This Red Phoenix Rising & Others

 

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Introduction

I am a 41 year old gay male from London.

I have been writing only since the third week of November 2016. One day, whilst out walking my dogs, my attention was drawn to a red leaf on the ground. I was drawn in by this leaf, it captured my attention in a way no other artefact of nature had ever done before. As I continued my walk that day, I started to draw comparisons between the change of seasons, the red leaf, and my own life. I had butterflies in my stomach, and a caged bird in my soul who was chirruping away, desperately trying to make his song heard. Then, without thinking, I had two lines of a poem in my head. Well formed and descriptive in a way that matched what I was seeing right at that very moment, I stowed those two lines away.

There in the melting pot of my mind those words slowly simmered. But I was terrified of them. Because to give those words life and to allow them to spill forth meant facing the thing I'm most scared of in life - my own creativity. As the next few days passed, words and lines would spontaneously pop into existence, only to be chucked into the pot. A part of me felt inspired, while the other part of me felt terrified. I wanted to silence them. With music, another love of mine, I've successfully quieted those creative urges. Somehow this time was different. The lines and the words started to bubble in the pot. Their aroma encircling my head. Intoxicating. Pressing. A meek voice insisting to be heard. I tried to silence them again. The words started to boil, and my body was becoming agitated. Like a pressure cooker, I finally reached the point where my mind was screaming at me - set the words free.

So I did. As the pressure cooker of my mind whistled, somehow announcing the arrival of something important, I sat down, put away all distractions and nervously turned down the heat. Computer on lap, I took the lid off the pot. The first draft was completed in two hours. 

So, dear reader, I serve you a hearty, warm bowl. Please enjoy "This Red Phoenix Rising" and the others that have since flowed forth.

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This Red Phoenix Rising

Long casted shadows on crisp autumn leaves,

A dappling of light through the near naked trees

That fell on dry remnants of the season that’d been,

Ochres and oranges that all were once green.

 

The browns and the yellows, the deep russet too,

They crunched underfoot as his shoes kicked through

This gathering of castoffs, the skin the trees shed,

To a naïve observer, they'd all appear dead.

 

Wind to-ing and fro-ing, leaves spiralled beneath

To their final position in summers funeral wreath.

Their dance in breeze over, they fell to the floor,

But was that the end, or was there still more?

 

The temperatures tumbled, the evenings drew in,

He peered at the trees, and his mind did begin

To wish spring would come quickly, wash winter away,

Bring blossom, warm sunshine, and banish the grey,

 

The dull cloudy overcast miserable sky,

The oppressive bad weather that made him ask why

The greyness brought sadness and feelings of dread,

His body weighed down as if made of lead.

 

Still onwards he plodded, no care where he treads,

When from summers graveyard, a brief glimpse of red

Beckoned him softly to be present somehow,

Not worrying, not fretting, not with furrowed brow

 

He bent down and rummaged while hoping to find,

The mysterious object that felt like a sign,

Determined and focussed, he swept faster now

He needed it, he knew it would help him somehow.

 

The freshly made mountain of leaves swept aside

Had surrendered, relinquished, given over it’s prize.

Right there in it’s resting place, it’s funereal bed,

A lonely cracked leaf of vermilion red.

 

Dumbfounded, overwhelmed, a slight urge to cry

The moment felt powerful, felt it must signify

Something so personal, but what could it mean,

Why did it feel relevant that this red was once green?

 

In that moment it struck him so plainly to see,

He had something in common with the deciduous tree,

And too with the leaf, now caressed in his hand,

That transfigured, that shone as it faced it’s last stand.

 

His gaze, it moved upwards to the thick gnarly boughs,

His mind recollecting, remembering how

When his struggles started, when his own winter came,

His greenness and naivety, were partly to blame.

 

His old skin discarded, cast off below

On the ground it lay broken, he’d finally let go

Of the armour he’d carried from so young and yet he

Had paraded it and proclaimed for so long - this is me.

 

The rawness so painful, like salt in a wound

Was the start of the journey that would leave him attuned

To the child deep inside him that longed to be free

To shout from the rooftops the cry - THIS is me.

