Fair Selene

Hello. Sorry not to have posted for a while. I have been writing, and have some things which I think should be quite good. it's just that I have no idea how to end any of them. Or in some cases start. I'm quite good at writing middles, so I've got that going for me at least. As luck would have it, though, I had one of those occasions where my brain gives me something almost fully-formed. I got it down before it could go away and would like to share it with you. It's called "Fair Selene", and it goes thusly:

Fair Selene

     I like it when you can see the moon during the day, when fair Selene comes to say hello. Even though she knows most people will be too distracted by the light-show her fiery brother has enacted, she comes anyway. She comes to see what you look like when you're not sleeping. She comes in keeping with her duty of care to those of us who know she's always there and ever shining. Subtly smiling on a seat of azure cloth she adds her light to our days. She's made more soft by blinding rays, but we who spot her in a crowded day marvel at her beauty in a  hundred thousand little ways.
     Little ways count. They count when there are are only a few of them or when they mount up to a quantity which is difficult to count. Each way may weigh only an ounce, but an ounce can tip the scales towards contentment and away from fear and doubt. Fair Selene doesn't need to shout to be heard because we have learned her worth and eagerly turn our brains to sponges to soak up every word.
     This shouldn't come as a surprise because her standing in our eyes has been hard earned. Each time we turned away from the sun and sat huddled in our own private ebon night, besieged and plagued by anxiety and self-inflicted fright, she set her sight on this scene which has played over and again in our mind. With kind determination she forces into our hands the keys of our emancipation. Her pale and steady light drains from the world all the lying colours we've daubed upon it. She sets the record right. When we behold the world without false hue we see internally what fair Selene already eternally knew. If we have sinned, it is only in acting without the love we owe ourselves.
     So, I like seeing the moon during the day. It reminds me that always there is light.

One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward

On Hands

Hello. I've had a thought and written a little thing about it which I'd like to share with you. It's called "On Hands" and it goes thusly:

On Hands

A small pause for thought, a small thought on paws.

In truth that is all our hands are, of course.

Modified forepaws made to bracchiate;

These are the keys to what humans create.

Just eight lithe fingers and two skillful thumbs,

It's with these that all  our victories are won.

They grip pens. write with earnest volition,

Scribe noble thoughts in fresh-print editions.

They wield tools and make from marble or steel

New wonders to see, new glories to feel.

But the best use of all - this small truth I'll unfurl - 

Is to sit hand in hand and feel safe from the world.

One hopes you're well,
Yours,
ADWoodward

Speak Deeply

Hello. I have written a thing which I'd like to share with you. It's called  Speak Deeply, and goes thusly:

Speak Deeply

For the longest time in my own mind my greatest crime was that I have told lies at the memorial of a twenty-two year old suicide. Lucky for me, I talk in my sleep and my voice is quite deep so the bass in my tone  bounced my words off of the moon. In that echo I heard my own voice forgiving me with the knowledge that what I said made her mourning mother laugh and grin.

That said, I never want to have to do that again. So take the time to lift your voices with mine, my friends.

When you speak, try to speak deeply.  Whenever you can, speak openly and freely; speak so deeply that you can heal the wounds caused by silence. It's not an exact science, but it is a good rule of thumb to always try to speak deeply, like you're mining for gold with your tongue.

Speak so deeply that you risk breaking the amps, that you shatter the glass in the lamps which light up the pain, that you rattle the chains and the clamps which keep people in place, which stop them from saying "please help me" while looking into another's face.

Speak so deeply that you set off echoes in someone's head and that in the place of 'I hate myself' they hear the words 'You matter' instead.

If those echoes ever scatter, turn your larynx into a jackhammer; use your seismic voice to tear down mountains and reveal the sun. Make them see that even in darkness that they are loved.

 Let's use our lungs to create a gale so that, when the rest of the world has failed, we can catch people mid-air and land them back on the right side of the safety-rail, away from the precipice.

Next time someone stares into the abyss, I want them to be able to miss their own pain and sense of hopelessness because they will be too distracted by this, the voice of our deep-voiced choir. Let them be gratefully surprised when our song blows out the match struck to light the funeral pyre, only to leave a more joyful light.

Stand guard with me throughout the night; be ready for the fight against aggressive demon-flight. Join your voice to mine as we roar this life-affirming battle-cry, defiant against the parts of ourselves that whisper we might lose this war.

Speak deeply, boom your bass-voiced bellow, shout at that spectre wielding the scythe and wearing the black habit:

"This is MY life, and you can't have it!"

One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward

Hello. Sorry not to have posted for a while, the real world got in the way a little, you know what that's like. I have written a thing which I would like to share with you. It's called Should I have a Daughter, and goes thusly:

Should I Have a Daughter

Should I have a daughter …?

That wasn’t a question, it was a pause for thought.

You see, I wonder what I ought to tell her.

First thing, I suppose, is that she shouldn’t back down

When she’s right just because someone yells at her.

Equally, though, she should know to apologise when she’s wrong.

It’s not that nice, but it doesn’t take too long,

Then, when she’s done, she can go back to being friends with whomever she’s just made amends.

Second thing is that she can believe what she likes,

But has to be able to justify her thoughts,

For I will challenge her.

No daughter of mine is going to be a knee-jerk of any sort.

Nobody likes a bigot.

