@hangingoninquietdesparation / hangingoninquietdesparation.tumblr.com
@hangingoninquietdesparation I'm not sure if I am a song but! Charlie says it might be hard to play a Jay since I am pretty complexicated!
Oh, Life is a long song. Even for a Quite complex, complex Jay!
And and! if life is a song then all of Jaysome is also a song, and quite possibly a dance as well!
On Shining Tor
Hikers huddle sat sheltered
by drystone wall
flasks mist wafts
till torn
thrown
to the north
shoes squelch cross peat water black
and heather root sank
in noisome soft sponge laid down
to wait
inconsidered gait
the gale grasps the forward gaze
forcing to the ground
for skyward glimpse garners
tears to be found
only to turn your back
head hooded in coats wrap
allows you to look
and consider which path
may have been best
despite
the one you took
West Manchester. I think this is a bit of a far outlying suburb for me to expect to come across @hangingoninquietdesparation .
The sky is a little light and lacking in leaden gloom for it to be too closely west of Manchester. In reality, just west of My Manchester lies Carrington Moss, home of the United training facility, much good its doing them just now. Beyond that lies the flattish hinterland that slumps between Manchester and the perennially, wilfully outcast Janus that is Liverpool, one eye yearningly turned to the brashness of America, the other to the grim arrogance of Manchester. An area full of grey tribes, the Plazzies and the Woolybacks, and the complex, shifting sands of the Scoucers. Of course, only in England can such a place be the home of the first commercial canal, the first inter city rapid transport system (adding bitter irony to the cancellation of HS2) And the once fifth largest port in the UK, 50 miles from the Sea. All of which is now just part of the Pollock splatter of the places, just, west of Manchester.
It being
my sixtieth year
from here
to where
I did rise
to insistent sirens demise
yet quiet
from the clock
and went beyond
into dark and diesel damp
where revolutions rumbled
into the rise and break
of day
Past dew and tarmac flat
did wheel and eyesight track
into that
morning welcoming back
here again
noting that
twelve months
more
may not mean
necessarily
less
Put not your anticipation
in the sunset
don’t pre judge
yet
what the sun and sky you imagine
may beget
messages written
in light
and cloud
and sun
and horizons mouth
should perhaps be read
before you place
in your head
just what
you then find
you read
Emotional Investment
“The value of your investments may go up or down”
And possibly it’s wrong
to find you long
to find a shine
for an investment in time
and heart
and ability to ignore
the blindly obvious
that’s parked
on your door
Fulcrum
For
a point
sharp and by necessity
as frictionless as free
that balance between
conscious and
unconscious
seems able
to support the weight
of that
which
seems
as heavy as reality
How much weight
would it take
to blunt the edge
that
balances the moments
both waking
and dark away
from today
Fishbowl Taggathon…
Tagged by the Iridescent @anjo-by-the-sea And the implacable @allnightsong2
Both of whom i thank for keeping faith with a blog that has tumbleweed as its primary activity just now, due to reasons.
To produce a fishbowl of my own design..
Which I have failed to do to anything resembling coherence.
However, if you shut your eyes and imagine a lovely round, white glazed earthenware tea pot.
Next to a book, any book, chose your favourite.
Possibly resting upon a brown wooden circular table.
The tea, strong, but enough milk to render it a golden light brown colour.
In a mug, not a china cup.
Possibly the handle of the mug has some oily finger marks on it.
Charlie says she’s very sure I don’t have a kilt, @hangingoninquietdesparation?!
Ohhh, you need a Kilt, being able to swish is pretty well as Jaysome as it’s possible to be!
Also! also, you get to choose which tartan you would like your kilt to be made of! I think a green-purple one would be 8 times as good as anything else!
Tagged by the perpetual @allnightsong2
3 peculiarities about myself.
My Tumblr I D, misspelling notwithstanding, in its full form, stolen from “Hanging on in quiet desperation, is the English way” a lyric from a quintessentially English song, by a quintessentially English band. Which may not be a peculiarity, but I thought I had something more to say.
I am better in water than on Land, in water, either assisted by an aqualung or not, I have a vague ability to be less than cumbersome, clumsy, un coordinated and generally inept, than is my normal state of being on land.
Following on from the above I have a degree of what used to be called “Mechanical Sympathy” In that i can normally judge if a piece of machinery is happy, or not, this extends to most modes of transport, from Bicycles to Sailing dinghy’s.
And they say
rinse it in salt water
whatever it is
wound or weeping
the salt will take it away
cauterise the canker
and sterilise the stain
best keep your mouth shut
though
or provide an air source fresh
for the salt may take
temporarily
the injury
away
but you still need
to breathe
the air that lead you there.
The Adverts.
Floyd, The Stranglers, Kate Bush. In the same year. I shall never be as cool/lucky/Young again.
In
Contrails and picking scabs.
And even a cloudless
vaulted
infinite cathedral of blue
gets stained
by contrails
and echos
of you
every vista wished
to be clean and clear and simplistically solo
in sight and meaning and right
has a cloud
unfocused or sharply grey
to taint the sky with complex want
So perhaps it’s a start
to know the view
isn’t there just for you
and letting the mind run
is just picking scabs
for fun
And they say
the scar tissue
better gets in the way
of the divide
the blade may re-describe
the thickening helps the skin to grin
at the blades glittering grin
but what of the rapier constructed
of the steel that the wound
was initially started
sharp memories pass
through skin and scar tissue fast
like a barb
on a hook
you thought long
since passed
Close your eyes
close your mouth
breath in
steadily
through your nose
apparently
you should be able to taste
more than your tongue alone
can decipher
from the passing strong
or faint
miasma
like wise
the illicit enjoyment
of thought
or forbidden dream
is more immersive
with eyes shielded
to the reality
of the truth
and banality
Devil devil i defy you
devil devil i defy me
for the one that's in the stories
all red and nasty horns
he dosent have a match
for the one that lives
all snug and calm at home
Devil devil i defy you
devil devil i defy me
he's got the better stories
and music apparently as well
but dosent hold a candle
to the one inside that dwell
Devil devil i defy you
devil devil i defy me
he's got an evil glimmer
all stick and span and warm
but dosent have the light
that will even fright
the heat that comes free when you are born
DISCLAIMER
Stolen, ripped off, and generally copied from the Unthanks version of "The magpie"
