from dusk to dawn,
I wish I'd catch a wink of sleep
it certainly isn't pleasant to be going to sleep
when the rest of the household starts to rouse themselves
but such is the life of a closet insomniac
such is the life of one who lives in paranoia
such is, after all, the life of one who only ever comes alive
with the Night City, my Night City,
identified by the purplish-black clouds that blanket the city
and it's neon lights, for once again letting
us insomniacs become ourselves,
the ones who laugh and dance
and live and breathe when the world sleeps
the ones that return to existing as mere
shadows with the dawn of the sun
for us though, the awakening of the world is
with the appearance of starlight
with the quietening of most of
the sounds that plague daylight
random fires on streets are put out and we are left
to delight in the firey-orange neon lights.

aah. but what a sad time for us
when we become shadows
unable to do anything, with heavy weighted limbs
that refuse to obey any command,
with woolly heads and sleep deprivation,
almost-vampires for we don't sparkle
bruises under our eyes are barely noticed
for they are always there
during the day, shadows we become.
brushed aside and barely noticed, yet
in silence we choose to remain,
reveling in the knowledge that
night will return again.

i knew a sailor,
ebbing with unknowns,
waves crashing fear,
his eyes closed,

i knew a sailor,
balancing into threat,
ocean spitting hate,
his hair dripping wet,

i knew a sailor,
fighting invisible power,
mastery feeding life,
his Will always prouder,

i knew a sailor,
feeling hope prolong,
separation’s pending knock,
his heart beating strong,

i knew a sailor,
hanging head reliant,
determination passing soon,
his mind becoming silent,

i knew a sailor,
breathing into end,
soft quietening looms,
his spirit with the wind,

i learned from a sailor,
who sailed better and worse,
who lived and swayed in rhythm,
who died with no remorse.

Gentle falls the rain
A drizzle on senses
Cool drops on a warm eve
A symphony of water and trees
Mystic sounds - of the earth and the sky
Soothing the mind
Quietening the heat of a day of unrest
Brightening the hibiscus to a deeper crimson
Glowing with beads of water that cling
Unwilling to let go
As if they know
Some secrets of the green

And I - intoxicated
With the heady scent of a soaked earth
And the fragrance of motiya
Mellow basil that glistens wet
Like the parched, brown earth
That eagerly awaits the gift of clouds -
Like a lover
In the moist union of the elements
- Soak each drop with joy

Suddenly on some quite Sunday morning, As
I Watched a sunbeam floating anti-gravity dust,
A familiar smell,sound,a deep quietening of the mind,
Took me back, to the best and happiest time of my Life!!

A time will come
in your life when something will wake you




and your fears
and insanity will finally forsake you.



You stop dead in
your tracks and somewhere the voice



inside your head
cries out… ENOUGH! Just rejoice!



Enough fighting
and crying and constantly blaming



and struggling to
hold on, and senselessly shaming.



Then, like a
child quietening down after a tantrum, you blink back your tears



and begin to look
at the world through new eyes, without fears.



This is your
awakening, you realise it’s time to stop hoping



and waiting for
something to change, whilst you’re barely just coping,



or for happiness,
safety and security to magically appear



over the next
horizon at which you anxiously peer.



You realise that
in the real world there isn’t always a fairy tale ending,



and that any
guarantee of “happily ever after” must begin with self-mending.



And in the
process a sense of serenity is born, but not by de rigueur,



You just awaken
to the fact that you don’t perfectly configure.



That not everyone
will always love, appreciate or approve of who or what you are



And that’s OK,
for they’re entitled to their own views and opinions, you’ve got here so far.



You learn the
importance of loving and championing yourself, and start the removal,



of outmoded
behaviours, in order to process a sense of new found self-approval.



You stop
complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you,



or didn’t do for
you – for only thing you can count on is the unexpected, ain’t that true!



You learn that
people don’t always say what they mean, or mean what they say,



and that not
everyone will always be there for you anyway,



and everything
isn’t always about you. So, you learn to stand on your own two feet



and to take care

of yourself…  for you are actually
complete.



