The Protectors

Written by James Record in 2014.
For Michael Morones. Please read this before reading the poem.

For the precious ones who must stand on damaged ground,
Let them know that the guardians will be there to watch over,
And to ensure that everyone has the chance to speak,
Without the fear of reprisals or forced to run away,
In more than one way.

They must not run this marathon alone,
For many who stand tall have run this route many a time,
Only they are now wise enough to see the pettiness,
Of those who perpetrated these crimes,
They can lower the hurdles if the challenge becomes too much.

Wild horses trot,
And racing equines gallop,
If doesn’t matter what lives these fair creatures live,
The mares and stallions will keep guard of their foals.

Nooses are for criminals in olden times,
Not for children,
Don’t let trespassers take away that one thing,
Before we are given the chance to shine.

Twilight will always come between the day and night,
Don’t let the moon plunge you into eternal darkness,
Make sure the sun will rise in the morning,
Remember the best lights are your friends,
New and old.

No matter how hard life gets,
However painful and protracted,
There are always these things to get you through.
Laughter to dry up the tears,
Kindness to help you like many are helping you now,
Generosity to help those who have less, one day you may need it,
Loyalty to remember you have friends, even if you don’t know it yet,
Honesty to admit that we are only human.

Creative Commons Licence
The Protectors by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

The Professors and the Pretenders

Written by James Record in 2014.

Our old father,
But without need for superstition,
The old teach,
And the older preach.
How I am glad that a mortal man,
Can teach the lessons of knowledge,
Better than any saint or self-proclaimed holy man.
He stops those who lead us astray,
By use of reason and rationality,
He keeps us from a world,
Where they spread fear and antiquated ideologies.
Many others are nothing but pretenders,
To the name teacher,
Who do nothing but to instil us with commandments,
This is not teaching, but drilling,
How I am glad you are the better man.

Using the plane and the lathe,
To craft workable items from wood,
Using wrench and spanner,
To fix them when they go wrong,
These trades are as ancient as the laws which we shan’t mention,
Some things are better to be passed from one generation to the next.

The sale of fresh produce is vital to every man,
In every era,
But the fish and the bread must add up to those counted in,
Otherwise some bad accounting has taken place.
Books shall be written and read by all people,
But let’s hope the next generation of literature is just that,
Stories and tales, fables and parables,
With a clear distinction,
From those which are fact.

It’s fine to have faith in more than equations and physics,
But remember from time to time,
To think with your brain as well as your heart,
Use the ancient scriptures for guidance if you desire,
But let’s make up our own minds,
And have faith in those who teach true wisdom.

If you cannot teach,
Please don’t stop those who can.
If you are afraid to learn,
Don’t stop those who yearn for curiosity.

Creative Commons Licence
The Professors and the Pretenders by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Frozen Fog

Written by James Record in 2014.

A cold and frosty reception,
Takes a warm heart,
To melt the frozen ground,
And dissipate the low morning fog.

It only takes a little faith in one’s friends,
To change an abysmal dawn,
Into a beautiful afternoon,
The only question remains,
How long can we make it last this time?

From an arctic wilderness,
To a tropical paradise,
In less than the time it takes,
To think up reasons and excuses.

The sun beats down,
And all our worries, briefly,
Get lost along the way,
They are washed down the winter blues river,
Along with all of our other troubles,
At least until they are washed up,
And returned to sender.

The sediments bury the lies in ice and snow,
Thicker than our skin must be,
If we are to survive long enough,
To watch our enemies turn to friends again.

The chill is back,
Its presence unwelcome,
The mists return to the mornings,
As quickly as they left.

Your hands are cold,
I can tell when I’m not needed,
Your icy breath causes birds to fall from the skies,
I’ll try again in a few months,
When the air is warm,
And the storms have subsided.

Creative Commons Licence
Frozen Fog by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Mysterious Librarian

Written by James Record in 2014.

Stranger of a land close to home,
I know everything and yet nothing,
Your presence clears the deep forest mists,
Puts the tingle in the bee sting,
And the flutter in flying insects’ wings.

Our minds are free again,
Yet somehow the invasion you bring,
Is neither liberating nor intrusive.
A gentle breeze flows over refreshing the air,
Which has become humid from the sun,
That shines from your ever radiating glow.

A mysterious librarian,
You are not,
You are unpredictable,
No system to your catalogue.
A warehouse of treasures,
Each as strange and unusual as the last,
Amongst them are ancient books,
Each leaf explains no more than the faded cover,
About your history or your person.
But a room of opportunities,
And second chances,

But all these things are what,
Makes life fun,
Worth living,
And new.
The unorganised,
The messy,
The Creative,
Not me.

You are indeed no mysterious librarian,
But an artist,
Of scenes that bring the psychosis,
Out of the locked away bookshelves,
The fiction muddled amongst the references.
An author of portraits,
A painter of poetry,
A designer of chaos,
An architect of madness.

Just why must we be so different?

Creative Commons Licence
Mysterious Librarian by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.