Dad

All of the thousands of bristles travelling across the tips of my fingers,
My dad,
Superman,
Protected me
And let me touch his chin to comfort my autistic hands,
To calm my waves of cerebral feeling.
My ocean of vitality
And manic energy
Tamed by touch
And love
And strength
I brushed my hands along the fabric,
The linen and cloth button tops
And the smell of deodorant in the morning
That smelt like my dad and no other.

Deep bass
That used to lift me out of slumber,
Those grey streaks of wisdom
That knew the right thing to do
Turned to white.

In the night I remember
My own lonely fright

I followed a man
Who showed me what’s right

Now I have my own chin of bristles,
My own calloused hands,
And I see how we have always waded through the darkness.

Hand in hand in hand


-Ben

If you liked this post, then check this out. Much love.

Until that day

Heart thumping in my head,
Sometimes my feet tingle.
My numb hands hold tightly in regret
If only I could just…


There’s nothing else to do,
Just the waiting game.
My friends are the raindrops
While the smiling assassin passes onwards on the waves.

Until that day,

The feeling screeches like a chalk
Dragged slowly over its board,
Stitching, Scratching,
Relentless, until it becomes a part of you.

Until that day,

I’m clinging to my chrysalis
Routines and creature comforts,
Keep me human,
Help me find my way again

To the blank slate

That gives me comfort
When I can feel it
Giving reason to the thumping,
That I can hold if I can make it,
That I might find
And meet my maker.

Until that day,

A smiling swallow limps
Through the valley of grey
To the end light
Where the wind carves
Around a Lotus Flower.

 

 

Circles: Cycles #4

Moods swing like the tick of a clock

Letting being happen

 

Making a noise

A footstep

To be trod unto,

A path followed,

That will one day end

At the door of a new beginnings

 

Feelings tock

Emotions tick

Sensation points to something

One thing

One day known

On a cold Sunday celebration

 

Each and every hand and heart will

Cross a line

And cross another, and cross another

Making circles

Together

Change

Hours lost their meaning to me

Time just moves like a blur or light and dark

This doesn’t mean that I don’t remember

the shoulds or the shouldn’t’s

no, they eat at my soul, my belly.

But

I suppose it’s just about keeping going

Self knowing, sometimes when possible

as long as the heart is beating

and one can listen to the sound of the rain

beating down roof and the windows

Then it seems like

everything is alright

 

There are pick me ups

then the inevitable falls

The less the better

although the sharing does count for something

you know

when it’s better

to be clean and warm and dry, it’s not real.

Resisting the waves,

noone ever really wins

we all wash up on the shore,

with our memories,

becoming the skeletons in our closets,

 

The taste of joy one day in our mouths

one day becomes blood

Yet we never really live like that,

Like the little things now would ever really leave,

Gods granted,

Not until we lose, that

is, only the emptiness speaks fully.

Just remember the day of our births

the blur of indifferent curiosity,

the way it was,

it changed.

 

And do we ever change

really

Ways to be: Cycles #3

I read a book on Zen Buddhism

by my favouritest author

and thought,

thinking, so hard

about the way

to get to thoughtless

to peace

to one

that I ran out of steps in my walk

I ran out of numbers in the day

 

I thought

 

Until my limbs turned cold,

I lay down

to rest

my soul in pieces

 

After hours, lying to myself,

alone, time

passing from one ear to another,

trying to lift an arm

or a heart

or searching for a better

way to be

While sipping milk out of a straw.

 

No white light,

Just the fall,

And no need to fight,

The silence.

 

Letting go of motivations,

for recovery

from the pace

of the marathon

To feel the seasons,

summer, autumn,

winter, spring,

 

Finding warmth again

I saw

the lotus flower

opening

The Drum: Cycles #2

 

Many one things learned in life

Trying to live in harmony

Over and Over

The Learning

became Learning about Learning

Until I Learned that the only advice is for one Learning

Repetition, yes,

but Learning

 

A factor of proportions so large is only true of a one who never did,

I skipped it.

Now I get it.

Don’t I?

 

One and final timing

Bam

or

Tap

or

Ting

And life’s discovered

Like the beat of a drum

 

You can write down the lyrics

But they aren’t music

Until one hears it

 

and

 

Listening is the toughest one

The hardest skin on the horse skin drum

With the lightest tap

Easier to get wrapped up in songs

Harder to learn to how to Drum
when

Drumming a Beat

is for you to listen,

When you do listen

is for I to see

Connections between melodies

 

For time to be

As meaningful as it can be

The rythm

Sometimes

Has as to run out.

 

 

– Ben