And in the process
a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.



You stop judging
and pointing your finger in defiance.



You begin to
accept people as they are and start to overlook



their
shortcomings and human frailties, don’t live by THAT book.



And in the
process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.



You learn to open
up to different points of view whilst not making them your business.



You begin
reassessing and redefining,



smudging your
edges; perceptions realigning.



Distilling who
you are at your core.



Titrating what
you really stand for.



You learn the
difference between wanting and needing



and throw out childhood
schemas from psychological spoon-feeding.



You begin to
discard the doctrines and values you’ve outgrown,



or should never
have bought into to begin with, but in your youth you were shown.



You learn that
there is power and glory in contributing and creating,



and you stop
maneuvering through life merely as a consumer, unsatisfied and berating.



You learn that

principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a
bygone era,



but the mortar

that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life to hold
dearer.



You learn that
you don’t know the answers to any and everything,



it’s not your job
to save the world and that you can’t teach a pig to sing.



You learn the
only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry



and that martyrs
get burned at the stake, regardless of whether or not you do tarry.



Then you learn
about love. You learn to look at relationships as they really are



and not as you
would have them be; for they will hurt and scar.



You learn that
‘alone’ does not necessarily mean lonely.



You stop trying
to control people, situations and outcomes, and thinking ‘If Only!’



You learn to
distinguish between responsibility and guilt,



And the

importance of setting boundaries and learning to say ‘NO’, when ‘YES’ is
inbuilt.



You also stop
working so hard at putting your feelings aside,



Or smoothing things
over and ignoring the resentment inside.



You learn that your
body really is your temple, and finally select,



to care for it,
and treat it with love & respect.



You begin to eat
a balanced diet, drink more water, and take exercise.



You spirit starts
to soar, which should come as no real surprise.



You learn that
being tired fuels doubt, uncertainty and fear



so you take more
time to rest and be with the people you hold dear.



And, just as food
fuels the body, laughter fuels the soul.



So you take more
time to laugh and to play, and make joy your goal.



You learn that,
for the most part, you get in life what you deserve,



and that much of
life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy, which will unfold without reserve.



You learn that
anything worth achieving is worth working for,



and that wishing
for something to happen is different than making it happen; for sure.



More importantly,
you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction,



discipline and
perseverance, but most importantly, self-affection.



You learn that no
one can do it all alone,



and that it’s OK
to risk asking for help and sharing your zone.



You learn the
only thing you must truly fear is fear itself,



For you learn to
step right into and right through your fears and not hide them on some shelf



In the recesses
of your mind.



You treat
yourself well, treat yourself kind.



Because you know
that whatever happens you can handle those fears



As the fire in
you burns brighter with the passing of your years



For to give in to
fear is to give away the right



to live life on
your own terms, filled with much love and light



You learn to
fight for your life and not to squander your hours,



living under a
cloud of impending doom which will sprinkle you with its showers.



You learn that
life isn’t always fair, you don’t always get what you think you deserve



and that

sometimes bad things happen to good people whose fate you are unable to
preserve



and you learn not
to always take things so personally, or let your pride be so bruised.



You learn that
nobody’s punishing you and that you are not always being abused.



It’s just life
happening. You learn to admit when you are wrong



and to build
bridges instead of walls, from which you can sing your life’s message all along.



You lean that
negative feelings must be understood and redirected



or they will

suffocate the life out of you and the universe which will just become more
infected.



You learn to be
thankful and to take comfort in the many different gifts



That we the lucky
ones possess in this world of deep rifts,



things that
millions of people upon the earth would love to have just for one hour:



a full
refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.



Then, you begin
to take responsibility for yourself,



by yourself, and
you make yourself



a promise to
never betray yourself



and to never,
ever settle for less than you heart’s desire and good health.



You make it a
point to keep smiling, to keep trusting,



and to stay open
to every wonderful possibility in this life which is there for the lusting.



Finally, with
courage in your heart, you take a stand, you take a deep breath,



and you begin to
design the life you want to live as best as you can, to the death.

