Judging my safety
Like collapsing sandcastles
Rough-built at high tide

Feeble foundations
Based on assumptions
Freak waves waiting

Only recently
I learnt that not everyone
Always feels afraid

Turn gently inward
To ask whether I’m okay
Quietly observe

The body holds the answers
Truer than the pliant mind

It is not somewhere over the Rainbow
Beyond Mother's breath or
In the devices of ancient
Or modern hands bereft

We touch it in our pathos
And empathy from
Time to time
Through a shallow fading
Gravel bed
Filtering a bitter water table Perhaps

Whilst the tender leaf of spring
Feels it
In the autumn of unconditional
Acceptance of the inevitable
Morning frost
Cold relentless rains
And colourful leaves
falling to their death
In beauty

So far removed from our bipedal Posturing
And upright positioning at the Computer
Desk knowing there is no mystery here
No wild cry in the night
Only electronic and organic
Bleeps and drones and

Aw! there… I heard it again

A lost chord
A missing link
That the wild
Creatures understand
Of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic
Brain seldom penetrated through
Our domineering eyes planted Firmly in front
Of the gray dross from an eternal Fire

We spend our given time on
This planet trying to douse when The rest
Of creation knows the need for Its
Purification and leaps willingly Into its
All-consuming heart as we
Live in fear of the unknown
And of fear itself

Keeping us estranged from the Cosmic mysterium which Provokes us to awaken
To the wondrous eternal
Which will
Alter our deluded consciousness
To see what has been seen Through the
Unknown eons to help us take to The fire

We only catch a whiff of in the Twilight
Of our hopes and selfless dreams
So we will rise through the
Dry brown leaves of our once Tender
Green vision of an ever-changing Universe
Which whispers louder and Louder in our darkness
Until we cease our chatter and
Learn to listen to the serene Silence
Of an eternal vibration Heightening
Morphing

Less organic much more
Ethereal
spiritual

Crawling further and further
From the pulse of the earth
As we shed thickened skin which
Once replaced thin soft Unprotected flesh
Needing protection from Extraneous
Sources to cover what should Have been

Eternally naked bare to the Elements
Not limited to a frail carcass Which
Will ultimately be left behind as We
Transform into our individual Eternal temples to
Join in worship with the rest of Creation
To be the living offering
At the foot of the
Eternal voice ineffable
Not waiting to be obeyed
In mass procession but

As individual as one spark Igniting
A plot of trees newly released as Mystery
Revealed ever so slightly in the Wake of
The burial of earthbound mind Steeped in
Temporal ancient tradition Fermented in
Oak casks which were made to Remain
And grow in their ****** state

As we hear distant yet distinct Whispers of
The origin of our human calling Above and beyond
Thoreau's distant drummer’s Near silent tremors of the
Most ancient rhythms Now mostly echoes as we
March to
And follow our own drummer
Leading the way back home

As we at times seem to distinctly
Hear original rhythm's calling
As we try so earnestly to
Respond like a dying sea
Longing to once again sway
To the beckoning moon

Often keeping in step
With our
Own inner drummer who
Is always trying to keep
Time by asking

"Are we prepared to give
In to what we will
Inevitably meet in the end?"

Colour-coded lists
with satisfying check marks
Tally for self-worth score
Free time is a dead wasteland
Work compulsion conquers all

Work is my saviour
Proof that I have use
Grateful for the gift
of structured daily toil

I don’t need a break
I am far too strong
I am made to stand
in any roaring storm

Endlessly on point
I cannot relax
Maybe I should take
a class in calming down

Another degree
Major in stillness
Minor in poems,
music, walks and gardens

What happens to me
While I do ‘leisure’?
What will I be worth
when I take time for me?