So I shall disconnect from the plumbing that particular spigot.

(That’s a posh word for ‘tap’.)

Third is a thing at which I myself am crap –

It’s a good lesson, though I’ve barely learned it:

You only get the reward if you’ve sweated and toiled and bloody well earned it.

To do well, to aim high, one has to grit one’s teeth and really try.

But if trying’s not enough, and she still fails,

Then I’ll be there with a consoling word and a lovely, lovely ale

Which she can drink by the pint.

My pale, hairy arse will that be thought of as being unladylike!

Four: I hope I can give her the space she needs,

But if she calls me, I’ll storm on in –

A knight in shining tweed!

Zeus helps whomever leaves her in tears for a day or a year,

Or dares to forget her.

For I will give them such a vicious hand-written letter!

And I’ll charge the bastard for the postage!

But what I want for her most is that she will be interesting.

For the interesting will inherit the Earth.

And then they’ll go, “Oh, thank you.

Oh, that will come in handy. Oh look.”

Then they’ll go back to they’re book.

For my daughter will read and she will like it.

That sounds like a threat, but it’s just a prediction.

In my family reading is an in-built predilection,

A source of affection.

She’ll read in Latin, I hope,

So we can talk about life in a “dead tongue”,

And I can share the ancients’ wisdom on how to cope.

It’s my hope that this list

(Though parts of it were written half-pissed)

Will be sufficient preparation.

I want for as long as possible

To save her from the realisation

That Daddy doesn’t know everything.

He’s just as scared and confused as the rest of the world,

But he’ll try.

That’s a promise to you,

My (as yet, completely hypothetical) little girl.

One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward

Pluck This Day

Hello. Terribly sorry not to have posted for a while; I've been trying to pass a degree and as such not had the liberty to write. One of the things I've been studying this year is Horace's Odes, my favourite of which is 1.11 - known to the world as Carpe Diem. I have written a little thing based upon it. It's not a pure translation, but it is trying to do one or two of the things the original does within the rules of English verse. I think it's quite good and would like to share it with you. It's called Pluck This Day and goes thusly:

Pluck This Day

Do not seek it’s a crime to know,

When the gods may decree we’ll go.

And don't concern yourself whether

This is our last year together.

So join me here. I’ll pour some wine,

And while we’re chatting savage time

Will have passed without much sorrow.

Pluck this day. Ignore tomorrow.

One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward

On Humanity

Hello. I should be revising right now. I don't like revising and I think my brain is being helpful by giving me other things to do. It gave me a little thing which I have dutifully written down and would like to share with you. My brain didn't give me a title so for now it's called On Humanity and it goes thusly:

On Humanity

D’you ever want to put your fist through a table? You don’t, not because you’re not able, but in case some shocked person screams out “That’s mahogany!” The agony of your personal Odyssey isn’t anything new. Don’t you forget you’re not the first to get the hull of your trireme wet. A thousand generations or more since ancient times have left their native shores and set sail for distant climes. A thousand generations from a myriad of nations have braved these seas before you learned how to breathe. Despite the odds stacked against them your ancestors squared their shoulders, set their feet and met them. They sailed through the crashing boulders and crossed the raucous seas. They reached the Caucasus and retrieved the Golden Fleece. You are the successful result of a billion years of evolution and with every revolution of the wheel of fate your ancestors grit their teeth and set a faster pace. No other creature has sent one of their own into outer space. Only one percent of our DNA separates us from chimpanzees and we have crosswords and blackberry jam and artistic jamborees while (nice as they are) they’re naked and live in trees. The ease with which we put ourselves down is strange since the bricks of our molecular arrangements were forged in stars. You are the dust of stars so you really must start getting some perspective. Do some good, write some ringing invective. Make sure the world’s a better place by the time you leave, because, sir and madam, I believe we are not the fallen descendants of Adam and of Eve. We are risen apes. If that thought escapes you for a single day and you hate your life and regret it or rue it, forget all else save that you’re human and humans are great so I’m sure you’ll get through it.

One hopes you're well,
yrs,
ADWoodward

Toccata and Fugue

Hello. When I was maybe about 10 Dad got an organ. It was a great big beast of a thing with three keyboards, banks of stops and a full pedal board. To get it into the house involved four men and a carpenter to take out the bay window. I have written a little thing about this memory which I'd like to share with you. It's called 'Toccata and Fugue' and goes thusly:

Toccata and Fugue

I lay there on a Sunday morning,

An hour or four after sun’s first dawning,

And piercing through my yawning into my head,

Through two layers of floorboards and a couple of dog beds

Came a series of chords –

The sound of JSB arranged for organ and canine voice.

If the dog had had a choice we’d have had Toccata and Fugue as a ceaseless litany

To which I'm inclined to agree.

Nothing is finer than this tune in D minor

For sending me back through the years

To when, through naive ears,

These notes first astounded me;

They both lifted me up beyond the stars

And concretely, firmly, grounded me.

Those notes bouncing and soaring off hardwood floors

Will forever feed the spark of joy in my spirit

When I remember Dad saying “No, get off my keyboards,

I know the sheet music and there’s no mention of a feline in it!”

This piece will always send my brain back home,

Even when it’s not home and my parents move out.

Though to do that they’ll say “For sale: one organ. Comes with a free house.”

One hopes you're well,
yours,
ADWoodward