The Innocence of Childhood

The Innocence of Childhood

I gave my hands to these rainbows

To go and see this bright pot of gold

My locks of hair, they dance around,

Just like the notes from my guitar

My spacesuit adorned

To run, scream and shout,

Hold on so tight,

Kick back and ride,

To try and reach,

Those stars afar,

My giggles on show for all to see,

Push me Mum, push!

Jobs, economy and 'leccy bills,

They shall no longer affect my thrills.

Explanation

I gave my hand to these rainbows

The colourful gloves worn by a child

To go and see this bright old pot of gold

Go go outside and play in the sunshine

My locks of hair, they dance around,

Just like the notes from my guitar

How the wind catches the child's hair and blows it around, just as notes dance out of a musician's instrument

My spacesuit adorned

To run, scream and shout,

All wrapped up in warm coat and scarf to go have a laugh

Hold on so tight,

Kick back and ride,

To try and reach,

Those stars afar,

The fun of just playing on a swing and making it work, going higher and higher to reach for the stars

My giggles on show for all to see,

This would be the breath coming from laughter visible in the cold air

Push me Mum, push!

(or take photos or whatever)

Jobs, economy and 'leccy bills,

They shall no longer affect my thrills

A little reminder that we should all take some time occasionally to revisit our inner child, forget about bills and all that rubbish and just enjoy some moments.

The Fifth of November

The Fifth of November

Darkness falls by five,

The skies begin to come alive,

Friends and neighbours young and old,

Huddled up against the cold

Hats and scarves and gloves and coats

The whizzes and bangs sound out their notes,

Potatoes wrapped up in their tin jackets,

One by one they leave their packets,

Carving our names in the cold air,

The men of the house fireworks prepared,

Lighting the fuse and standing well back,

We launch to the sky our nighttime attack,

The whooshes, the whizzes the ooh's and the ahh's,

This annual tradition written amongst the stars

Explanation

Although it's a long way until bonfire night, a conversation on Facebook the other day tickled some neurons and I wrote this.

Darkness falls by five,

The skies begin to come alive,

Once the clocks have gone back at end of October and bonfire night arrives, it is comfortably dark by 5pm. On bonfire night itself (and usually each weekend either side if it falls during the working week), the skies are awash with fireworks exploding into the sky.

Friends and neighbours young and old,

Huddled up against the cold,

For our family, when I was a kid, our family, our next door neighbours and some friends from up the road all got together either at ours or the next door neighbours. Young children, our parents (who as they were above 30 were ancient to us!) all gathered together. Obviously, it's November in the UK, so it's actually not exactly the most inviting weather. Still, if it stays dry, it's not too bad.

Hats and scarves and gloves and coats

The whizzes and bangs sound out their notes,

As the evening goes on, other families would be having their fireworks, and the sky would be illuminated for many hours as if somehow there was an invisible orchestra set up to play in the sky.

Potatoes wrapped up in their tin jackets,

One by one they leave their packets,

For some reason, I always remember that we would have hot jacket potatoes wrapped up in silver tin foil. One by one....refers to both the jacket potatoes being eaten, but also the sparklers being taken out of their packets.

Carving our names in the cold air,

The men of the house fireworks prepared,

I think, and hope that it's impossible for someone to be given a sparkler and not want to write something with it, probably their names. The men of the house isn't in any way shape or form intended to be a sexiest term. But the lighting of fireworks did seem to be a "man's job", at least back then. Perhaps it's the whole "I am man, I make fire" thing!

Lighting the fuse and standing well back,

We launch to the sky our nighttime attack,

Always have to make sure that the fuse is lit and then everyone is standing well back! And then the sky above us lights up with colour.

The whooshes, the whizzes the ooh's and the ahh's,

This annual tradition written amongst the stars.

This is just the "ooh's and ahh's" sounds people make when watching fireworks, and this tradition between these friends and families reaches its peak.

Mindful

Mindful

The lights of town twinkle brightly below,

Just like the whooshing river, my thoughts seem to flow,

This peace around me so calm and so quiet,

My mood it seems, well she predicts a riot,

The clouds rush in, they grow and bubble up,

Universally speaking it's a storm in a teacup

The thunder, the lighting, the wind and the rain,

It feels like a freight-trains running right through my brain,

I stop and I pause, I take a step back,

I offer myself the following feedback,

Pay attention, don't judge, just watch, let it be,

For these wonderful brain are just thoughts do you see?

Lets watch these clouds change, lets see the rain slow,

The allowance of something, shall allow it to go,

The storm has come and the storm has passed,

The strength in my mind remains strong and steadfast.

Explanation

I'm going to leave out an explanation for this one. Please do with it as you wish for your own experiences with anger.