Matt Revans
©Copyright

from dusk to dawn,
I wish I'd catch a wink of sleep
it certainly isn't pleasant to be going to sleep
when the rest of the household starts to rouse themselves
but such is the life of a closet insomniac
such is the life of one who lives in paranoia
such is, after all, the life of one who only ever comes alive
with the Night City,
my Night City,
identified by the purplish-black clouds that blanket
the city and the neon lights that adorn it,
once again letting
us insomniacs become ourselves,
the ones who laugh and dance
and live and breathe when the world sleeps

the ones that return to existing as mere
shadows with the dawn of the sun
for us though, the awakening of the world is
with the appearance of starlight
with the quietening of most of
the sounds that plague daylight
random fires on streets are put out and
we are left
to delight in the fiery-orange neon lights.

aah.
but what a sad time for us
when we become shadows
unable to do anything, with heavy weighted limbs
that refuse to obey any command,
with woolly heads and sleep deprivation,
almost-vampires for we don't sparkle
bruises under our eyes are barely noticed
for they are always there
during the day, shadows we become.
brushed aside and barely noticed, yet
in silence we choose to remain,
muted revelry, safe in the knowledge
that night will return again.

We start.
Talking
And sort of...
Running.

At the first climb
We stop, breathing
Heavily - both dead, but for a comma -
And look at concrete under our feet
and windmills turning distant on the hill.

You OK?
Yes.

Start again.
on the Way now
Hawthorn and mud beside us and new green in the fields.
Easier victories of pace and breath alongside talk.
Of Warburtons and nuts and bolts.
Getting into it now
Feeling good - seeing green, paces flow
And rocky styles and sloping fields made possible.

'To that edge?'
'OK'
- Our version of sprinting -
Across the hard ridged grass
To an upward sloping wall corner,
And now the first real pain in chest and legs.  Briefly desperate.  
But another topic turns words to distance
Along a gully and narrow treed ridge
To another climb.
Our brief paces stab the ground.
Paces
To
Keep
Going

No words now.
Nothing but
Splitting lungs.
We push unforgiving gravity
Up a turning track
Going up
Still going up and around

The agony of contrasts -
Pale glorious clouds lift late sky colours of rose and blue
- While we are slow and heavy torments of road, and stones, and bones.

Can see the lookout now at Royd
We can do it
We can.
Can I...?

*******

Christ.

Doubled up gasping clutching the wall
Try to read the tourist sign's shaking print -
- may it stop the pounding -
But hearing also that eerie sweeping close now, and the gears -
A dizzying look up at the spinning blades

Can't believe we've got this high...

But no rest - chill of early Sping
Tells us not to linger with our light going:
Shadowing will be the woods:
Drawing up dark between the trees,
And we're not there yet.

Easy now.  
"Doing OK?"
"Doing OK."
We float along high fields and farms and light and words
How many milliseconds for hot cross bun dough?
How about a Triumph Triple?
(And you can forget electric scooters in Brighouse)

While late March branches hint at leaves
In the narrow lane we half run-walk
- Across another field - and under a quietening sky
A dark downward flight through trees to tarmac, street lights and...  

The Big Finish

- Aches gone and tiring feet forgotten
In a final dash to the pub.

Briefly arching for air over the car.

"Not bad -"
"No - Not bad at all"
Whose turn is it?
(That Third Person never buys a pint)

Lager?
Yes.
Nuts?


Definitely.


*                *      ­          *


Postscript:
          -  And however long or short, I will still have run with Neil                
                                  across those sloping fields with the light
                                          and the words and the hedges -

The mental capacity to carry on with the daily grind of modern mayhem slowly ebbs from view.

A hardened psyche is in the throws of disarray , dilapidates like a forgotten building in an overgrown forest.

Slowly the bugs creep in, they're the first of many to colonize this quietening storm.

Each inhabitant feeding on a memory, on a loving thought of youth.

As trees swallow concrete, the chill of numb nonchalance spreads as a disease, each and every part of relevance becoming so much more irrelevant.

