I use to be so arrogant, so wholly stuffed with pride,
When looking in the mirror my concept of me lied.
Others were beneath me, I only knew the way,
Little was I knowing the falls I’d take one day.
Decked in all illusions I briskly trod along
Not seeing all around me the places I’d gone wrong.
Until one day it happened, illusion stripped away,
With horror I acknowledged my inner self that day.
When stripped of all my vaunting, how shriveled up inside,
My inner soul was reeking with the awful stench of pride.
From then a humbler being, I walked within the realm,
My acid thoughts undoing, no more beneath prides spell.
A wiser, fuller creature I hope from that day on
To give to others glory and echo in their song.
A song of love, and heartfelt, admission of my ills
As love rose up within me, as understanding thrills.
I see now all my folly I wrought within those days,
I hope now I am wiser and walk within God’s ways.
(from August 2014)
Down where the silver fishes play
Sunk down deep in its decay
Where once the proud like peacocks stood
Lies shattered stone like shards of wood
It’s peaceful there now down in the depths, no more slaves, no more evil, earth and water washed it all away, this once “thriving” civilization. It thrived on hate and greed, on privilege and slaughter, using its knowledge to enslave the souls of men, trapped in the treadmill of its habitation.
Once the tumult of voices filled the streets, but no more. Now all is silent as the grave, and bones, picked clean, line the confines, earth and water conspiring to eradicate their evil lest it spread, contaminating the earth.
Now sharks bask in scattered sunshine that filters through the waves, like sentinels guarding the city hidden deep below. Coral adorns its sunken walls, shadows its depths. The trinkets and gold it sought long…
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from July 2014
To be human means of necessity flawed, not perfect. It would be nice if we were demi-gods of some sort with divine wisdom and strength of character, supermen or women，but early on, as childhood banter ceases, we realize perfection eludes us. We either lower the bar or live a life of frustration.
Some transfer their ideas of perfection to others, their partner, government, doctors, evangelists… then, when some awful truth comes to light, abandon them, leaving behind a trail of broken families, law suits and lost faith. Should we then abandon our ideals, cheat, lie, steal and live for “number one”? That road leads to anarchy, hate and destruction.
My philosophy tends to be, aim high but try not to get all bent out of shape if I fail – I’m human right? Of course this is a philosophy which is often flawed by my failure to implement it.
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(From June 2014
I’ve always been shy. As a child I hid behind my mother’s skirts, turned every shade of red when spoken to (still do sometimes.) I’ve heard the term “painfully shy” – that says it all. It was certainly painful at school with its loud mouthed bullies.
At adolescence I learnt to overcome it, learnt not to care what people thought, defiantly going the opposite direction with my outlandish clothes and escapades. I decided “to hell with trying to be like my peers, I’d let lose my creative side and claim supremacy!” (There was of course a great degree of arrogance in this!)
Abandoning the perceived restrictions of my environment I learnt to aim high, miraculously gaining a fine arts degree in a low class neighborhood where kids seldom attained the modest GCSE level. I discovered strangely that my shyness didn’t extend to public speaking (I could act any role). Even…
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Your favourite childhood book?
This is difficult for me as my childhood is such a distant memory and I was an avid reader (usually reading 4-5 adult size books a week!) I even walked along the street reading, stopping only to cross roads. I was never without a book.
The only memory I have of a particular book from my younger childhood was “Winnie the Poo”, but that’s only because the librarian insisted a four year old couldn’t read a book like that, so asked me to prove it before she’d let me take it out. I did, but it was my pride in scoring over the librarian rather than actually liking the book that kept it in my memory (I said I had pride problems lol!) I should add also my sister taught me to read long before I ever went to school so she really should take credit for that!
I do remember when around ten being very fond of my dad’s Sir Walter Scott’s books. I’m not sure of the title of my favourite, but I think it was “Beltane the Smith” one of his lesser known ones but very romantic. I couldn’t abide the usual run of books my classmates used to read (“Famous Five” adventures were particularly popular). I much preferred the classics and read pretty much all the age appropriate ones.