London Victoria

London Victoria

The mestre's whistle sounds,

To signal the passistas arrival,

Choreographed to perfection,

Eyes fixed in this moment,

The panning for gold,

Roses for my darling,

The wind of the wicked cheers,

Flow through on gust into the arena,

Moving teeth and wheels,

The chatter echos round,

Lead down towards the gates,

To pass the yellow jacket

A hug to show love actually,

That's my boy. That's your boy!

Explanation

Quite a long explanation here by the way....!

This one is about an experience I had recently at London Victoria train station. My Mum had been to stay with me for a few days. At the end of her visit, I went with her up to the train station, London Victoria and various things that I noticed whilst there shook the neuron tree. This is what fell out.

The mestre's whistle sounds,
To signal the passistas arrival,

OK, so in this part, there is an analogy of samba, which I really like. The "mestre" is a kind of leader of the "bateria" - the drumming part of a samba school and due to the loud noise produced uses a whistle as part of the directing. "Passistas are the best dancers of the school - male and female - who will take part in representing the school in shows and carnival."[1]. In the analogy, the mestre's whistle is the whistle used by train conductors to signal the departure of a train so people can make sure they're on board. The "passistas arrival" is just the large number of people who are in the station, whether waiting for a train or waiting to meet someone. As members of the human race, they're pretty amazing creatures, so are amongst the best - not as in "we're better than animals" kind of thing, but just as in all the attributes and abilities we possess, physically, neurologically etc.

[1] = Thanks to my friend Karla from the London School of Samba for providing this explanation.

Choreographed to perfection,
Eyes fixed in this moment,

Continuing the dancing theme here. This part explains something that always amazes me. How, in places like train stations, or just busy streets for that matter more people don't bump into each other. If you observe this closely, it's really a beautiful piece of choreography, just like a talented dance troupe taking to the stage. It might not have the finesse of something like Riverdance, but the randomness and accuracy is actually quite beautiful. Now, apparently, the reason this happens is because in most cases (I've been paying close attention to this and it does seem to be the case), when we see someone coming towards us, once they get into striking distance, both parties will very briefly make eye contact with one another just to manage the space around them. Because both do this it stops them bumping into each other. It's very very subtle, but next time you're out in a busy place, spend a few minutes doing it. It must be subconscious, but to me anyway, rather fascinating!

The panning for gold,
Roses for my darling,

This part refers to the plethora (I love that word. Please use it lots if ever you're around me) of shops and food outlets found in big stations, in this case London Victoria. The panning for gold refers to the crispy golden brown look that you get on chips/French fries that you might get at a Burger King or McDonalds - both of which can be found in London Victoria. The roses refer to two things. The flower stands scattered around the station - I like to imagine men buying a bunch of roses for their wife to apologise for having to work late again. Also they refer to "Roses", which are a brand of box of chocolates that you can buy in shops such as WH Smiths - also a shop found in Victoria. So basically this just refers to the shops and the people stopping off in them to make a purchase.

The wind of the wicked cheers,
Flow through on gust into the arena,

Although there are doors/gates at the station which I presume can be closed, whenever the station is open, all the entrances are left wide open which gives a semi-open feel to the station. The other day when I went up with my Mum, there was quite a strong wind, which can be sucked in through these entrances into the station. I like to imagine that these gusts are caused by people who are seeing a performance of the musical Wicked at the Apollo Victoria Theatre on Wilton Road, which is also one of the roads you can access the station from.

Moving teeth and wheels,
The chattering echos round,

The moving teeth refers to the (lets use that word again!) plethora of people talking -- perhaps to others in person, or more likely on their mobile phones. The moving wheels and link with the chattering refers to the "chatter chatter" noise heard. Not chattering as in speaking, but by the onomatopoeic sound of "chatter". In essence it's the noise of suitcase wheels running over the ground as they're wheeled around the station.

Lead down towards the gates,
To pass the yellow jacket

When I was with my Mum waiting, we were watching the departure board to see what platform her train would be leaving from. Once she figured out which one, she lead me towards the area. There is an additional thing here though. Lead in this case is phonetically pronounced "LED", which also speaks to the LED (Light-emitting diodes) used to light up the departure boards. The yellow jacket refers to a man who was standing at the gates where you put your ticket. He was dressed in a yellow high visibility jacket. This man reminded me a little of the late Michael Duncan - i.e. he was a cool big black dude basically (am I allowed to say that? I'm always terrified of saying the wrong thing. Please correct me if this is not appropriate!). The fact he had black skin, when combined with his yellow high-vis jacket, also reminded me of the beautiful species of wasp (I hate wasps but they're beautiful behind glass!) the yellow jacket which often have distinct black and yellow markings.

