/partner.

Or even a friend.

I don’t know but it’ll allways be a fathers’ song to me as it was my dad who first sang it to me when i was about 5, yeah it kinda stayed with me lol.

So for those who had a parent who could sing this, its wonderful, but for the many many many who don’t,
you can one day be this perosn,
if not to a child
to a friend
a sibling
a lover
or all the above if you’re from basset ;-P
(sorry)
but seriously, it’s worth remembering, friends really are the family we pick for ourselves,

To Abs, gemma, Beth, Liddy, sara and anyone else who is going through a little personal hell atm,

hope this helps,

love you all, and anyone else who reads this for that matter

it’s kinda life advice really, still not sure who’s singing it, open to suggestions, i just fell in love with it at a young age. 

anyway i’ll stop waffling now,
here it is.

Oh and to the three (i think) people I’m giving CD’s to, yes this will be on them, and to beth, yes it’s roy bailey….there’s a suprise!

                                        Everything’s Possible

We have cleared off the table
The leftovers saved
Washed the dishes, and put them away
I have told you a story
And tucked you in tight
At the end of your knockabout day
As the moon sets its sail
To carry you to sleep
Over the midnight sea
I will sing you a song no one sang to me
May it keep you good company

You can be anybody that you want to be
You can love whomever you will
You can travel any country where your heart leads
And know I will love you still
You can live by yourself
You can gather friends around
You can choose one special one
But the only measure of your words and your deeds
Will be the love you leave behind when you’re gone.

Some girls grow up strong and bold
Some boys are quiet and kind
Some race on ahead, some follow behind
Some grow in their own space and time
Some women love women
And some men love men
Some raise children, and some never do
You can dream all the day, never reaching the end
Of everything possible for you.

Don’t be rattled by names, by taunts or games,
But seek out spirits true
If you give your friends the best part of yourself
They will give the same back to you.

You can be anybody that you want to be
You can love whomever you will
You can travel any country where your heart leads
And know I will love you still
You can live by yourself
You can gather friends around
You can choose one special one
But the only measure of your words and your deeds
Will be the love you leave behind when you’re gone.
Oh yes, the love you leave behind when you’re gone

 

I’ll put this up on both my blogs too, ‘cos it’s prettyful
wish I’d written it
X

IV

The game

 

In ages past,

Creatures crawled,

Over sand and ice.

 

Died their deaths,

On each other sprawled

Lizard, worm and lice.

 

Crushed by ages,

Burnt by heat,

Forgotten beneath the ground.

 

Black viscous oil,

Resurrection.

Awaking at new sound.

 

Formed into hardened shell again

Plastic shielding from emotions bite.

Under finger like the owner.

Button.

Depressed.

 

Figure jumps, and flees a foe,

Concentration beads in sweat.

Doubt too great for simple answer so,

The Game is played instead.

 

Character running, jumping, playing,

On the plastic covered screen,

Dead creatures feel the pain,

That is too acute to be seen.

 

Arm round waist holds her firm,

As on the screen she sees

Her hopes and dreams played out before her,

On there she can simply be.

 

A failure there can be replaced,

A simple matter of ‘restart’

Mistakes made can be erased

No danger to her, or her heart.

 

But still that arm it roots her down,

Makes her see what is truly there,

Shows her starlight and horizons,

Shields her from the worlds dread glare.

 

Scared to stay and scared to go,

So she sees the game again,

Takes the comfort the arm is offering,

Scared to end, scared to begin.

 

Arm’s owner waits, patient, coiled,

Sees in her eyes the light of stars,

Knows the desire to cling to soil,

Knows the fear of flying far.

 

But still he waits and holds her close,

Knows she’ll find her way in time,

Find her wings or take his hand,

Hear the music, hear the rhyme.

 

So he asks for nothing, but sweetly smiles,

As another tries, her will to tame,

For he wishes to see her free,

And so he holds her, helps in the game.

 

I might even show these to her one day, you never know.

 

Them as need to know who.

Know.

 

I

Blossom

softened bud with ink stained rim.