Those time consuming chores that dictated, lost forever, a blank stare replaces, eyes that see straight through to another side.

To hold on would be a punishment, to relinquish is to hold the key to the gates of purgatory.

You can hear the wheels slowly turn as they now etch the sound of silence, when they stop and the madness begins when shall the twist of fate turn to a tapered end.

It's winter and the birds have not flown south, a great freeze as fresh nature grows all around , sensory deception for muted perception.

Before too long it will be too late to disturb the disturbance and rationalize with faith, with the heart of certainty this meaningless shall cease, the way ahead will be forged by my hand, I will not fall by the wayside of incoherence,

I will not return

And I will not let my sanctuary burn

Honesty can be the wrong policy sometimes
Honesty can get you killed if you're not careful
Doing the'right' thing can sometimes be the 'wrong' thing to do
Being the 'good little boy' doesn't always get you home safely
When we were in our teens we lived close to a large holiday camp
And we'd get summer jobs there
My brother had a job as a swimming pool attendant cleaning swimming pools,
He got me a job working alongside him,
There was another guy too, but he kept going missing and it wasn't long before he got the sack
So that just left the two of us.

There were two pools, an indoor and an outdoor
With the indoor, a vacuum with ropes attached would be lowered onto the bottom of the pool
One Pool attendant would stand on one side of the pool
While the other would stand on the other
And between them they'd pull it back and forth across the bottom of the pool
Going slowly up the pool in increments till the whole pool had been covered/ cleaned.
For the outdoor pool we had a machine, it was a heavy thing with wheels
You'd attach these big poles to it then lower it into the pool
And then push it out with the pole
And then bring it back in with the pole
You'd do this the whole way along.
My brother told me he once lost the machine in the pool
And he said it was a hell of a job retrieving it
And the boss had run him over the coals over it and warned him not to let it happen again.

Anyway I'd only been in the job 2 or 3 weeks when my brother, he decided to take a day off
He left me no instructions what to do
So I found myself all alone there this evening
(We did an evening shift)
When the pool closed I got out my bucket and mop and cleaned all the decks, all the tiled floors surrounding the pool
After that I said to myself, I'm the Pool Attendant, it's my job to clean the Pools
I'll get the machine out just like my brother
(I'd only seen my brother use it once)
So there I am wheeling this big machine out
And I'm proud of myself, it's like Look at me, I'm the Pool Attendant
And then suddenly there's this big flight of stairs going down to the ground floor where the outdoor pool is
And I'm thinking, 'I wonder how do you get this thing down the stairs'
There's no one around to help
I think 'I'll just put it out a bit over the stairs then I'll lift it up and lead it down on its wheels, just like leading a dog"
So I push the wheels out over the edge a bit then I raise the machine
The moment I do this though, the whole machine takes off down the stairs with me holding onto it
Bump, bump, bump the whole way down a very large flight of stairs
Lucky there was no one coming up the stairs or it would have been like a bowling alley.
So I end up at the bottom of the stairs in a heap all bruised and battered
Suddenly this girl runs in and she's all over me
"Are you alright, are you alright!!! You're after falling down the stairs. I seen it, it was awful. Do you need a doctor!"
Of course, I'm embarrassed more than anything else, I thank her for her concern
But assure her I'm alright
I stand up and brush myself off
Then I think, "Well at least I got it down the stairs"
The girl, she persists, Are you sure you're alright, are you sure you don't need a doctor
I thank the girl again for her concern
Then I straighten myself and think "I'm the Pool Attendant. Gotta clean the Pool, I gotta do my job".
So I wheel the machine out into where the outdoor pool is
I plug it in and it starts making this whirring noise
Then I attach one of the poles to it
And then I put it sitting up on the edge of the pool ready to lower it in
Across from me there's a lot of windows looking down upon the Pool
I think to myself there's probably some people watching me... the pressure is on
Suddenly I get nervous, I think the last time I put this machine over the edge of something
It took off and took me with it
I could get drowned here if I'm not careful
And I can't swim
Then I think about what my brother had told me
That he'd once lost the machine in the Pool
And how it caused a lot of trouble,
And y'know the sad thing was it was this that seemed to scare me more
The thought of losing their precious machine in the pool
Than the possibility of me drowning
Finally I decided I couldn't do it, or shouldn't do it
I took the machine down and unplugged it, and removed the pole
I wheeled it back, I got the guy who cleaned the toilets
To give me a hand carrying it up the stairs,
I put the machine to bed.
Looking back I was glad I had the courage to say "No! I wasn't sure I could do this"
In those days there was no such thing as... well, as self worth
People had no worth at all it seemed
The only important thing was to hold onto your job and probably not make a fool of yourself I suppose.