A hug to show love actually,
That's my boy. That's your boy!

These kinds of scenes where people are greeting and saying goodbye to loved on reminds me a lot of the opening scene to my favourite film, Love Actually. Now, the "That's my boy. That's your boy!" bit. Later that day when I spoke to my Mum on the phone after she had got back home, she said to me "Did I notice the black man standing next to the gate? I could. And "Did I remember that he was kind of looking at us in an "aren't they a close family" way"?. I could. Well, apparently as we gave each other a hug and say our goodbyes, I went off in the other direction and as she went through the gate, he looked at her and she said to him "That's my boy!". And he just replied in this really cool "yeaaah baby" accent with "Thaaats your boy!!!" So cute :)

For April

For April

We've never met you,

But care we oh so do,

Thousands even millions,

Dressed in pink ribbons,

That big bad man, 

He can't hurt you now,

The last things you heard and saw,

Forget those missy, you've a job to do,

It's time to be a big girl now,

And look after your Mum & Dad,

Look down when they are sad,

Give them something nice to think,

Your pretty smile will always remain,

Just now, it's the twinkle in the stars,

Sweet dreams April.

Explanation

I'm not putting an explanation for this one. Please just take from it what you will. It was really just my way of getting some thoughts down about how horrible this is.

The Interrogation

The Interrogation

Out in the dark,

Behind enemy lines,

Foraging for food,

Barren, lifeless, and cold

The signs of defeat flash round,

Step out into open space,

The enemy force,

Bound and gagged,

Sitting in the stress position,

Remember to be the grey man,

The interrogation begins,

Name, rank and number!

Name, rank and number!

Name, rank and number!

Sizing up the quizmaster,

I make my escape,

The interrogation reaches its end,

Beaten and hopeful I pleased my captors,

We wait...

Explanation

This one uses the analogy of a soldier captured behind enemy lines and interrogated after being tortured to express the feelings of having to go for an "assessment" with a mental health professional (e.g. a psychology appointment), especially where the person who is having something like anxiety or depression (anything I write that involves mental health is more neurosis, than psychosis) has been here many times before and knows the drill, but has to go through it because it's what's done.

Out in the dark,
Behind enemy lines,

This represents the sense of succumbing to the illness. It's a dark, lonely place and not where any one wants to be.

Foraging for food,
Barren, lifeless, and cold,

The soldier would be searching for food, but finding nothing and getting really concerned at the lack of available nourishment. This matches the idea that the person suffering from ill health might already be trying to seek some avenues of help, but not really finding anything and becoming even more desperate. Trying to navigate ones way through a complex health service when ill is incredibly difficult and demoralising.

The signs of defeat flash round, 
Step out into open ground,

The signs of defeat in the soldiers case are the realisation that he is going to have to give himself up, because although he may be treated badly, there may also be the opportunity for food, water, warmth. To do this, he must step out onto open ground, in full view of the hunter force. In the case of the "sufferer", it's realising that more intensive help is now required and you have to make that oh so difficult walk along to the Dr's/health centre/emergency room and say those horrible words of "I need help" which feel like defeat is being admitted. The "flash around" part in the case of the soldier is the torches/gun lasers being projected onto him. In the case of the patient's, it's probably more like flashbacks to the previous experience of illness.

The enemy force,
Bound and gagged

This refers to the capture taking place. The soldier is bound and gagged, the patient feels trapped, and in this case, the mouth gagged refers to the horrible sensation of a tight throat due to nerves.

Sitting in the stress position,
Remember to be the grey man,

Sitting in the stress position, is of course in the soldier's case being held in the stress position, which is a method used in torture which leads to intense muscular pain. For the patient, it is the Dr's/health centre's waiting room, which are usually pretty depressing places! Being the grey man....for the military scenario, it is a tip often given to special forces soldiers in the event they're captured, which is basically not to draw attention to themselves, by being neither too quiet or too raucous. For the patient, it's basically keeping yourself to yourself, especially if there are several people in the waiting room. Ultimately, none of them wants to be there and doesn't want to be the one to make it obvious they're the one who's gone over to the dark side.

The interrogation begins,
Name, rank and number!

So, the interrogation begins! Under the Geneva convention for the treatment of prisoners of war, a prisoner is only required to give his/her name, rank and number. This could be repeated many times over, especially as the captured may choose to say nothing. In the case of the patient, it refers to the barrage of questions which he/she has been asked many times and the situation is all too familiar. It's not that they don't appreciate and understand that this is what needs to be done, but there's only so many times someone can be asked "and are you feeling suicidal at the moment" before thinking "Well no, but having to answer this question 50 times kinda doesn't help with the feelings of not wanting to!"