Impenetrable shell. no hint

 for what’s within.

 

Scattered rain,

Blinding sun, falls on unyielding

Skin. Ink stained.

 

Blinding sun, purest light,

Cuts through the dark, ends a night.

Dare to open, bud to show

The blossom inside. the rain to flow

 

Over petals gossamer. Blossom fragile,

Shown the sun .

First time in a while.

 

Dared to hope it was ok to shine,

Petals to show, gold to mine.

Frost comes swift to the newly bud,

Harsh and cruel, severed but

 

Closes in time, small sap its bleeds,

Ink stains quick to cover leaves.

Rain washes off, the sun trapped out,

Sap seeps through a bleeding spout.

 

Moon now rises, blossom tries

Again to see the dawning skies.

Of swift frost it is now afeared,

Scared of hurt, scared of tears.

 

Dares to hope at stars’ caress,

Blossomer’s touch, a light blue dress,

Sees a smile and responds in kind,

Dares to hope, to show, to shine.

 

Hoar frost comes and cuts it. Swift.

Lingering hope and barbarous twist,

Blossom caught, unclosed, unawares.

Sunlit wounds, still it bares.

 

The starlight cuts and catches the flower,

Cuts it deep, leaves sweetness sour.

Ink runs through skin, seeps into flesh,

Tattoo of pain, of shields, of mesh

Of recollection that holds blossom closed,

Lotus held, bloodied rose.

 

One day to flower, perhaps, we hope.

To shine to all, nevermore to slope

Away from the light of other’s joy,

Birth given by the ink, flower used as toy.

 

One day to adorn and perhaps to grow,

Entwined with a flower not just for show.

Till then arrives the ink shall shine,

Deflect all gaze, a different kind

 

Of light it gives, warm bathing not

So bright, as before, to pierce the night.

Keep a light night light to not hurt sight.

Blossom closed, bud refreshed

 

With ink spun words,

A silence found,

Flower shut

Out of sight, of sound.

 

Waiting for that lover’s touch.

Blossomer’s hand, not too fast, or too much.

 

At the corner of your garden,

I do now grow,

The blossoms colour you could soon know,

 

Just a touch is all it needs.

Sweet caress, brush away inked reeds.

You did it once,

Then drew away,

Left me to frost and harshest day.

All I need is to wait,

Till you say,

Yes.

 

Maybe one day.

 

II

The chase

 

Pounding heart beats silken chest,

 

Hooves fly on tender turf,

 

Head down,

 

Eyes front,

 

Mind cast behind.

 

Click of heels on frosted pavement,

Laughing glance to check behind,

Sees him following, treading firmly,

Sees him running, matching time.

Hound pads after, chest too heaving.

 

Sees fleeting glimpse of deer in sight,

 

Vision tunnels

 

Blood rushes

 

Desperate attempt to match her flight.

 

Soft slap of slacks on the frosted pavement

Pain in his eyes belies the dreams,

The hopes she represents, she doesn’t know

What she could be, or what it means.

Hound slips,

Tired broken,

Through haze of blood It dimly sees

Deer stood over,

Cruel pity flashing

His lines of blood to match her tears.

He stops defeated, breathing sharply,

Sees her stop a way ahead.

Watches her show the great deceit,

Leaves hope and dream, finally dead.

 

III

Hoar frost

Slender vein of ice-work lattice

Sketches name in frosty rime.

Vision of hope in frozen trellis,

Held against the winds of time.

 

Ice creeps through a hole in skin,

Left by where a flame once burned

Dwindled now by dagger’s weaving,

Left were hope and love were spurned.

 

Bitter shape in face is freezing,

Icing over hole in heart,

Blood freezes close to trap in heat,

Ink runs still, covers each part.

 

That too freezes as time continues

Leaves him Frost, a bitter shard.

Hoar frost armour ‘Gainst the winter

Lifts above and holds him, hard.

 

Jackie stands in newest form,

Ink frozen close, catches, sleeved.

Ready to thaw when honest flame beckons,

Never more to be winter deceived.