 

Like the leaf that was green before going to ground

Where it lay choking beneath all the ambers and browns,

This lost child-like man felt the right time had come,

To march to the beat of his own heartfelt drum.

 

The leaf couldn’t know of its breath-taking change,

It’s life near the end, so presumed, but it’s strange

How life can surprise you, catch you off guard,

A transforming existence dealt one more ace card.

 

And that’s how he felt as he began to recover,

That his own life was over, why even bother

To try to move past all the hurt and the shame

That had been such a burden, a foolish childs game.

 

But as the leaf fell from it’s branch to the earth

The gears kicked in motion and started its rebirth.

Its colour began changing, the other leaves too,

While the ground was getting hungry to start life anew.

 

Broken down and assimilated into the dirt,

Just two seasons henceforth virgin growth will assert

That new seasons and endings birth something inspiring,

Taking flight from the ashes, a red phoenix rising.

 

Unfurling it’s wings, shaking ash from it’s feathers,

From a distance no sign of the problems once weathered,

This red phoenix rising gazes up at the sky,

No care to look back, he bids the embers goodbye.

 

This red phoenix soaring above the dark clouds

Is resplendent with colour, majestic and proud

To have escaped from the chains that once kept him shackled,

A twisted memento of the hardships he’d tackled.

 

This red phoenix airborne, his flight liberating,

His being bears witness to the new him that was gestating,

He's supported by crystal clear, silky smooth air

He finally made it, he did it, he’s there.

 

This red phoenix chirruping, its new song decrees

“My rebirth has uncovered the essence of me”,

But little does he know what lies just ahead,

The invisible turbulence that flips planes on their head.

 

The first gust of wind was quite a surprise,

And the courage he showed was belied by his eyes

Which showed fear at the moment he began to remember

Just what life was like in the desecration, the embers

 

His soul it commanded – “unleash your war cry”,

So he screeched his fear out and continued to fly

He instinctively knows that his new way is now

To be vulnerable, it’s scary, but let it out anyhow.

 

Buffeted, wind-swept, and blown side to side,

His new self-compassion let him take in his stride,

The jolts and the push-backs that are all part of life

His wings they’ve grown strong now, knocks cause him no strife.

 

Slowly but surely, the smooth air returned,

And it just reinforced all the lessons he’d learned,

All events that occur, they’re no reflection on him,

No threat to the beauty that exists deep within.

 

In our hard rites of passage, in our lives, we discover

That good times are as much part of life as those rougher

Than we think we deserve, so we cry out “why me”,

But they’re normal, embrace them, they’ll pass soon, you’ll see.

 

This red phoenix tiring, feels drawn to his nest

But with no one to greet him, he looks to the left

With the hope he will see another phoenix around,

Whose magnificent regalia will leave him spellbound.

 

To the right now, more frantic, because he can’t bear

To go back to the nest if there’s nobody there.

A look up, a deep sigh, a fearful look down,

The sky’s all his own, no more birds to be found.

 

So now come in closer, look direct in his eyes,

You’ll see what resides there, what can’t be denied.

The fear of aloneness, of his isolation

This red phoenix rising needs his own congregation

 

Like the geese that embark on their annual migration,

That squawk as they fly in viggen formation,

Their wings give support, as solid as rock

Uplifting the weak weary birds in the flock.

 

And while we’re on geese, this observant bystander

Knows these birds mate for life, the goose and the gander.

The red phoenix sees it, tries not to despair

Whilst craving, desiring his own love affair.

 

The prognosis is good now, the red bird understands

That his life it has value, manned or unmanned.

But it won’t stop him feeling, knowing that he

Deserves to be part of his own family.

 

This red phoenix crying so wants you to see,

Just one little glimpse of the creature that he

Is now and was always but kept it inside,

But it’s now on the outside, paraded with pride.

 

You’ll have worked out by now, I’m sure you will see

The red leaf and the red phoenix rising are me.

I relate to their imagery and the journey to be

Vulnerable, shining, authentically me.

 

The result of the leaf on the ground I paid heed,

Was the birth of these words, my life story they breathe.

And my own creativity thats perpetually ignored,

Has been faced down, no fears, ive answered its call.

 

So it’s with trepidation that I set these words free,

As I wanted to give you a small piece of me.

