Friday, 31 December 2010

What can I do with all these tears?

What can I do with all these tears?
I had never before seen the connection between the weeping tears
and tears that rip open until now.
Now as I feel my heart being torn open again the tears come freely.
What is this thing about grief that punishes me so much for loving?

What can I do with all these tears?
Can I collect them and wash myself free of the memories
that constantly nibble at me now.
But you are all around me and within me, both outside and at home.
There is the scent of you, enticing but sadly out of reach.

What can I do with all these tears?
Let them fall and get them to send you a message of lasting love
that will forever be in my heart.
Telling you of your children and grandchildren, of music and birds.
Of the sea and the hills and wind and rain and of holding your hand.

Sunday, 26 December 2010

Manifesto, you must be joking!


There are a few words in the English language that have become hateful to me. Manifesto is one of them. It is political of course and represents to me the promises of change and encouragement to the people that something good is going to happen if their support is forthcoming, when in fact for the most part overt good intentions were but a mask for corruption, cruelty, oppression and unbelievable privation.

Whenever a politician with a smile on his or her face waves a piece of paper in front of a crowd of onlookers or in these days a media scrum, I cringe. How can we all be fooled yet once again that a pig with its nose in the trough is actually going to do anything for us? Get real, in politics it is sometimes the best option to listen to the mild mannered orator who promises very little indeed! Politicians play on our fear, greed and hope for the impossible.

Even if we take the “O” off the end of the word Manifesto and get the word Manifest we have another word with darker undertones. It seems to be rarely used except to inform of a disaster and that a ship’s or plane’s manifest has to be checked to see who may be lost or missing in a disaster.

Laini and Megg, what a prompt to inflict on us in this season of joy and thanksgiving!

Monday, 6 December 2010

A dog that needs guidance

Bark if I have told you this before but I really must get it off my chest. It is not like that lazy itch you get with fleas when a few scratches to the tummy or a nip to back will satisfy you for a little. What am I going on about you ask? It is the job of being a guide dog. No, No! I don’t want you to go on about what a cushy job I’ve got. I know all that stuff about, being well fed, going for lots of walks and being a boss of sorts to make sure master doesn’t walk into danger. I want to talk about me. And don’t sniff me like that Rastus; I am not supposed to circle round otherwise he might trip up.

The question really is: am I still a dog? I know few of us really know our parents, certainly not our dog father. And who can remember our fellow cubs in the litter? It’s just that I rarely do really doggy things. I’ve been trained you see, right from a puppy to do just one job and to forget all the really canine things in life. Oh I remember when being licked by my mother (together with the other five pups), her going on about that I must remember that dogs are the most important animal. Dogs are the true link between man and beasts because we tamed them to accept us into their lives as an exchange of needs. We needed to be fed and they needed us to bark, it is a simple as that.

Then she told me about our special gifts, about another Labrador that used to collect things. I bet he was my father. Well he lived in a family home and couldn’t fetch rabbits and birds that the man had killed with his banging stick, because his man didn’t do that sort of thing. So one morning he managed to get out the side gate by squeezing under it and seeing a rolled up newspaper on the front lawn, thought it would be a good idea to see if there were any more to bring back. I have no idea why his master was cross when he found this great heap of newspapers on his lawn a little later. But Rastus who can figure out these humans?

Rastus? Rastus you are a mean dog you have left me alone talking to myself. Hello, master is getting off his seat. It is time to go. Who would be a guide dog?