 

 

There’sa  part IV to come, will let you know when i do, writing the procces of being messed around with if the situation didn’t keep FUCKING CHANGING

ok.

breathe

Till then.

You’re guess us as good as mine.

Toodles

X

Those who are close enough to need to know what yhis is about.

Know what this is about.

 

Blossom.

 

Blossom

 

softened bud with ink stained rim.

Impenetrable shell. no hint

 for what’s within.

 

Scattered rain,

Blinding sun, falls on unyielding

Skin. Ink stained.

 

Blinding sun, purest light,

Cuts through the dark, ends a night.

Dare to open, bud to show

The blossom inside. the rain to flow

 

Over petals gossamer. Blossom fragile,

Shown the sun .

First time in a while.

 

Dared to hope it was ok to shine,

Petals to show, gold to mine.

Frost comes swift to the newly bud,

Harsh and cruel, severed but

 

Closes in time, small sap its bleeds,

Ink stains quick to cover leaves.

Rain washes off, the sun trapped out,

Sap seeps through a bleeding spout.

 

Moon now rises, blossom tries

Again to see the dawning skies.

Of swift frost it is now afeared,

Scared of hurt, scared of tears.

 

Dares to hope at stars’ caress,

Blossomer’s touch, a light blue dress,

Sees a smile and responds in kind,

Dares to hope, to show, to shine.

 

Hoar frost comes and cuts it. Swift.

Lingering hope and barbarous twist,

Blossom caught, unclosed, unawares.

Sunlit wounds, still it bares.

 

The starlight cuts and catches the flower,

Cuts it deep, leaves sweetness sour.

Ink runs through skin, seeps into flesh,

Tattoo of pain, of shields, of mesh

Of recollection that holds blossom closed,

Lotus held, bloodied rose.

 

One day to flower, perhaps, we hope.

To shine to all, nevermore to slope

Away from the light of other’s joy,

Birth given by the ink, flower used as toy.

 

One day to adorn and perhaps to grow,

Entwined with a flower not just for show.

Till then arrives the ink shall shine,

Deflect all gaze, a different kind

 

Of light it gives, warm bathing not

So bright, as before, to pierce the night.

Keep a light night light to not hurt sight.

Blossom closed, bud refreshed

 

With ink spun words,

A silence found,

Flower shut

Out of sight, of sound.

 

Waiting for that lover’s touch.

Blossomer’s hand, not too fast, or too much.

 

At the corner of your garden,

I do now grow,

The blossoms colour you could soon know,

 

Just a touch is all it needs.

Sweet caress, brush away inked reeds.

You did it once,

Then drew away,

Left me to frost and harshest day.

All I need is to wait,

Till you say,

Yes.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe one day.

 

Hey everyone, I wrote this to go on the gazettes ‘young people’ column

what do you think?

 

Size ‘0’ push/ Know your worth!

 

At the risk of becoming one of the crowd, I to would like to comment on the drive in our society to reach a skinny-model of perfection. I decided to write on this topic at first based purely around the physical, the media and celebrity culture pushing our young women to become anorexic-looking waifs and our young men to try to become body-builders and rugby players. It has since occurred to me however that the problem runs much deeper than this.

Insecurity is prevalent in young people, it has been for years and perhaps it always will be, but what seems new is the seeming lack of worth people feel that their opinions do not matter, that they must look physically perfect before they are accepted and that they must have a university degree to gain anything in this world. It is easy to blame the media for this and they do indeed have a part to play. (I would like to say a huge THANK YOU at this point to papers like this gazette who aim to help us get our voices heard) However, parents, teachers, the education system and ourselves as peers are also perhaps major conspirators. Parents push us to be perfect, teachers to go to university or Sixth Form when other courses would suit us better and we ourselves as a peer group, pushing people to conform, to be normal, to not be weird.

So I say this, young people of Wiltshire! Claim back your worth! Don’t believe anyone when they say you don’t matter, or have to walk a certain path. Email the YPC at ypc@northwilts.gov.uk and add your voices to the shout, get your opinion heard!

Stuart Dingle.

