Mid-life stasis

This is no
Mid-life crisis,
No crisis at all.

Instead, I feel
And calm,
No longer rolled tight
In a ball
Of stress, and strife,
Fighting for breath,
Yearning for more

And now
Is the stasis,
No more status quo
Of chasing, and running
With nowhere to go
But round, once more
Mad rush to the floor.

All is still
And quiet, inside
The voices of urgency
Crying loud, like seagull-screech
Deep in chest, they have left
Empty nest, neither squawking birds,
Nor baby chicks crying for food,
No up and down roller coaster,
Just slight shift in mood.

I go up, and down,
And back again,
Always the same,
Dearest of friends,
Round to call,
Yet not the same,
For underneath it all
Is something calm, leaves coating the ground
Multi-coloured nature’s blanket, unraked,
Unneeded, unnoticed, unheeded, but all of that’s
Just noise, background hum,
Sliced through by the tinnitus,
Sound of silence, constant
And when all’s said and done,
Cliche after cliche marching two-by-two,
This one is truer than that one,
My eyes are clearer than yours,
Money pouring from pockets opens doors
That don’t really matter.

Will I ever hear the little pitter-patter
Of un-padded feet?
Is that the aim of life,
Or something else entirely,
Something achingly deep,
Soulfully wide,
Scarringly bright,
That we carefully hide,
As if
To share
That one deep dark truth within,
Would be the greatest of fears realised,
Life’s ultimate sin,
Against ourselves,
Throbbing ache deep in gut,
Or just above,
As if the hole of lonely acceptance
No longer misses the love,
But instead resides – monkey-like –
In chest,
Never to be warmed by soft-armed vest,
The hug of a loved one
Momentary relief
Loves empty crater
Memory of happiness
Slightest of balms
For later, but now all we have
Is the roundabout thought,
The feeling of loss
That itself means nought,
Great empty divide
Basin invisible in the dark,
The playground from hell,
Broken reality,
Healing heart.

“Illegal immigrant” is a bigot’s term

To all the so-called US patriots (and other “patriots” of other countries):-

Labelling a human being “illegal,” is by its very nature dehumanising them.

So let’s start with terminology.

I think the word we are looking for is, “undocumented” immigrant.

According to the US Constitution, there is no such thing as an “illegal” immigrant.

That is a term used by conservatives, right wingers, racists, and bigots to dehumanise other human beings, to justify treating them inhumanely. (See Nazis for labelling Jewish people “it” rather than “him” or “her,” to dehumanise them to make it easier to justify murdering millions.)

With regards to UNDOCUMENTED immigrants, they are actually legally protected under our US Constitution;

“As an undocumented immigrant, you do have constitutional rights here in the United States,” she said, “and that has been said over and over in the courts, that they do have constitutional rights.””

Therefore, anyone spouting a “send them back where they came from” blanket response to UNDOCUMENTED immigrants is counter to Constitution law precedent, and therefore fundamentally unAmerican, and therefore the opposite of the patriotism one purports to feel towards America. (In other words, the very use of the term “illegal immigrants” is unpatriotic, as well as bigoted.)

We can all have an opinion, but please avoid selling happy horseshit as fact.

ANYONE using the term “illegal” when applied to human beings (or any living being for that matter) is a bigot (either unknowingly, or, having read this post, on purpose).

Here is some info on why labelling anyone “illegal” is wrong, from a technical standpoint – http://ideas.time.com/2012/09/21/immigration-debate-the-problem-with-the-word-illegal/ …

And from a linguistic standpoint – https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2015/dec/06/illegal-immigrant-label-offensive-wrong-activists-say


When sorrow sits
On your chest
The hangdog look
On your face,
And all the world seems
Like the least unfriendly place,
You may be down,
But not out, for
There is still something left
In the tank.

Just gotta push
Right on through
Til the you
That you once knew
Can ride the wave
Of happiness again;
Just another ripple in the ocean,
Wave to be ridden,
Dip in the clackety-clack
Of old wooden rollercoaster pull
Up the long slope to that first steep drop,
Heart in throat, then stomach in brain,
Whooshing down to the bottom,
Then back up again.

The asinine flow
Of life’s ups and downs,
Raising us into the air,
Only to smash us back to the ground.
Still we ride the wave,
Feel the flow,
Let rip,
Let it go,
Because there is no
Other way to be –

That is you.

And this
is me.

Social death

When all the noise,
The world quiets down,
And what’s left –
Glowing screen-lit eyes,
Face down.

When all apps are empty,
Scoured for every last little bit,
And we look up, and realise
What’s what,
The truth glares us back in the mind;
All online is empty.

Like followers of a false hope,
God and life digitised to 1s and 0s,
Those of us who have not battened down,

Find ourselves blown away,
Forgetting what it means
To be human, and swing
In the breeze of happenstance
And broken thoughts;
A life left hanging in the balance,


Something unseen
Deep inside,
Not outwards facing,
But rather who we are,
And what we do.

This thing called life,
A conundrum,
Puzzle of the ages,
Not answering to any
Or wherefor,
But rather dancing
Capriciously close to the edge
Of that same abyss we all share,
Like the clown from hell,
Razor sharp teeth
Coated in blood,
Evil glint in eye,
But what is inside?

tales for adults, told by kids pretending to be adults, for adults pretending to be kids