Dee Jayne Walker.

Hello... 1) You theists are an odd bunch. Why you imagine yourselves to be condemned to eternity, beats the hell outa me. 2) So busy believing you can't see whats in front of you, so busy grasping after more life you forget to live. 3) Desperate for an idealised father to rescue you from responsibility for your actions. 4) So busy deciding who and what is sinning, that treating them as things becomes like second nature to you, and there is no greater sin than this. 5) Some of you deny all evidence and claim the impossible, the illogical and the absurd to be true. An earth 6000 years old? Man woman and everything else made as toys for a bored omnipotent super entity on a dull Friday evening. 6) In your books, verything happens in one small circle on the map of the world. Why is that? 7) By your arogance you try to claim morality, as a tool of control. Absolute, predetermined, invariably the one you were taught as children. How might such a notion be just? 8) You clai...

We have known, That as refugees flee the middle east, That among them The cowards hid, Terrorists, islamists. It was not weakness we opened our arms To the disposessed, The refugees. It was through strength, Our compassion for the refugees, More important than, Pandering to fears, Of violence. Violence from the very men, The refugees fleed, Might inflict on us. The terrorists forget Europe suffered Suffered the greatest, Bloody Awful war in the history of humanity. We know the consequences of intolerance, As well, If not  better, Than any region of the world. The terrorists forget, We do not pretend Not to fear, we know our fear, we embrace it. We make fear work for us not against us. For without fear There could be no courage. The bravest of men are not those Who do not fear, but those Who fear but act with discipline To defend themselves in the most effective ways That they can conceive. The terrorists forget. Because...

La version française d'un poème que je écrit en Janvier, après l'incident Charlie Hebdo. Je Suis Charlie Ainsi, les hommes armés viennent, Et pour cacher leur peur qu'ils tuent, Ils penser peut nous faire peur. Et oui nous le savons, la peur est en nous. Mais sans crainte, Comment pourrions-nous avoir le courage, Pour le courage est à craindre que, Pour faire ce qui doit être fait de toute façon. Ils pensent que parce que nous sommes inclus, Parce que dans l'histoire, Nous avons trébuché sur nos défauts, Parce que nous sommes féministe, Et se foursquare contre, Les racistes et les fascistes, Que les besoins Nous devons être faible. Mais oublions nous sommes les Gaulois, Nous sommes les Vikings, et les Jutes, Nous sommes les Saxons, les Celtes, Les Pictes, les Vandales et les Wisigoths, Le Tutons et le Hun, La puissance de Rome, La gloire de la Grèce. Pensent-ils que l'Europe va plier le genou, Pour ceux qui ceux qui craignent mots, Et...

He sits, oozing malevolence. Attitude and self righteous indignity. To perceived slights and slurs, A bundle of spite and volatility. A Petty man, grown but still a child, Seeking import, through provocation, Importance, is others, fear of him, No responsibility in abdication. Living in worlds of illusion, Where none but he can see, The injustice heaped upon him, Reduced to invisibility. Yet still within his malice, I see that child reaching out, To be the light in someone's eye The first in another's thought. A mothers or a fathers duty, not given those many years past. A loss that can never be filled, A  chasm never to be crossed. And at the last, I look on him, Not with fear, Nor with hate, But with Pity.

I sit, And notice, Thought, Seeking only, To be still. Mind is persistent, Wanting to name to explain. to fill internal silence with unspoken words. I bid it to rest. And then, Feelings rise, Joy, Sorrow, Fury Peace And are joined By memory. Luring mind, Again into motion. And these too I bid be still. And visions, Then clamour To grasp attention, spectacular colours intricate patterns, Tempt attention Into wonder and bliss. Even gods Reveal Their faces Inviting mind To tumble Into motion again. I notice them And pass on. Mind reaches out On the pretext That all is consciousness. Serenity, contentment. more illusions Until all the veils are gone, I am just Attending, Conscious, Aware. Of stillness, Of the void, Of the emptiness, Of the Nothing, We create gods, To fill, and spirits, To defend Ourselves from. And yet It is harmless, No malice, No threat, No presence, Nothing, Some might say It empowers me, But ...

