Lighting

The soft Halifax lights
gently painted the pier
as I shared all my sorrows
and you fought with your fears
given no heed
to the rats running near
or the condoms that swan in the drink

The salt in the night
mixed with the mist
we were both in our twenties
and pleasantly pissed
so long ago,
and so sadly missed
the days before we were fallen

The ferry's low grumble
haunted buoy bell
like a call to meditation
danced with the water's calm swell
the drama from then,
nothing like this hell
unlike now, those days were not wasted

Now in mid life
I think to this thought
and the shite that kills passion
with all that it's wrought
like a fish in a net
panicked and caught
the gull o'er head a-swarming

Though there's still beauty
in all that I see
I'm troubled by
this black agony
a sinking old feeling
that we'll never be free
the lights bleached white by the morning

Scars of Passion


Do we live dispassionate lives
for security's sake
or curse caution to wind,
take the bed that we make?
do we question the road
we decided to take
living lives of numb apathy?
or is this life
a measured ol' test
that's to be lead by the head,
not the heart in our breast?
to make time for living,
do we make time for rest?
a spurious sense of security

Winds of change
Can't you hear them calling?
Swept our breath
Since we first started bawling
There at your back
Resist, they're lashes,
And one day
They'll scatter your ashes

I wake up each morning
and question the day
I suppose I should seize it,
but my mind works this way
and not of what all others say
gives me a sense of genial peace
the dreams from my heart
have infected my head
and by Christ I will chase them
til my last page's been read
I believe there's different ways
that our passions are fed
That quarry, boys, can never cease

Winds of change
Can't you hear them calling?
Swept our breath
Since we first started bawling
There at your back
Resist, they're lashes,
And one day
They'll scatter your ashes
And so I go
Forward falling
the winds of change
I hear them calling
My heart is swept
Never by fashion
Bleeding alone,
The Scars of Passion

Self-doubt and Anxiety


When I express self-doubt and anxiety
perhaps you think I'm being coy
that I do it for sympathy
or it's the attention I enjoy
but if you only knew the thoughts
that race inside my head
you'd be gobsmacked in wonderment
of how the Christ that I'm not dead
I feel caught and confined,
a captive, in convention's cage
Bottling up my passions
and building up my rage
a masochist, an idealist
a defeatist dreamer as well
whose witnessed the moment's majesty
that traps me tumultuously in this hell
I know that I think too much,
analyse my state of being,
feeling that there's always something else
that we should all be seeing
this introspection's caused infection
withering any healthy, contented hope
pushed me to the brink before,
but I stepped back from the rope
though defeatist, I still dream
and want to see the day
when the world seems to make sense
and I'm not left to feel this way
but I'd rather feel this pain and go insane
from clinging to the belief
that the chance might still exist
to give me some relief
I wish your words would change me
or that the books that I've explored
whose seeds have well been planted
but can't surface through the manure,
would bloom through the gloom that I've assumed,
that battles my optimism down
that I would see my self as more
then being just another bloody clown
I know I've seen the beauty
in all life's sincerity
but little can we taste it
for social intangibilities
so when I express self-doubt and anxiety
I'm not trying to be coy
I'm not seeking your sympathy
for none of this I do enjoy
for now you know the torturing thoughts
that race inside my head
I'm gobsmacked in total wonderment
of how the fuck that I'm not dead.

Wish

I wish there was a way
that I could climb outside my head
and I wish that I would not read
into every word that's said
O I wish I wasn't a wisher
and I wish I knew a way
to pull it all together
to know it'll be okay

I've read the books on Buddha,
The Gita and the Tao
it all makes perfect sense to me
but still I wonder how
to tame my thoughts,
to accept my lot
and not wish it away
the 'what could be's' and reality's
leave my mind in disarray

When imagination wanders
and insecurity sets its trap
you wonder if what's sent your way
just fell into your lap?
Or is there some fated destiny
whose course has long been set?
you question each decision you've made
wonder if them you will regret

Perhaps the day will come my way
when I send caution to the wind
to hell with what they all will say,
their purgatory and sin
and if I end up like Lazarus
with scorched and broken wings
I'll hold on tight to that moment of flight
and I won't regret a thing

I wish there was another way
to live the dreams inside my head
and I wish words that I heard
meant the things they said
O I wish I wasn't a wisher
and I wish I knew a way
to pull it all together
to know it'll be okay

All Passions Subdued


I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
heaven for who spreads peace,
hell for those who spread hate
so many bills, now well long over due
to live in a way
with all passions subdued
So focused on living
we've lost how to live
so used to taking
we don't know how to give
time denies freedom
time makes us all old
time makes us all fearful
crushed, so dreams never unfold

I'd like to believe it
but know it's not true
we live in the same world
but I can't be with you
we've established these customs
our old ball and chain
as we dampen the heart
with the juice of the brain
live in self denial
forcing needs to become wants
like Adam and Eve
and the snake with his taunts
we make sense of it all
with senseless old rules
since we only live once
we're left cheated like fools

