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Bob Findlay Poetry

Monthly Archives: November 2015

Nature Fuels My Mind

27 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in nature, Poetry

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Tags

imagination, nature

Nature

Nature fuels my mind.
The white hot burning inferno that is my imagination.
It takes me to far off places that I have never seen.
To outlandishly wonderful situations
That could never happen in reality.

I marvel every day at nature.
Everything is in its’ place.
Everything is working in harmony.
Nature humbles me. Nature grounds me.

I could not imagine living in the city.
The constraints of steel and concrete.
The buzz and bustle of people and cars
Send me numb and confuse me.

Give me trees. Birds. Fields.
They set my mind free.
They calm me and ignite my imagination.
Yes, nature fuels my mind.

Addictions

27 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Addiction

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Tags

addiction, alcohol, drugs

Addiction

Alcohol. Pills. Powders. Injectables.
They are all addictions.
You get away with it
And you get away with it.
Then you don’t

People begin to notice
But are afraid to say anything.
They don’t know how to approach you
So you still get away with it.

Then you don’t get away with it.
Your addiction rules your life.
You can’t function without it.
You are out of control.

You get help that you don’t think you need
To keep others happy.
Going through the motions
Waiting until it’s over.

Once it’s over your addiction returns
Bigger and worse than before.
Now you want help.
No more going through the motions.

Detox. Rehab. Counseling.
They all work this time
But they only work for a while.
It’s up to you to break your addiction

But you’re never truly alone.

Down The Road Some Day

26 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

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Road

It all happened
With the blink of my left eye.
Now when I think of you
All it does is cry.
As you go walking back
To a sinking ship.
It seems to matter
but something doesn’t fit.

We’ll meet again
Down the road some day.
You don’t want to hear it
But it’s on its’ way.
I don’t mean to hurt you
with what I say.
But I’m missing you today.

The cloaks and daggers
Feed themselves behind our backs.
Hurting us who hurt the most
And they know that.
Their phony self esteem
They hide with control.
They know that we know
Of their shallow souls.

We know the truth
So stay true to ourselves.
And watch the circus
From high on the shelf.
The fear will run around
But won’t show.
Stay right here
Where only we know.

We’ll meet again
Down the road some day.
You don’t want to hear it
But it’s on its’ way.
I don’t mean to hurt you
with what I say.
But I’m missing you today.

Peace And Violence

25 Wednesday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in peace, Poetry, psychology, violence

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Tags

peace, psychology, violence

Peace Symbol

I cannot comprehend violence.

I hate it.

The act and those who commit it.

Violence against women.

Violence against children.

Violence against men.

Violence against animals.

It is beyond me.

Why?

It is unfortunately part of the human condition.

Like it or not.

If you are backed into a corner

You may react with violence.

Reading this poem

I hope you are filled with peace

Peace is part of the human condition.

Peace I can comprehend.

No anger. No Pain. No death.

Just peace..

It’s not difficult.

Just peace

Nothing Is Weird

24 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in abstract, Poetry

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Tags

abstract, perspective, weird

Question Mark

The ground is moving.
I’m standing at the station.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know my destination.

Things have changed.
Something appeared.
Everything is rearranged.
Nothing is weird.

I’ve forgotten the rules.
Adrift at sea.
Going to a different school.
Everything is upside down to me.

Things have changed.
Something disappeared.
Everything is rearranged.
Nothing is weird.

The rose coloured glasses I can see through.
Show the things that I don’t like.
Don’t know where to turn to
And there’s nothing there to fight.

Things have changed.
Something re-appeared.
Everything is rearranged.
Nothing is weird.

The Mistletoe Saga

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Comedy, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

comedy, divorce, mistletoe

Mistletoe

The mistletoe was too low.

It got stuck in my hair.

As I ripped it away

I pretended not to care.

I still managed to get a kiss from the  girl.

My first proper kiss

Made my bleeding head swirl.

Fifteen years later

I married that lass.

I hated her parents.

They thought I was crass

I did all of the chores.

I thought I was brave.

How was I to know

I’d been turned into a slave?

Under the mistletoe one Xmas

With my usual Xmas frown

A badly made beam

Came crashing down.