When days are rough at work, and heat is high
My self-esteem is carried by a role
To prove each working day that I am fine
And value comes from actions to assist
At frantic pace that slowly dents my soul

Beware when job and self strong-overlap
Identity is blank beyond my job
Then molehills swell to snowy mountain range
Allotments to sheep stations in my mind
And working day and night a sleeve-worn slog

Befogged in role, befuddled in self-worth
In muddled shame, obscured by guilt and fear
With added slow fatigue and hopelessness
And where do your needs end, and mine begin?
All rules of world and life become unclear

Learn to take time off
Negotiate with myself
New type of self-worth
Creative time, open field
Discovery nurtures all

Nightly whiskey flow
stains a white-walled childhood home
Parents seem blurry
Love and danger co-occur
Paroxysms of anger

In childhood there’s no room for shades of grey
It’s black or white, confusion sits unused
A place for everything and each in place
And I am in control and thus to blame
Come adulthood to show me I’m confused

So, consequences passed down like a gift
In genes and in behaviours left unchecked
To witness fights, hard falls, deep burns, and pain
The trauma transfer, second-hand ingrained
With love and anger, care and dark neglect

Then later roughly realise there was wrong
The blend of wrong and love is hard to hold
Most often see the child who fails at school
With low self-concept, guilt, hot shame, and fear
But all built strength and power left untold

Compensatory
change for homeostasis
Strong roles adopted
Scars deftly hidden
Chaos-order alchemy

I must be The Responsible One
Parentification at maximum pitch
A list-making, chore-running, stable-housemaster
A self-worth creator from jobs neatly done
All leisure-time wary and leadership-rich

I must be The Adjuster as well
Will follow directions and bounce from extremes
A dime-spinning, change-juggling, fresh puddle-jumper
Surprise and emergency make me excel
More calm at the edges than flat in-betweens

I must be The Calming Placater
Maintaining still waters whatever my price
A vigilant, change sensing, smoothing class helper
To people-please acts as a guilt-shame assuager
All pliable, social, and overly nice

Imperfect but strong
coping mechanisms forged
Power in order
Capable, dependable
Psyche shaped by survival

They always said
How much the little girl
Was like her daddy in
The way she stood
Walked 
Movements
Gestures
Cute when she was small

But the older she gets
The more she takes on
More serious aspects of
My strengths
My weaknesses.

Proud to see her
Strong personality
Flashbacks of my youth.
Strong-willed
Free in spirit
As a young deer
Kinking up its hind legs
In defiance of constriction.

A free spirit sees
No need for the fences
We build to contain it
To control our so-called
Base instincts.

In her my strengths are
Magnified
but oh
So are my weaknesses
My weaknesses magnified!

Looking at this
Living mirror of myself
Seems to
Magnify
Intensify
A normal father/daughter
Relationship.

I think I see clearly because
I think I know myself so well.
I chastise myself
I condemn my weaknesses
The mistakes I made in my youth.

I look down at me
She looks up to me.

They say she is
So much like her daddy
But she is much more.
Part mama
Part gran
Part grandma
A tapestry of traits
All formed in her
Along with what her social
Environments have
Sown in and reaped of her.

The teenager often sees the
Outward beauty of a
Model or movie star.
Someone is always
Better looking
Someone else always
Has more of something.

I try so hard to help her see
That this is so common
A feeling.
She is above all this
She is not run of the mill.
I know she knows this
Somewhere
Deep inside.

Time has proved
That I see more
Than what meets the eye
But this knowing
Holds possible dangers.
I can see ahead to
Warn her of trouble
But there are troubles
That she must endure.
Over-protection
Every caring parent knows
This pain.

I do not want to fail her
But distance seems to grow
Between us when
I monitor her progress
When I push and ****
To make her less like daddy.
She shouldn’t be like me
I have too many regrets.

In the night hours
I sometimes hear sounds
That I cannot distinguish.
I hear fluttering sounds
That I think are birds
Flying out of the trees
But in reality it is the wind
Blowing high
Through the pines.

I see shadows of strangers
Seeking mischief
Shining bright
Lights at the family tent
In the cold
Half-dream-state
Of the cold night
But reality says it is
The distortion of the campfire
Through the fabric of the tent.

I cannot always distinguish
Certain sights and sounds
At certain times
But time reveals what
They truly are.

But to bite the tongue
When I wish to scold
Out of season.
To stop focusing on our
Likenesses to the point
Where I cannot differentiate
Between what she used to be
And what I used to feel
And the individual soul
That my daughter is.

They always say how
much she is like her daddy.
Maybe daddy needs to change.