When your leaves tumble free, with no trivialising,

I’ll be right beside you, this red phoenix rising.

 

When your winter comes in and you start to resist

The change that is beckoning, enlist and persist.

Embrace it, encourage it, for there is no denying,

That waiting just round the corner, is your phoenix smiling.

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The Listen Proposition

For just a few minutes, only three I request,

Please lend me your ears while I get this addressed,

I’ll be to the point and there’ll be no redactions

To this proposition to listen and please - no distractions.

 

Did I make it seem trivial cos “I’m all ears” you'll say,

Then when I start speaking, your mind drifts away

Inattentive, preoccupied, are you worried I’ll hinder

The short lived validation you're getting from Tinder.

 

Or the pressingly urgent new tweet that got tweeted,

By some Insta-hot six packer who will get deleted

When there is no response to your message that’s heated,

Me? Well I pause, but I’m not yet defeated.

 

So I waited and finally, your eyes now on me,

“I’m so sorry it was only one second, where were we?

I’m all yours I’ve put the phone down now, you see?”

But your fingers, they’re already twitching, fuck me.

 

But you guys are easy, a walk in the park

Cos with some all it takes is a simple remark

And they’re out of their seat mounted on their high horse

With advice or denial before I've gone the full course.

 

To those, let me underline that in our interactions,

There’s no time or no need for your defensive reaction,

Our chat will gain traction with no mad reaction,

The math is quite simple, it’s not an unsolvable fraction.

 

 

My plea for engagement is the sum, you plus me,

The subtraction of the interrupting phone and tv.

The union of heart, ears and eyes and intention

To remain open minded gives undivided attention.

 

With no angles obtuse, and with no intervention,

Have an interest acute in what I’m trying to mention,

For granted, I give you, it may need some suspension

Of the things you have learned and absorbed by convention.

 

But take it from me, I’m the expert in matters

That relate to my feelings no matter how scattered

You think they may be, so don’t arrogantly

Think you just know more about me, than me.

 

This time & opportunity are a chance to connect,

It doesn’t require a huge intellect,

Just believe and reflect when you hear the effect

On the lives that will suffer due to who you elect.

 

All beings on earth should be loved and protected,

Unconditionally accepted, completely respected,

So don’t be selective, don’t be misdirected

By those who will have you believe we’re defective.

 

When you hear that a person is suffering, in pain

Just step out of yourself and open your brain.

Put yourself in their shoes, don’t be closed, don’t be cruel

Because you’ll be the one who’ll end up looking the fool.

 

When a person is sharing their journey, their soul,

They’re not coming to you with a bare begging bowl,

They don’t want your advice, they don’t want your pity,

And they definitely don’t want your response that is witty.

 

So zip up your lips, give that mouth a rare rest,

And spend some time listening to those who know best

Of the struggles and the way that they’re being oppressed,

Of the treatment you dish out that serves up distress.

 

The next time you encounter the phrase Black Lives Matter

Please don’t respond with the inane “All Lives” chatter,

We have to unite, a glass ceiling to shatter,

As it’s Black lives and families that’re being left in tatters.

 

Your moment is now, there’s no time on the clock.

For the Indians being battered upon Standing Rock,

So open your ears, be smart, get creative,

Stand defiant alongside the American Native,

 

LGBTQ folk, that’s my tribe, that me,

And we’re just as deserving of a life that is free

Of the crime rate that’s rising, of murders and violence,

Speak the fuck up, there’s no time for your silence.

 

But I’m sure some smart ass is saying right now,

That neither me or my friends are in those groups anyhow.

There is still opportunity, please don’t you blow it,

Get your head out your ass and that attitude – get over it.

 

The world is a big scary place, that’s for granted,

But it’s less so with seeds of empathy planted.

Water them, tend to them, ensure that they grow,

Then the gift of true kindness you’ll surely bestow.

 

Take a look at your own life, see what you’ve got,

If you’re not one of the above then be thankful you’ve not

Got to fight for your right, to be seen equally

And have your god given right to your own dignity.

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The Bright Light Of James

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Brush Strokes Of Love

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The Crime Of Our Times

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Your Tape Measure Eyes

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Thanxiety - Foreword

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Multitudes of grey

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