It hurt us both badly

And hit with such force

That it ended up

In a nasty divorce.

So after this long saga

I’m sure that you will see

Why I hate mistletoe

Because mistletoe hates me.

Black Coal

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

This poem  is dedicated to my late grandfather who worked down a coalmine in Scotland in the days when coal was carted out by pony and cart. It is 100% fact and eventually became a song.

Coal

Twelve hours working blacker than black.

Digging black coal lying flat on his back.

The sound of steel and rock and his dust-filled breath.

He know that what he does will bring an early death.

There isn’t any option.no other way.

Providing for his family sees him there each day.

Black coal.

Out of the black come the moving red glows.

Body more ravaged than he wants to know.

The wear and tear in the whites of his eyes

Sting from light of day as he stares at the skies

Didn’t get to spend too much time in the sun.

I think he died when he was sixty one.

Black Coal.

No union man is going to help with his way.

He’s in the bosses pocket. Still the same today.

He walked his dogs and he sang with the birds.

I can still hear his every word.

Sitting by the fire fueled by the black coal.

That took his life but couldn’t take his soul.

Black Coal.

Just Another Day

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in anxiety, Poetry

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Tags

anxiety, lifestyle, psychology

I awake to the sounds of the birds

In a state of calm.

Gradually a sense of anxiety and fear grips me.

Anxious about what?

Afraid of what?

On paper I have not a care in the world

But my mind plays cruel games with me.

Oh, so cruel.

I fear going into town.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind people.

It’s the thought of it.

The whole process.

I spend half the day in panic

At the thought of going outside.

Suddenly!

Suddenly I’m up and out the door

Without warning.

Doing the do without  so much as a thought.

By the days end I am left wondering

Why was I so paralyzed?

An ambidextrous mind.

On one hand crippled by anxiety and fear.

On the other hand as relaxed as can be.

I go to bed to the sounds of the birds

Knowing full well that tomorrow

Will be just another day

Walked Every Road

20 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Poetry

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Tags

lifestyle, psychology

Road 2

I’ve walked every road, trying to find
Find out who was me.
I guess I had my eyes closed
I guess I was blind.
Just couldn’t see.

I’ve walked every road
that there was to walk.
Took every wrong turn.
I don’t miss the money
I don’t miss the talk.
Don’t miss the fires that burn.
I’m not running but I’m way too fast
For those stuck in their ways.
It’s not my problem
if they’re stuck in the past.
They’re a kick behind play.

I’ve made more friends
than I have lost.
But were they friends?
They can spend their time
Trying to measure some cost
But I don’t lend.
They can say this
And they can say that.
I’ve heard it all before.
I don’t want to go
near where they’re at.
I don’t keep any score.

People come
And people go.
As they do.
They can be a thousand miles
Away from your home
But they can be there
Right next to you.
You can spend a lifetime
With someone
And not know where they’re going.
But you can know
In thirty seconds flat.
It’s just a matter of knowing.

Pleased To Meet You

18 Wednesday Nov 2015

Posted by Bob Findlay in Hell

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

hell, Satan

Satan

Pleased to meet you.

I can see you’re a sinner.

I should greet you

As an old hand, no beginner.

I can see through

Yourmisguided light.

I can be you

Any time I like.

So here you are ringing the bell

With the soul you were so willing to sell.

Welcome to the gates of Hell.

Pleased to meet you.

You flew the high wire.

Took what you could get.

You hid behind my fire.

You know I don’t forget.

I know what you’ve done.

Don’t forget I was there.

You’re not the only one

With your soul stripped so bare.

So here you are ringing the bell

With the soul you were so willing to sell.

Welcome to the gates of Hell.

Pleased to meet you.

You are not the same.

You’ve been caught by time.

It’s no crying shame.

The last word will be mine.

Don’t for a minute

Think you’ll get away.

You’re too far in it.

Time to pay.

So here you are ringing the bell

With the soul you were so willing to sell.

Welcome to the gates of Hell.

Pleased to meet you.

So pleased to meet you.

Bob Findlay

Bob Findlay

Scots-born, father of two now residing in Tasmania. Author, poet, musician, app developer and blogger. Retired State Registered Nurse.

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