As I stand barefoot on the grass I begin to feel it; coming in the air tonight. Have I been waiting for this moment all my life? Probably. Rooted to the spot now, I feel the white light of ancient wisdom. It seeps into my feet and they begin to grow into the ground.  Deeper and deeper they grow, splitting and separating into earthy tendrils that each in turn do the same. Slowly, the light rises inside of me like early-spring sap, up past my thighs and into my abdomen, filling every last blood vessel and suddenly I’m blooming from the inside. The light reaches my shoulders and pours into my arms causing them to outstretch and extend. My fingers grow and twist and contort and split and keep on growing.  Green buds of chlorophyll appear before blossoming into veiny leaves of intricate beauty.  I tilt my head back and wait; I feel my skin harden and thicken and crack as my body completes its earthly transformation. My clothes fall off in tatters, like Dr David Banner, as every part of me grows and fills with the wisdom of ages: the lies and outrages. Time passes and I watch from my now forever-fixed position. Full of wisdom and knowledge and power but unable to express it beyond whispering sweet-everythings to the sky and anyone who isn't listening.

From the cold, dank room; musty smells emanate,
The cold eye freezes and turns over in the frost,
Catch a star, falling far, falling free,
Shining for everyone; not just me
Trying to make sense of this entropy disorder,
Wet cat nose leather finds protection
from drying up in the hot weather,
A life? Maybe. Omniscient? No.
Turn away and find the inspiration
amongst the perspiration –
insurance against the inevitable alienation
Celebrate with the nation. All of them?  
Two colours, eye-gas, brain-grass, not in that shirt, Scott!
The crepuscular gloaming gives way,
Orange light now dominates the night,
keeping away the hurt and fright.
Drifting now, lost but not lonely. If only.
Size up the coffin and make marks
on the wall to measure how tall
Tear it down, sweep up the pieces and throw them away.
All will be revealed, my friend.
Perhaps.
One day.

Life rushes by like a river raging
Everything around you forever changing

Growing up leaving home
Starting your own adventure
Getting a place of your own
filling it with things
you treasure

You may experience
heartache
You may
find someone to love
You may
go for midnight strolls
Admiring the stars above

Maybe marry
Have children  
Bringing grandparents
great pleasure
A child's love is a wonderful thing
the best feeling ever

Life flies along so very fast
One day you wake  
50yrs has past

It all becomes quite a blur
So many memories
making emotions stir

Family and friends
people you hold dear
Some family and friends
no longer here

Reasons being
accidents
suicide
illness
for some it's old age
There will be good times
bad times
There's all sorts of lessons
on lifes stage

You can't always know
what life will bring
Sometimes it's so wonderful
it'll make your heart sing

But there will be times
you feel dark
empty inside
all you want to do
is lock out the world
and hide

But life's forever changing
Who knows what
the next ten years will bring
So buckle up your seatbelt
and let life do it's thing

This week I turn twenty
and nineteen is ready for the future,
nineteen doesn’t snap and growl anymore,
nineteen isn’t all struck matches
and lips like gasoline,
not all clenched teeth, clenched fists-  
closed heart and sharp tongue.
Seventeen and eighteen hold hands
because they need each other
to cope, and nineteen knows better
but it wasn’t enough
to shake off the nightmares.
Nineteen was the start of something
so much more than the sorry excuse
of seventeen, from which
sixteen still hasn’t recovered
and doesn’t want to talk about it anyway.
Sixteen missed her father
and eighteen couldn’t have cared less,
seventeen spent longer trying
to justify her emotions
than actually feeling them,
but nineteen was left with all that
bitterness and nothing
to sweeten the deal.
Twenty is ready for the next battle,
ready to pat nineteen on the shoulder
and offer her a place to rest,
twenty is the words “it’s safe now”
mumbled in an ear late at night
with arms around a lover.
Twenty is still purple, still violet, still violent-
there’s growing up still to do
but twenty is okay with that.

