Changing Seasons

Written by James Record in 2015.

You would not believe how quickly,
I can change from a tranquil summer’s day,
To the worse of winter’s fury,
And then back again to peace and calm.

My mood:
More changeable than the weather,
Less predictable than the seasons,
And more unstable than the lows,
Which dominate the system.

The benevolent clouds,
Unleash hailstorms only prophets could see.
The twisters and the hurricanes may look menacing,
But are really just hot air mixing with the cold.

From winter blues to blue skies of paradise,
My body shakes more,
Than the tops of trees in a violent gale.
The monsoon returns;
Six months of torrential rains batter the world,
I’ve spent all winter rebuilding.

The dry season is short,
And the deserts turns my dreams to dust,
And the coarse sands wear down my confidence,
But a respite I must take advantage of,
Before the land clouds over again,
And the rains wash away all my progress.

The glacial ice is refreshing.
Some days I prefer the dark chills to the glaring sun,
But the ice will one day melt away again,
And send me back into the warmth.
We can’t hide from our own nature.

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Changing Seasons James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

A Little Bit of Honesty

Written by James Record in 2015.

Is all it takes.
How can we proceed into the light,
If we are weighed down by shadows?

This is not only for spiritual of us,
Because even the most rational,
Will still feel the strains of self-doubt,
And refuse to accept their limitations.

First we must accept we have a burden,
Before we can find the remedy.
As when taking antibiotics when all you have is fever,
Taking the wrong steps to recovery,
Will only drag the problems along with us.

Sometimes the lies distance us from those we love,
And protect those we think can’t hold the truth.
We are just as fallible as anyone else,
And believing that is the simplest kind of honestly.

Honesty doesn’t mean never telling a lie,
And it doesn’t mean being sinless or perfect.
Honesty means accepting our faults and our imperfections,
And not being afraid to share them with others.

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A Little Bit of Honesty by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Puppet Master

Written by James Record in 2015.

A giant hand holds your puppet limbs by wire,
Twisting and conforming your every move.
A ventriloquist dictates your speech;
Your mouth moves, but the words are not your own.

A guide takes you along the trail,
No questions are asked about what fate may bring,
If one were to disobey and look over the precipice.

Maybe you might see yourself in the reflection,
Of the misty pools at the foot of the cliffs.
Perhaps, he’s waiting for you;
And you’ll forever be afraid of what might happen,
If you take a chance.

Driven back from the edge,
Forced to resume your life,
Where all your choices will forever be guided by safety.

The worse that will happen,
Is you’ll fall into the deep black ocean with me;
But at least if you make a mistake,
You will not be alone.

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Puppet Master by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Frozen Heart

Written by James Record in 2015.

A heart of frozen ice.
The ink in my pen too cold to flow,
A gloved hand too clumsy to write well,
A pen scratched outline leaves scars,
Where dark words should live;
A ghost; an impression;
These are the words I have to say to you.
Blank pages scare me more than my thoughts.

You may read my lips a thousand times,
And still not know what I am saying.
Your absence is as clear,
As this frosty dawn.

I cannot hear what it is you trying to speak,
With silent motionless lips,
When you hide beneath a winter’s outfit;
So warm and comforting.
Some days it becomes easier to hide;
Than face your demons of ice and stone.

Where is the soup to warm your mind?
And resuscitate your hypothermic body?
The ice that seals your tomb is not a permanent feature;
Of this crypt.
Instead it only takes a little warmth of friendship,
To melt away the icy bars of this prison,
And set you free into a spring of love and happiness.

Yet you turn down the thermostat,
And put another layer onto yourself,
A scarf to hide your face;
Or your shame?
There is no need to hide when your plum-red complexion,
And your rosy intellect,
Are fit for all to see.
Yet you choose a bed of stone,
As cold as the crypt you choose to sleep in.
This is not the way; you know that a warm reception,
Awaits only for you to bring back cheerful smiles.

There is no need to lie,
When we already know the truth.
There is no need to deny,
When you already have the proof.

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

Party Favours

Written by James Record in 2015.

The party’s over,
But it is not the wine,
That has brought about the fuzzy head,
And the painless headaches that follow.

As the balloons burst,
The pop resonates through my head.
The sound amplifies as it passes the mind,
The echo revealing what I already knew.

This party animal,
Is more of a domestic kitten than a lion.
More purr, than roar.
More daydreamer, than night-hunter.

The beverages are poison,
And the desserts are not sweet at all.
The special occasion is yet to be decided.
All these social events all duller,
Than the razor I cared not to use this day.

The punch bowl is just as full tonight,
As when I filled it this morning.
The food trays barely touched,
The cake dry, hard and not for consumption.

I can finally rest,
The last of the guests have returned home.
Perhaps the party was not a complete failure,
And I just being hard on myself.

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Party Favours by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.


Written by James Record in 2015.

My heart beats quicker than the clocks,
Which disturb my focus with hourly chimes.
A distraction undeserved, but a grave reminder,
That not one man can control all of time.

A swinging pendulum sways a terrible slumber;
Too tired to think;
Too motion sick to breathe.
These ticks are more predictable and regular,
Than a chaotic double pendulum,
Which drives my dreams and keeps the weary from rest.

A thousand hidden clocks click insistently,
Tapping on my forehead like a personal woodpecker.
To keep sane requires patience only a timekeeper could know.
The blue bird isn’t the only thing going cuckoo around here.

The seconds pass me by; minutes are longer than eternity,
Then an hour; Then a day; Another day missing.
Life will go on, with or without our consent,
As if we were built from mechanisms and workings.

A broken hour glass is seeping sand into my eyes,
With a sting like a bath of grit.
Glass shards scattered across the floor cut my feet,
As I continue my inevitable walk through existence.

I hide in the shade cast by a stone needle,
Until the sun dial outside of my senses turns the light,
And I become the shadow maker;
And for a short time, I am the one in control again.

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Clocks by James Record is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.