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HeWhoExplores Jul 12
"Why is life so cruel, dear friend?" Said the weeping man, slouched over the railings overlooking the harbour.
"What do you mean?" Said the friend.
"Nothing appears to be going my way, I've just lost my job, my girlfriend and I are beginning to have problems and most importantly my-"
And before the poor man could finish, the friend stepped in.
"Look upon the ground and tell me what you see?"
The man stared down and noticed multiple mussel shells scattered and broken.
It was almost reminiscent to that of a battlefield.
"I see shells all broken and-"
And before he could finish, the friend edged in.
"Yes, this is obvious, but what created such sights?"
The man thought for a minute.
And in this moment a flopping gull appeared from above, startling him.
The gull, encircling both men then dropped a shell which landed with a thud.
"You see, a mussel is almost impenetrable-"
The gull swooped down between the men and cawed, grabbing the shell between its beak before flopping away again.
"But the gull, dear friend-"
Suddenly the shell smashed down from above and opened up, revealing a soft glistening mollusc inside.
"The trick is perseverance, to never give up"
The hungry gull then began to gobble up the morsefull before flying off for the final time.
"And with that inner ideology, one will accomplish his mission, no doubt about it."
The friend gave a smile before resting his hand on the man's shoulder.
"Even when times get tough, we shouldn't ever give up."
The poor man looked up, his eyes now clearer than ever.
"Life will throw us obstacles and challenges. But the trick is to overcome. To learn. To be brave."
The man, now smiling; nodded.
The two men set off along the walkway, with the friend intervening once more.
"Now, what was it you were saying about life being so cruel?"
HeWhoExplores Jun 24
Car horns slice through the air,
congestion gathers on the roads
making murky smoky trails

There sits a man

whom bears heavy weight;
shrouded, in dark clothing and mystery
Bearded, diligent and wise

Alan is his name

A Scouser if I'd ever seen one,
always happy and yet never alarmed
by the noises and pollution around him

This, is his home

I see him everyday when I pass,
come rain or shine, hail or wind
He sits, diligently and acute
with a paper cup in hand

Living in the open city

He shows that life can be unpredictable,
yet freedom cannot be contained
We've chatted, him and I
He says the institutions can't keep him down

They're out for money and control

This is his freedom, his way of life
to do what whatever he pleases
Tent ready, trolly in possession
Without fear, without order
without rules

Not knowing what the next day may bring
Alan, A Scouse drifter lives by his rules in the City of Belfast
HeWhoExplores Jun 16
Blowing long grass on sun drenched land,
barbecue smoke rises high into the air above
Forming smokey marshmallow clouds,
bound for nowhere

A passenger plane, making its presence known
glides above; menacingly
Like a gull in search of its next meal;
loud and soaring.

People lay motionless on flat bedded land,
and forest creatures take refuge high into the treetops
Escaping the human threats from below;
For now, at least

Dogs run wild and children misbehave,
beetles bite and scuttle along the ground
Novels find their places on the grass,
falling from the faces of sleeping people

The sun masterfully floats above all,
defying odds that rain was ever to come today
Loud music floats hazily around the park,
as groups rejoice and discuss amongst themselves

As the past makes its way for the future,
it is the present moment which stands triumphant
Sitting back, watching the world go by I wonder;
Will I ever get the chance to see more days like this one?
Reflective thoughts by a tree in a park
HeWhoExplores Jun 11
They stood like three stooges, unaware of wondering eyes that locked onto them. The nameless men spoke gently, as murmurs of importance echoed softly around the park grounds. I looked at them, yet could not look away. But, such a sight was most peculiar as we had been living in pandemic times, shackled by refrain and virtue. You see, this petite park was a refuge for folk like us, constantly searching yet never settled in one spot. The Homeless, The Beatnik and the Middle Man was what I called them. Such callous names I'd acquired for them was not out of spite, but more so out of the visible narrative of what was openly occurring in front of my very eyes. As I watched, a deal was being penned in the cold day of light. The Middle Man, confident and defiant stood a-fixed to the spot and dealt out street lingo that made him as formidable as the warlords themselves. The Beatnik did not contest to his instructions, nor would he dare. And The Homeless stood agape and perplexed as he merely awaited for his evening fix.
Such a candid sight, one thought.
The police arrived only minutes later, revving their engine whilst catching the park folk off guard. The *******, now struggling to put 1+1 together hurriedly exchanged business dealings in the form of sterling for blow. It was over in a matter of seconds. The atmosphere had then become most quiet as only the tweets and low barks of innocent animals had laid bare the scene. I slowly gathered my composure and adjusted my posture once again. And after sighing a great sigh, all I could genuinely think about was The Homeless, The Beatnik and The Middle Man had forever gone. Disappeared, as if from time itself.
A candid recollective memory of a drug transaction in a public park
Stood, fixed to the spot the man observed well into the darkness
as far as the eye could see. This was his view, as he nervously awaited his flight. The large windows showcased a cascade of gale and rain, like a Russian ballet, some kind of twisted beauty. Looking outwards towards the sheer magnitude of the storm, blankets of pelting rain gunned down onto the tarmac ground. The only lights were from the large runway floodlights, rocking back and fourth as the wind began to show no mercy. The windows take a battering, as his mind contemplates ever get off this rock.
"Mother nature cannot be tamed, nor can her wrath, it's better to let her be," he mutters.
The loud speaker blurts out "Departure gates have now opened."
And, in this moment his fixed gaze slowly detaches itself from the wrath, away from the demon. Away, from the dance.
We marched into the thick of town, laughing and hollering like
Jovial soldiers of the night. The sky was dark & poetic , as we succumbed to its drunken beauty. Night's like these were meant to be enjoyed, savoured- for what was yet to come, we could not escape.
Staggering around town like a drunken platoon, we ended up at the Ulster Sports Club, a place so decadent and mysterious we had to sell our souls in return for a one way ticket. But, it was worth every penny of it. With low hazy lights that aligned the corridors and a special style of liveliness like that of the 90's- we were on cloud nine.
Electro beats and foggy disco lights gave the place a retro vibe, as people of all ages and shapes boogied and grooved as they became slaves to the music. It was utterly beautiful. Beer was guzzled and shirts came off, as we staged an act of defiance against social conventions- this was our paradise, and rules were meant to be broken. And as the lights came on, a chorus of "One more song!" erupted. We staged a rebellion, for the night was not over yet. Eventually, the time to retreat came upon us, as we threw down our conquering swords to surrender. We grabbed our things, our bags and coats and made off; walking into the dead of night like soldiers returning home from battle.
HeWhoExplores Dec 2019
I saw him again today, that man
So clothed in mystery
He was quiet today,
Just like every other day
Probably hoping to be left alone
But, we'll never know
And I'll never ask

I saw him again today, that man
So clothed in mystery
Yet, for reasons I can't comprehend,
I often see myself in him
Staring back, trying to figure it all out
One passing day at a time
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