Since 2013, I've been posting a daily missive on my Facebook page. Please join me and check them out here: Peter B Forster
In a world of extremes when it is all or nothing
And settling for less is seen as defeat
It is brave to wait and listen
To put daisies on a chain
And watch the world go by.
It is harder to ignore a seduction of game changers,
who slip out of the loop when their race is run.
Or wait for a moment to catch a breath,
share a line with an old friend
Spin a tale on a bar stool
Play it for laughs in a friendly game.
A subversion of to be in it is to win it
A mantra for living in a material world
When the heartless take heart
in the failure of giving
and a give away is another way
to buy the loyalty of innocence
when children are the growing consumer.
The middle ground is a dangerous place
it is attacked from all sides
it is a precarious fence
a foot in both camps
a lack of commitment
and a fear of failure
to go for the burn and feel the fear
to do it anyway, the excuse
for passing on by
when helping the other is an obstacle to
achievement when your brother is a rival
and the apprentice the master.
The car was a beast this morning
It drove itself in, shouting at the sun
Wanting its roof down
It charged through the dewy light
clearing its throat and welcoming
the chance to run with the boys.
The brightness of the sky sang
And creamy fluffs of spring down
It screamed with the hello of summer to come
and called me to the weekend
when time at last has come
to bring the garden to heel.
The tarnished wreck of last year
and the no show of summer
followed by the torturous winter
destroyed the shed and now the pond is to go
how much will it take to get it ship shape
much in time and energy
but worth the cost.
The world turns and the winter is done
The chill of a burgeoning spring morn pricks the skin
And the blue of the sky brightens the affect
It is a welcome reprieve for the sore eye.
Aeroplanes fly overhead and lives continue
Holidays are taken, work schedules kept and
The wheels of business grind on
Cyclists litter the streets
Fit to go and up for the day
As weary commuters sweat
A tight fit in a greasy box
Sardines for the hungry
Fodder for the front line
As the world turns
And the spirits lift
With the bloom of good will
That the May Day brings
As song birds trill to the memory
of forgotten times when sacrifice
was a way of life and death
that one way or another
keeps the whole world turning.
Yesterday was a steep hill and a hard pull
Not that I did anything
The energy it took to remain idle
And function on the right side of normal was huge.
Today is the post inertia day
But lethargy is an unwelcome guest.
Outside the day is bright and a whole world of possibilities still exist
and I am in hiding from its light
Waiting for the right time, when the doing will start.
Healing runs in time with demand
Unchecked I am held in its thrall
Making just small steps, keeping to the path
But when the call to engage is made I will respond
When the push becomes a shove
I will turn my hand to the plough
And sow the seed of good will
nurtured by love and kindness
my strength will return and flow
through all the days of my life
But just for now the waiting goes on.
A mix of emotion
Already the day is conflicted.
It is a lovely spring morning and the world turns.
Good wishes and warm affection drift in the air
And the heart is lifted by kindness
But the spell cast by grief defies logic
Defends against kindness
The art of knowing is in the doing
And time comes when doing is an effort too far.
Knowing is just out of reach
Limbo is a place to hang
Waiting becomes a lifestyle choice
On a day of such emotion
A day that defies urgency and embraces inertia like an old friend
Guilt lain to rest can return
The temptation to run away is strong
Only the love of the living
Finds a way through and brings its peace
The reminder of worth, the memory of hope
The belief tomorrow will be better
The growth toward wholeness a day closer.
A reminder of the miracle of living. to edit.
Today is a day of in betweens
The magpies lost yesterday
A day to bask in but no
Even as I think about this and the game tomorrow
There is a bigger story a more pressing urgency
My son would have been 36 on the 29th of April.
I remember watching so many games with him
Not many of them brought the right result or gave us much to cheer
But I cherish the first game back in the Premier League
When managed by Keano we beat Spurs
My son and I watched it together in a packed pub
It was in Enfield and everyone else was a Spurs supporter
We didn’t betray our allegiance throughout the game
Until the goal
We looked at each other, put down our drinks
Walked out of the pub and then jumped in the air
Squealing with delight hugging with pure and simple joy.