 

human rights it is…

Happy New Year

 

Well, Christmas is over, the New Year has begun and we’re all still living in a generic spirit of goodwill, peace, pacifism and general pro-social leniency…

 

Unless you’re Saddam Hussein of course, he was executed on Saturday the 30^th of December. So much for peace and goodwill, so, 30 years after one American president has him instated on Iraq’s Black-gold-laden throne, a different president has him executed, ooops sorry my mistake. “Holds a free, fair and democratic trial within the bounds of the country’s legal system.”

 

How very merry, happy and festive of us to schedule an execution just before the new year, if indeed there is such a thing as a good time to kill someone.

 

Please do not misunderstand my stance here, Saddam Hussein was a cruel, violent dictator who organised the methodical genocide of huge numbers of people, as such he should be punished to the full extent of the law. However in an age of religious fundamentalism, martyrdom and generic last-stand-grabbing I have to question the wisdom of killing the person who many hold as a reason for fighting, not counting the numerous ethical issues, personally being against the death penalty I would argue that death is not a tool of the state and once it begins to be used as such, as a punishment, how are we any better than the dictators and murders themselves?

 

It raises an interesting question, what exactly is the difference between ‘murder’ and ‘execution’ presumable that it’s the state that’s doing it, but that then raises the question of whether what Saddam was doing to the innocents in those villages counts as “executions” and if not, and we are to blame anyone, should it not be the people who put him in power (us and the Americans) or the ones who sold him weapons (again, us and the Americans)? An interesting trail of thought I found.

 

Thank you for some of those in North Wiltshire for holding this debate with me and raising some interesting points.

 

Stuart Dingle

DMYP for North/west Wiltshire

 

well, I’ve been asked to rant for 500 words on a topic of my choice for the UKYP newsletter?

but where to start?

wasted public money?…too over done.

trident missile replacement?… too political.

railing at hypocrisy everywhere… too secular.

laughing at the bishop of southwark because “its what I do”…too harsh on the old guy.

something specifically youth related? naturally, but what?

I.D cards perhaps? hmmm Chris it seems I owe you one again,

Grazie Signior

watch this space, still open to suggestions though…you know me

X

“I don’t believe in the commercialisation of christmas”

 ”We should remember the true christian meaning of christmas”

Lets think about this for a second shall we? ok the ‘christian’ message behind christmas is…

the name… seriously guys, thats it.

the great census’ held by the romans that supposedly led Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem happend every twelve years… IN JUNE, as it happens they were in 4 BC 16 BC and 8 AD, but thats a seperate point. However one which brings me onto my point numero due…Why do X-ians celebrate x-mas in december?

simple, paganism. When X-ianity went on one of its lovely little *lets suppress the local culture* day trips that it used to do OH so well it noticed, “hmmmm, there appears to be a pagan festival in all these countries held on the shortest day of the year, lets convert them and tell them OUR guy was born then, so they can keep the festival with minimal culture shock.” Deary me, not many angels, birthdays or virgin births going on there then?

 

the Celtic/pagan festival btw was to celebrate the death of the old year and the birth of the new one and included, interestingly, exchanges of small trinkets and favours from and to the priests of the gods as well as the people and their families.

 

oops nothing to do with the wise men then,

so please please PLEASE don’t preach to me about the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas, the X-ians nicked it and commercialised it, just like the glorious capitalist bastards in the major chain stores are doing to the X-ians now and have been for many years,

almost Karmic isn’t it?, what goes around comes around, so….

In the name of tradition

have a good solstice everybody, may whatever gods you follow stand forever between you and harm in all the dark places you must walk, may your battles be victorious and your loins forever fruitful, or what ever the hell they said back then,

merry x-mas and happy solstice

and good bye to the old year, mustn’t be forgotten.

Well, the december candidate has arrived

or rather candidates,

I nominate the twelve IDIOTS who found Nick Griffon innocent of Inciting racial hatred,

HE BELONGS TO THE BNP, HE IS A NAZI!!!!!

and most definately incites racial hatred.

in my personal, humble opinion,

still at least Richard has some competition XD

see y’all

X