Got to be More Cheerful Than of Late.

The last post wasn't too bad, I guess, but the one before it was so bleak and dark, I thought I'd better try to reflect the fact that, believe it or not, I can do "cheerful".

Not many of the pieces are all that upbeat to be honest. It's a well turned out line that misery begets creativity, and conversely that when you actually are "happy" the incentive to record the fact just isn't the same, as you're too busy just enjoying the feeling.... Writing is cathartic, as in, it helps to bleed the demons out of you, it's a silent way of venting the inner pains, and torments, and so on. When you're having a good time, there isn't anything to actually get out, you don't want to, you want to hold on to the positivity, not blurt it onto a keyboard, or page in your notebook....

 

Black Hill

On the Edge Of Black Hill.

The black moors rise, still and ignored,

Fey and, not quite timeless, sleeping races,

Beneath these stiff boots, treading memory trods,

Dried heather flowers and loose black sods.

Crumbling, we sit, and our eyes trace these lines,

Delivered and executed by a thin spidery hand.

To lost pools, and pleasure gardens, what jubilee.

Will deep lethargy discover us on the seat of angels,

And cast us from these dour dark dank heights,

To poor pastures below, with the sorry sheep,

And sorrier autumn meadow weed, long husky

Desiccation of this memory, salty tears on cracking lips.

Come inspiration and rescue these dogs, this sorry man,

Pluck us high from this forgotten forbidden edge,

Where skies and moors meet and these elements,

Find roost in dark execution, lost heathered places.

Crumbling black heart, dogs and spidery intention,

Fey, but not quite crumbling, or pleasureless,

As often before, now delivered and with stiff boots,

We stand, shake a little, deep sniff and try.

Burst this shell, from around black and heavy thoughts,

Fill this dry heart with jubilee pastures,

Walking with positive dogs, timeless angels,

Downhill now, to autumn valleys on old sorry sheep trods,

With newly woken dreams, inspiration of sleeping places.

Admittedly that was written after a long walk on the opposite end of the main hill, but it's close enough.....

Both of the pictures above were taken on Saturday, and I have only one person to thank for my being able to. Discretion forbids that I give a name though, but they know who they are....

When I said in another recent post, that I wanted to avoid repetitions, Black Hill above was the one that won me the Complete Ted Hughes collection, a WW1 collection, and a nice voucher....In Ottakers, which is long gone now. We went and had a few drinks, and maybe a toke, before attending the evening readings in the shop. When I got short-listed in the adult category, I was amazed, but then to be called out as the winner, whereby I had to go to the front of those there assembled and read it out, was one of those odd moments that I'll never forget....even in the state of mind I was at the time...!

I know I've written some total dross, but every now and then I come up with one that I find works, at least for me...

It's funny though, how many work if you read them in either a Scots or Irish accent....