And then we returned to our drinks and the downcast look
Of the beaten crowd
On what is an unwanted sadness a wonderful
memory of a great day.
They could do him proud again tomorrow. God willing
Just a thought for today
Blogs and tours, news and reviews
likes and promotes casting your votes
So much bustle even here. People doing and wanting
I feel the pace even as I sit in quiet contemplation
The need for me to do, gathers pace
Even as I resist.
The pull of other is a restless need
It tears through me and leaves a hole
That quickly fills with guilt
Why is the need of other resisted so
Is my own need much too great
And is this recognition a little too late
Even the sitting, in quiet repose, nursing the moment
feeling the pull of those who don’t know
the weight of my own expectation
the need to fulfil and commit
jostles with gentle despair
and the hope of the other
that someone is there
keeps everything turning
but going nowhere.
We were teased
like teenagers fumbling in a warm embrace
lusting after the taste of a first kiss
we hesitate, spoilt for choice
feeling the air, heavy with promise
breathless for tomorrow
and the baring of flesh
inhaling deeply of summer and love
Until the rain came down
And the grey returned.
Clothes quickly changed umbrellas unwrapped.
Roads run thick with slick
a slip, a slide and a waltz
a street dance
a time of greased lightning
kissing, of cars that were once strangers.
Flyovers became aqueducts
as the sun shed tears in a heavy sky
and the memory of yesterday was washed clean away.
I have tried to keep up with my promise to post regular musings. The day arrives and I thought I just might borrow some snippets already written. Some of these surfaced in the form of a daily missive. I will sift and sort plump and preen starting with bit of a poem I wrote the other day when I was struggling with the inner critical voiced brain eating bug.
Sometimes despair is only a cold breath away.
The whisper in the ear and the shrug of a shoulder
When the darkness is upon us the heart turns away
The vibrant rhythm of life dwindles
To a silent symphony
An opus unheard
The hope is a glimmer in the herringbone sky
A glint in the red rimmed eye
But in the troubling the imagining dies
And when spirits so tender are failing
And belief remains weak
It is only the memory of laughter
The faintest dusting of a lover’s kiss that holds the believing.
Writing can be a lonely occupation. However it also has the capacity to inspire in the writer as well as the reader, a hope of something other. A dream fulfilled: A belief in something better. Life can be a hard slog and if anybody gives mine a 5 star review then they have a good sense of humour. But imaginative prose and verse can allow for a spiritual high a virtual lift, an insight into a different perspective. A life lived in a different world at another level. A level that for however brief and singular a moment in time, can heal the damage of the savage dog, stem the steady flow of self doubt and touch the truth of ourselves.
It is why I write. I don’t know why you read but it might be something similar.
If we feel touched by something outside of our experience, with our empathy muscle tickled by somebody else’s humour or see a new view of the world filtered through somebody else’s refractive lens then for a moment we can be truly alive and in touch with our humanity.
Another sort of poem posted on face book last week when the ice and snow raged once more.
Out of the grey
I inched through misty Eastern Steppes squinting earnestly at
The hoary frost rimmed eyes of a few thousand lost buffalo
We roamed together, bunching for safety
Hoping our strength in numbers would frighten off the heavy weight of unearthly fog
Strange cries emanated from shocked souls as softly inflated radials
Were rushed into unwise breaking
And the moaning of drifting tankers careering across busy shipping lanes
Brought fear to the wildly beating heart
And then it was gone London appeared
Dull, misty and damp
Traffic inched in an untimely procession and eventually I was
Moored in safe haven.
To begin again
With special praise reserved for last week’s International women’s day and a reminder that in many parts of the world men are the monsters.
I take my hat off to those who struggle and shrug with barely concealed disgust at those who don’t care.
Have a wonderful week.