Et si un homme britannique, Tente d'écrire un poème en français. Que dire? Peut-il trouver une rime? Son français est très mauvais. Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, Il est seulement une expérience. Une petite chose, d'essayer, D'avoir une expérience. Est-ce trop maladroit, Il est, je serais prêt à parier. Mais il est juste un premier essai. Je vais faire une autre encore. Je vais donc laisser mentir pour l'instant, Et je pense à ce qui vient ensuite. Merci

She stands looking, Alone, Across the heath. Waiting for him. Intamacy A touch Upon her skin. Within her heart. Rising Passion At last Separation Brought to an end. Her hair tumbles about In fitful wind As moments flow. Expected soon. A love Missed many days As rain begins. As I watching Afar See sorrow grow. A heart harden. A glance behind A turn At first one step And another Until wind blows Afresh In empty space Departed heart. He comes quickly At last Across the heath, To stand alone.

Just a Haiku to Celebrate five thousand views of my blog.

Self promotion, is quite problematic smacks of ego and self aggrandisement. Hi here I am, I have something to show, Hi here I am, I have something to say, Hi here I am, let my audience grow, Hi here I am, check my work out today. But I ask you, is it really so bad, For someone to show the things that they make. Beethoven, oft told, what talents he had. But we think pride justified, a mistake. And this started out as a a poem, but became something different. Prehaps its a moan, It might be a winge,  it might even be a sulk or, just a piece of self reflection. I am trying hard with this blog to stick as much as I can to a 'creative agenda'. Trying not to get drawn into polemics, or discourse. As this is the recomendation given on every blogging advice page going. Stick to one thing they say, give your audience a theme to latch onto.  So I  chose creativity.  And of course that's way too broad a theme, perhaps I should start half a dozen different blo...

There is a poverty of mind in the theist Who sits, convinced they were made, Given life and a purpose to exist. In little more than an imaginary cage. Crafted from dust, or clay, or a rib bone By an omnipotent being, eager to fill A long and lonely, dull Afternoon. As a toy made and played with still. A cosmic bum, eager for their handout, Of meaning, significance and goals, Received without effort given a rout, Convinced they have immortal souls. Is immortality, all its cracked up to be, To an infinity of sameness condemned, Eon upon eon of changeless monotony. Sentenced to existence without end. What value, purpose or meaning, if given? I'd rather create and define my own. An universal infinite journey begun. Or is humanity, a child, not yet grown?

Yesterday my surgery, was postponed. Am I disappointed, am I relieved? I'd charged and topped up my phone, Tablet too Stopped eating and drinking as instructed. I Checked I had all my money and cards. Bought new underwear, my little bag packed. Cleaned the kitchen, nothing straining to do, For when I got back home, all bruised and stitched. Set off on time, caught my bus to the station. Caught my train, cursed First wi-fy,  cos it failed. Got off the train, got numbers for taxies, So I could return in comfort chauffeured. Appointment 3:30, the letter said, Be 15 minutes early it added. Surely saying 3:15, would've made sense. But I arrived on time, sat and waited. And the time it ticked on, and came and went. And I still sat and my thumbs I twiddled. To be fair at 10 minutes past the time, A Nurse came and asked, for me, by my name. Telling me Another patients problem, means I must attend at another time. So with no other functional choices, About ...

A week of puzzles and contradictions. waiting on payments owed to me, Things on hold, till the account fills yet before me, much to do I see. A neighbour moving house, offers Items unsuited to their new home. Spare TV for games, for the kids Replaced: the table never liked gone A three piece suite, nearly new Broken old sofa out, broken up. Satisfaction Reclaiming screws And wood for shelves to put up. And many other items besides. But tomorrow I'm under the knife. I'll take both bus and train rides. minor surgery, no threat to life. But strict instructions to put feet up. Wife to bring snacks and to cook tea. To bring to my sick bed coffee in a cup Hmm, Well perhaps, we will have to see. And hope the creditors pay up at last, So that the month can run smoothly, bills get paid, till I'm back on my feet And if I'm careful perhaps a week early. And then I can earn more to keep wolves from the door.

Still nighttime air, Whisps of clouds Haunt a languid moon, Drifting. The great silence reaches out into darkness, Conjuring from the human mind Myth and faerae Casting them To subsist in shadow. Vessels for Our nostalgia, Our fears, Our hopes, Our dreams. But if somethings are born Of mind, Of passion, Of thought, Does that make them any less real? Does that make them Any less true? Should we raise them up, To become things that they, Were never meant to be? Or as things that never were? Or as things that never could be? In futile hope that somehow we con bestow substsnce To our own minds. In the shadows Cast by stones In Moonlight.

