Thinking about it #8

There is an infinitely large gap between not succeeding and utter failure. The first teaches us self-pity and caution; Unknown.jpegthe latter teaches us the true nature of both Hubris and its twin, Nemesis. The bitter lesson always learned just a little too late.

Sometimes there are things you have to do that are worse than shooting your own dog.


Thinking about it #7

It took the best part of 30 years to find the ending for this. So belated thanks to Jonathon Clifford and Spike Milligan – who knew anyway.

Out beyond the last horizon
Girdled by Greeks’ Ocean stream
Lies the Heartland
Shining through the darkest dreams.

Words of fire carved on mountains
Incantations on its’ winds
Bitter red run all its’ rivers
With the blood that ransomed sin.

Its’ hearths and halls through nights of Winter
Bear the weight of Heaven’s tears
Raining grief that lasts forever
Down uncounted lonely years.

Out beyond the last horizon or lost within
It’s all the same
Every night the Heartland calls me
But I shall not go there again.




Thinking about it #6

“There is no greater sorrow than to recall, in misery, the time when we were truly happy.” – Dante Alighieri.


“There is no greater consolation to sorrow than to recall, in misery, a time when we were truly happy.” – Rhino House (on a good day, heading downhill, with a following wind).

Sadly time proves only one of these aphorisms* to be valid; which do you hold to be the most truthful?



noun: aphorism; plural noun: aphorisms
1.  A pithy observation which contains a general truth.”the old aphorism ‘the child is father to the man’”
2.  A concise statement of a scientific principle, typically by a classical author.”the opening sentence of the first aphorism of Hippocrates”


Thinking about it #5

Sometimes they seem like a waterfall
Cascading down rocky slopes of indifference
To drown whatever was inside before.
Other times the words are shouted down
Outraged and demanding to be let out
To scream rage at at an unforgiving and hostile heaven.

But they’re only words
Lost in a fog of noise
Both internal and beyond
And shouted down by all the worlds
That might yet have ever been.

You know, somehow, losing never stops hurting.
Reason enough to hate poets,
For wounds that never close.