Being on the edge, where light fades greyly into dark,
Already you speak in echoes,
Your words from somewhere lost within you.
If I touch the veil of your fragile skin
Would I be touching you?
Although our touch to me still says “love”
When helping you from your chair or just holding you steady,
The Earth no longer firm beneath your feet.

Is my voice confused amongst others
In a kaleidoscope of utterances?
I’m not sure who makes more sense of this, you or I?
A bird that can no longer fly gasps quivering on the ledge,
Its heart a barely visible beat.
And I am the child again, behind the window,
Watching until it passes, its song
Carried away on the wings of the air.

Because I have loved you,
You are here.
Because over you I have bled and cried
And fought frustration and anger deep inside
You are here.
You are part of the fabric of my world,
A bright-coloured thread to my weave.
In body and soul, you are part of me.

the rhythm of my life has changed o’er time
from hectic to considerate to more relaxed
things that pressed urgently in previous years
now suddenly can wait a bit, and without fears
that anything important might be missed

the wisdom of maturity, or just the laziness of age,
allows me now to cast a much more probing look
on our daily world, watching events and people
with more distance than in younger days

whether this is a  blessing in disguise
I dare not say, I’m not the sage
who tells you where the long-sought treasure lies
but just a greying man who tries to figure out
what his life and the world are all about

Age has worn us away

Our youth we now crave

moving with aching bones

Baring Wrinkles deeply sewn

These strand of grey show

That one day, we must all grow old

as a child (too many years ago) i desperately squeezed my eyes shut and wished to grow up;
'please please let me be 16' I'd protest,
'let me be me, let me be free'
I thought that these empty 16 years would somehow force me to rejoice and thank the gods for ageing,
I thought that 16 years would feel like heaven,
I thought I'd run free through a field of technicolor daisies and love myself and the sun and the moon!..

as I write this, those 16 years have greeted me a while ago.
they are not gracious or excited,
they are not godly or angelic,
they are gloomy and damp, just like the that bench you sat on to drink your coffee
your jeans now stained with moss and mould and...damp.

I thought by now I'd have everyone I need
though, I do have a precious flower whose petals are the reason my heart still thuds
that delicate flower saved me.
however, my 10 year old self would have expected that field of technicolor daisies.  
I seem to have disappointed her,
but I can't apologise because although I have engulfed her skin and bones, I am her and she is i and we are connected.

I hope to see another 16.
I hope those years give me the world.
I write this as tears threaten to stain my cheeks because all I want is for these 16 years (and another, and another...) to gift me that burning sensation right in the pit of my stomach that reminds me of how alive I am and how much more I have to conquer before I am done.

I always dance with the idea that I'm done.
the idea grabs me at the waist and twirls me around like a dainty little ballerina,
it holds me so tight I start to fall for its clutches before she or my pounding heart reminds me of what I need.

I need to live.
I need to live so exquisitely that none of my past selves will kick my shins or step on my toes as I try to proceed towards my field,
I need to experience what it is like to not care,
I need to be reckless and careless, just for a while.

I need to be me,
and i need to be free.

~ T.T

(rondeau redoublé)

This lived-in face has seen the years go by
at such a wild and unforgiving pace.
My powers are weak, though my aims may be high,
and troubles are all bound to leave their trace.

And while I always feel the need to brace
myself against life's storms, I know that I
can never win. Death always plays his ace.
This lived-in face has seen the years go by.

It's little help to know the rules apply
to every member of the human race.
Dark clouds are growing in my evening sky
at such a wild and unforgiving pace.

In this vast universe I have my place,
but can my thoughts outlast me when I die?
or speak to those in other time or space?
My powers are weak, though my aims may be high,

Yet while dark thoughts of gloom may multiply,
to let them win would be a sad disgrace,
though many things may make me want to cry,
and troubles are all bound to leave their trace.

Yes, my mortality I must embrace,
not waste my time in always asking why,
or fearing not to do things "just in case."
I'll dry those tears. There's no point to deny
this lived-in face.