Names will Always Hurt

“The best index to a person’s character is how he treats people who can’t do him any good, and how he treats people who can’t fight back.”
Abigail Van Buren

It’s Day five of the Blogging University inspiration Course… well no, it’s actually Day 8 but I’m behind! For day five I had to create a block quote on my page and discuss.

I’ve chosen one from American columnist Abigail Van Buren. This quote reminded me it was anti-bullying week in the UK last week and it coincides with experiences I had over the weekend. Experiences I’ve buried deep and tried to forget were brought to the surface. It wasn’t me being bullied by this person, but a vulnerable person unable to fight back. Yet again. The poem is all over the place; but with so much going on in my life at the moment (I’m dramatic)  it’s quite fitting.

I cleared out my brain. Picked out those scathing words –

ones that caused pain. Dug a hole, buried

them deep.  Negativity joined the heap.

They disappeared into the ground.

Made way for fresh words – peace was found.

The dog kept digging but I shooed it away.

“This isn’t your garden to spoil,” I’d say.

I patted that dirt back down.

Pat, pat on the grass. There, there.

Yesterday the pack came around. Tore up my garden,

messed with the ground.  I couldn’t stop them.

Words ripped the flower bed apart. Mayhem.

Trampled tranquillity, goaded Calm.

They welcomed fragility.

Can’t fight much longer. Anger is strong.

Frustration stands by, thinking it wrong.

Sadness lays on the flower bed.

Happiness plays dead.

There’s too much mess.

I can’t put them back underground.

Sadness refuses to move. Hello stress.

There’s too much to fix.

Those old dogs and their tricks.

Your scathing words in my head again.

Negativity joins pain.

Anger’s bolted.

There’s no fight left.

Feeling bereft.

They’re winning.

You’re winning.

Tether’s End

Another poem for Day four of the Blogging University Course. For this, I had to pick a photo from the ones they provided and write a poem relating to it. It’s a sad one, sorry. The woman in the photo immediately made me think of a close friend, so I’ve written the poem with her in mind.  I’m worried […]

Why I Write

I’m participating in another Blogging University course. This time it’s a 20 day course and the purpose of it is to offer me some inspiration. This first day I have to write an unedited, off the cuff blog on why I write. So here goes:

I write because I can. I switch off from the world and drift away into a bubble of words, language, thoughts and rhyme. Blanking out external influences, I can focus on nothing but the writing. The words take over and I drift off into my writing cloud.  The only thing that comes close would maybe be sex.  Well, perhaps first moments with someone when it’s fresh and your thinking is more primal and passion takes over.  But then you have to think of the other person. But with writing it’s just for me.  It’s selfish and indulgent and I can please myself or wallow in my misery for a while.   I can do what I like without a thought for others.  Amuse myself with a silly poem, put the world to rights, imagine myself in another place or time or imagine others in different scenes. I can do anything without being questioned.  I’d never set out to hurt anyone, but this is why I remain anonymous when writing. I’m not looking to achieve recognition.

I visit past experiences retrospectively analysing and making sense of what happened. There are always better conversations and actions in hindsight aren’t there? Alternatively, I can question what lies ahead.  Scenarios can be pulled apart in my head and put together again in a way that might be more interesting. Any feedback I get is lovely; the dialogue can often be more interesting than what I get from some in my ‘real’ life.

I’m writing a novel. It’s a child’s book for my son. I remember struggling to find a book on death when he was 4 and finally finding one about a badger.  The simplistic story helped him at the time.  The story I’m writing is about the death of a grandparent and aimed at his age now.  He’s almost 8 and there’s a chance I’ll need to get in finished in the next few months.  A previous poem I wrote ‘don’t light a candle’ gives you an idea of the sentiment behind the book.  There’s a kind, irritating angel who only speaks in rhyme.  I’m hoping it’ll be a gentle but truthful book. I need to finish it so that I can know I’m able do it.  I’ll then decide if it’s good enough for him to read.

 When writing, I can escape reality and disappear for a while. Life can sometimes be hard work – perhaps it’s my therapy?  Writing a blog was intimidating at first, I was a fish out of water.   Every time I write and post to the web it’s a bit like jumping off a cliff. I’m giving people a bit of myself.  Sometimes I’m vulnerable and show my weak or dark side.  Other times I’m full of bravado and cocky. Although I don’t write under my name, I’m more ‘me’ when I write. There’s no putting on a façade to the outside world. I don’t need to do that.

I’ve only been writing since August so it’s early days. Hopefully I’m developing as a writer. I read somewhere that writing is like exercising a muscle and the more you do, the more natural it becomes. Time will tell.

That’s why I write.

 This is unedited. I read it back and there are a lot of ‘I’s’ in it. I want to edit but I’m not meant to – so here it is.

Lovers Tiff

**This post has bad language, insults and threats of violence.  If you’re offended by this please don’t read on.**

This poem is based around a conversation I had with someone who had fallen out with her boyfriend. I was worried she was going to hurt him.  Again, apologies for the swearing. Swearing is quite common in the West Coast of Scotland – think of the sweary Comedian Billy Connolly. This wasn’t funny though but all was good in the end.  She took herself away from him for a while, realised she was hormonal (understatement) and had a nice long bath.  They’re still together years later. I was worried that someone would get hurt at the time though.

You self-righteous prick.

Condescending, patronizing –

talk to me like I’m thick.

Blind to your own faults

and others’ efforts.

Venom filled assaults.

You self-righteous prick.


Want to squeeze your face,

not stopping –

in a painful embrace.

‘til your eyes start popping

out of your spiteful

fucking face.

You self-righteous prick.


I want you to stand next to

a bonfire

then I’ll push you inside.

Engulfed in flames I’ll watch

you expire.

Then you’ll not be so snide.

You self-righteous prick.


But I know my mind’s unsound.

A visiting demon has me pissed.

I’ll bathe with flickering candles around.

Soothing music on my playlist.

Scented oils, lavender and camomile.

Tempered fury, rage confined.


But stay away for a while

with your words unkind.

If not, run a mile –

I’ll be of unsound mind.

The Sandwich Man



Went out to walk as usual,

at half past 5 today.

I always know you’ll be there,

‘cause you’d never go away.


Laid out along that wood bench,

like you’re lounging on a couch.

I wonder if you have one –

this your only place to slouch?


I’m sad to see you eating,

from that same ‘ol bin buffet.

That sandwich blue n mouldy –

If I could help you, I would pay.


It wasn’t always like this,

you were happy and lived well.

But it seemed to change so quickly,

when your mind – it tripped and fell.


The illness took your senses,

and muddled with your mind.

And mom, she couldn’t take it;

then payments got behind.


You think you left to help us,

but our jigsaw’s not complete.

The picture makes no sense now,

but I refuse to get downbeat.


Dad we’ll get you help soon;

your life out here is wrong.

The picture will be perfect,

when you’re home where you belong.


from the daily word prompt sandwich

If you liked this, check out my other creative writing posts.