Children  Children always need, Something from Dad, Sometimes its hard To make room for them, Sometimes its hard To make time for them, Sometimes its hard even, To play with them. Just be busy, Working for them. But then one notices, and it all turns around For then, how could there not, Be room for them, how could there not, Be time for them, How could one not, Play with them. For they are Life itself, And Without them What need Would there be To work. To be, To live.

I try not to be unsettled, By a snuffly spring cold. But their a drag to be honest Make me feel a little  old. With each year that passes Its just that little bit tighter breathing in, across my chest, thinking I'd rather be bighter. Mortality creeping up on me Though determined to plod on, Sometimes times I'd rather rest An old ones stillness to don. So I'm curling up in bed So I'm rested not vexed By all those  unknown  tests The world would send me next.

A grey sky looms over  The black branches Of leafless winter trees Crows and jackdaws Roost upon pylons As if waiting for some medieval battle to begin.  And I think on what wars This land has seen. Pointless struggles Over religion or greed Or a woman's hand Sold for power by a father Not worthy of the name For ages past Again and again, And in my lifetime We have glimpsed the promise Of an end to such foolishness. A light of democratic Transition of power. Where blood Does not stand In service as a Ballot. And yet across the world There are men Who wield their  guns and swords and their hate and fear. in defence of the power these weapons bring. And all I can think Is we must stand ready Must stand to arms. For if we are not wary The madness will begin again. And those who feast Will be the crows and the jackdaws. And I find Tears Well in my eyes. 

And so it begins, The election is here A month and a half Making missions clear The tories telling us 'We saved Britain' The Liberals claiming It was us not them. Labour will chime We'd have more gain. UKIP proclaiming it's about immigration. The Greens trying hard to tell us that they've, A plan that makes sense If theIr brains don't fade And as things stand The media does say Power rests with those Who'd end the UK. Lib Dems may be saved By first past the post, SNP last vote lost may find More power than most. On the up side theres a limit, On how much parties spend Democracy only  for sale, When the rules they bend. Democracy Churchill said, of government is the worst but its our only choice so its also the first. So despite the trauma These weeks will bring, It's better than having, Dictators Praises to sing.

I am not like others, when the sap of spring rises. I'm not glad to see the cold months wane and end. As green shoots sprout and new grass lengthens. I dread the enduring torment summer will send. I shut up all my windows, plan long days inside, With food and drink fill up my cupboards Go out only when I must, and hide. from the foe, when ghastly summer buds. What's your problem? Friends ask derisory When summer invitations I refuse. Come with us, they say,  have fun and party I say I've work to do or some other ruse. Wild Winter storms,  I can laugh them off, Winds and Snow and Ice, fuss me not at all, Soft petals of flowers opening, do not scoff are my nemesis the source of my downfall. For when they open they assail my eyes, Tears run, blocked nose, unbearable itches. Eyes, and throat, even my skin, no lies, Sneezes, into misery my life pitches. It's only hayfever they tell me. 'Only!' I'd rather have a bout of flu, which when t...

Long day to replace a product, That didn't work as advertised. Birthday present for my daughter Elation, Joy, and then she cried We Took it back into the store, Described just what went wrong. An item not up to scratch I said But the process took so long Was it knocked or dropped? He asked,  I said clearly: No. Did she use it incorrectly? He asked, again I told him:No. "I'll just check" and turns it on nothing happened, just as I said He fiddled with the charger Tried a different one instead. Let me check this out he said, I think I know what's wrong, Through the coded access door He went, saying "won't be long. Some time later and he's back, Concedes it won't switch on Offers refund or replacement At last things move along. But then there's procedure which Must be followed to the letter Name address, receipt, sign this But things are getting better. Then at last were out the door. Shiny replacement in a bag...

This one isn'the just from the vaults, in my personal history, it's from the equivalent of a cave near the dead sea, about 1979, a first visit to London for a 16 year old from a quiet Derbyshire town. New Boy in the City. Bright lights, Street lights, Night Lights, Go here, Go there, Buy this, Buy some flair. Ego trip drivers, Force on through, Acting like madmen, Missing a screw. Cars rush on by, Breaks squeal and cry, Confusion and sound, Lights all around. All are so urgent, Each life is in crisis, Stores hawking wares, with electric devices. Come look at this, A sale not to miss. Look at this here, Spend and don't care. The sell is so hard, It drives me inside. Force so relentless, It closes my eyes. The city is chaos, Mankind gone mad. I think I'd be angry, But it seems so sad.