As I sat there, the indoor Pool was very ghostly looking in the dark... in the shadows
With the lights from the street below reflected in the waters (the Pool had see through glass windows).  I found the scene very quietening...magical almost.

A newspaper in hand,
glasses on his nose,
he sat on his big blue chair,
with a carefree pose.

A fire by his side,
the commentator in his ear,
he'd pause his daily routine,
and change what's on his mind.

He'd greet me with a big
"Hello",
in a deep country voice,
lots of questions followed, all the while quietening Marty's gig.

I saw him in bed that night,
the mask of life around his mouth;
this time I greeted him with a big "Hello",
hoping he'd reply.

His eyes remained closed,
his hand in hers,
the sound of the commentator unquiet,
the newspaper at his bedside, untouched and exposed.

I am slowly
Quietening down
The day does not
Shine as lively
And the nights
Are thickening
As if squeezed
Or boiled
For hours on end
I am

Thinning

A little delusion
going a long way
A little dreaming
bringing fresh clay

A little quietening
bringing me change
A little challenge
to my forces at play

Silence settles like a sticky membrane
Across an anxious land
Which holds its breath, as the pressure rises
And wildlife head for cover
Birds silenced as their song is quashed
As static crackles and dark clouds gather
A raging swirl of darkened rain
Held back in a swollen mass
Then the release as the fire explodes
Shooting white hot arrows to the quivering ground
And in answer to the burning torture
The sky screams out a rumbling moan
Which resonates across the hills
Quietening to a murmur across the distance.
But the pregnant clouds have not finished their labour
Another flash of white fire
Sends out white stems across the sky
Like roots from a tree searching for sustenance
But not finding it the sky cries out its agony
As finally the waters break
A heavy wall of droplets head to Earth
And hit the ground like a wave hitting shore
Gurgling streams soon fill to burst
And still the rain falls
Waterfalls are born over grey cragged hills
And still the rain falls
Once placid rivers are now raging rapids
And the sky sighs its relief
Its labour done
A sigh becomes a breeze becomes a wind
And the clouds now drained of rain are carried away
Leaving the land scrubbed clean and new
Surviving to see another day.

What is love without trust,
I wondered throughout the day, as I heard
the sound of my heart quietening;

the frost which had begun
to melt, made its way back
through broken heart beats.

What is love without trust,
I asked you, but silence rushed by,
amidst heavy breaths, and


we pretended, yet again,
on the edges of normalcy.

It is strange and scary
To think so,
Still, I do
If I had not known music
I would’ve still known you
Still would’ve heard
The inarticulate whispers of your gown
Still then,
Gentle lashes silhouetted
Upon a sharp gaze

For the moon does not rise and set
Merely for its night
And the Mayna birds sing
But little to boast
For who dare boast but I
Who speaks and speaks, on, on of you

And they tire and groan
Who is this?
'Bet we could flicker a tad bit prettier
A sea’s sigh gentler than this leaf
That lives and lives, on, on in you'
Try then, I say, just try

Every dawn and dawn, they sing
Every dark and dusty blue
What do you think?
Curiosity tilts their heads
And I smile through my laughs
Still not, still not

And they wilt a little
Quietening down for a new show
Before a new sun’s birth
Before another shadowed sky

It is sweet and smooth
The envious mimicry
Of silver and song

Still not though, still not

No music I wish to wade in
Just the touch and touch of her breaths