I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
that allowed one to savour
the joys life creates
the beauty of passion
the beauty of who
can still give themselves
free rein to be true
but the denial masks honesty
till we don't know our self
pack it away
on our mind's darkened back shelf
time ticks and torches
yet another day
feted with frustrations,
feeling this way

Byron said "society's
one big flagrant horde,
comprised of two tribes:
the bores and the bored"
we've grown so complacent
scrutiny all that we do
so many philosophies on life
but it seems nothing's new
for we think and we chat
and we talk a good game
but in the end
it's all bloody the same
we've lost our simplicity
and organic way
it tears me apart,
for I too think this way

I'd like to believe
there was some sort of fate
that would figure things out
before life closes the gate
I'd like to believe
that all passion's not lost;
a time where natural beauty
carries not such an exuberant cost.

Foc'sle


Furrows etched deep in my brow
wondering where life takes me now
as I drift from shore to shore
I find strange that which once before
was considered dear and all I had
a fine wine that one day went bad
craving still that sweet satiety taste
of passions that I once embraced
for now it seems my race is run
and ragged, I feel like I'm done
at each turn we play a card
but a gambler's life's so goddamn hard
Ah what, without chance, would life be?
a hopeless road of misery
for hope's the flame we must keep strong
when it's all to shite and all gone wrong
a sense that time cullys is clear
in each day and passing year
so much beauty life can contain
if you can lay down for the pain
and at day's end if you have found
your wavering pegs on solid ground
you know another day is yours
and you've made it safe again to shore
life's but a bauble of toil and cost
yet still we might find what we've lost
re-kindle sparks like beacons glow
transformed to the flame we did dearly know
come live this life and seize this day,
may you find your self along the way
until the deeps take us below
haul away, a-way!

Our Time


In Canadian society, we have formed a very unhealthy relationship with time. Since we began measuring life in years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds and even hundredths of seconds, we have moved further away from our "organic" state being, into one with a false sense of synchronicity, calibration and chronology. While this structure aids us in many ways, undeniably, it also establishes an illusionary fear that permeates us to our very spirit. In our language, how often do we hear euphemisms such as "time is our greatest enemy", "we are battling the clock"or that we must "fight the signs of aging"? Words like "deadline" also surmises our fear and leads us through life, fixated often, on our mortal end. In our 24/7 world, we are stressed, 'live' at a pace that precludes us from any real 'living' and robs us of our live's simplistic beauty and needs.

Think of some of the health issues that we face in this modern day, and ask: how many results from our anxiety or fear created by time as we know it? Then ask: what is the validity and basis of these fears? The Buddha taught us that there are a few things that we can not avoid in life: aging, illness and death. These things can not be changed, yet we seem irrationally fixated on trying to do so. How often are we distracted in the present, panicking about the past or the future- what needs to be done, and what is the fee for chasing such illusions? I am not advocating that we do not plan for the future, nor denying that we are products of our past. What I am saying is that we need to be conscious of what we are doing in the present - the only point in our existence that we do influence, and act accordingly. Would we not think someone to be mad if they dedicated their lives sitting in front of a stone and wishing it to become a flower?

The Christian "Serenity Prayer" speaks volumes:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace

Many of us do not enjoy the moment. We must realise that life is the journey and that the fulfillment of goals lies in the process. We are where we are at this very moment. This may, at present, be a time that is passing through boredom, a sense of loss, self-doubt, immense joy, ecstasy or peace. Regardless, this moment is also fleeting and will not last forever. Finding joy in during the times of difficulty, such as the solace of a dear friend when the rest of the world seems to be gone to hell in a hand-basket, will allow us to maintain that sense of joy and the simple beauty and wonder which is the moment, and therefore, our lives. We have a sense of what is good and what is not, and I completely believe that "if it feels good then it probably is".

In the end, time will pass, irregardless of how we choose to live. Should the world turn to dust one day is of no matter, nor is it a sad thought as we are not presently in that world any more than we are in any other point of the past or future. Likewise, a life of joy or misery is largely determined by us. Truly, how you decide to live your life is solely your concern. That being said, a life of happiness, joy and peace is most likely what we each seek in our own way.

I am sharing these thoughts to assist the battles that I face in my mind a mind conditioned to accept so many of our imposed societal constrictions and sense of growing older- but also because I share the hope that others will find their own inner peace and reconcile within our social confines. I am learning that the company of a good friend, the embrace of my daughter, peace on my Yoga mat, a nice Islay single malt, the craic that flows when I play music with my mates or a good book all surpass the fireworks and climaxes of life as they form the constancy of our experience. We need to make these moments happen more as opposed to filling our time with fretting, self-doubt or self-annihilation.

And so, I bid you all farewell and will leave you with one of my favourite Irish blessings:

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”