Name, rank and number!
Name, rank and number!

The same old same old questions continue. Maybe a CD could be given to them before hand which began with "Hi there Mr/Mrs practitioner......So I know what questions you're gonna ask me already....here are the answers you need. I've gone to make a cup of tea and will be back in an hour." Just a thought.

Sizing up the quizmaster,
I make my escape,

This is where the patient will also be assessing the mental health professional who's asking the questions. Do they seem to get me? Are there misinterpreting things? Do they seem to be making an effort? Are they in the right job?. The "making escape" part actually isn't about escaping from the session or anything like that but in case, the patient using avoidance techniques to steer clear, or skirt around the edges of the very sensitive topics, which although need to be dealt with, are often very hard to talk about. So, things like changing the subject, asking about their family (that one works wonders!) are all techniques. Best to avoid doing that.

The interrogation reaches its end,
Beaten and hopeful I pleased my captors,

So, the interrogation is over. It's been challenging, upsetting. There is a sense though of "I hope this person has got it, because it feels like my chance to be content in life, lies in a large part with how they do their write up".

We wait...

And that's all the patient can do really. Wait, hope, try to keep treading water.

The Sniper's Shot

The Sniper's Shot

Zero six hundred,

The brief comes in,

The target located,

The light is green,

Sighting your scope,

Checking spare ammo,

The hard routine begins,

A five klick tab,

Settling into position,

Amidst the undergrowth,

Caressing the dials,

Forefinger is primed,

Target down,

Now hold your fire,

A gentle click,

Change of magazine,

Mission complete,

Return to base,

Briefing room projection,

Assess the results,

Kit cleaned and packed away,

Ready for the next call.

Explanation

OK, so this one is actually about a photographer going out to take photographs, using the analogy of a military sniper undertaking a mission and drawing parallels between the two.

Zero six hundred,
The brief comes in,

This is when the photographer will decide the best time to go out and take the pictures. Perhaps considering what time dusk might be, or when there might be the most/least traffic. Looking at maps, using Street View, looking at other photographs - all similar to how a military briefing might occur to disseminate the intelligence gathered.

The target located,
The light is green,

OK, so they know what they want to photograph, and possibly under what considerations. It's time to set off.

Sighting your scope,
Checking spare ammo,

This is an analogy of a special forces sniper checking all their kit before embarking upon their mission and comparing it with a photographer checking they have all theirs. Tripod, lenses, spare battery, memory card.

The hard routine begins,
A five klick tab,

A hard routine in military terms is where a small patrol of special forces, for example the SAS will create a hideout and stay there for a long time assessing the situation, deciding when best to "go noisy". A klick is slang for a kilometer, and tab is a British Army acronym for "Tactical Advance to Battle". So this really just suggests there may be a walk to get to the best vantage point and setting.

Settling into position,
Amidst the undergrowth,

Again, this draws comparisons between a sniper getting himself set up in an inconspicuous position and a photographer trying to get just the right spot and holding themselves in a rigid position if not using a tripod.

Caressing the dials,
Forefinger is primed,

This is how a sniper would delicately manipulate the settings on his sighting scope, and refers this back to a photographer selecting the options on the camera for things such as shutter speed, aperture and so on. The forefinger is of course in the snipers case what rests on the trigger ready to release the bullet. In the photographer's case, it's the "take photo" button.

Target down,
Now hold your fire,

The photo has been taken/subject shot. The sniper would not move, just keep still for a moment, as would the photographer, just to let that extra split second take place so there is no jerk in the camera.

A gentle click,
Change of magazine,

The gentle click is the release (depending on which camera) of the battery release button to insert a new battery (although if their battery only last one photo, they should really consider purchasing a new camera!). In the sniper's case, they may have to change magazines to put in a new bullet.

Mission complete,
Return to base,

OK, so photographs are taken, nasty terrorists are shot, it's time to return to base/home.

Briefing room projection,
Assess the results,

Here comes the fun part! Have any of your photos actually come out, or is it a cacophony or blurry lights? In the sniper's case, it's reviewing any footage there might be, or listening to intelligence to find out whether the shot was a success.

Kit cleaned and packed away,
Ready for the next call.

The guns, the lenses, the camera are all cleaned and ready for their next outing.

The Names.....

The names.....

Crowd surfing upon statues bronzed,

The double O's head to 85,

License to watch TV,

License to kill,

Through the whooshers,

And a wink to Mike,

Call over to our northern cousins,

And our friends across the pond,

In the queue for my toys,

The sword and shield,

Boarding Warwick's finest,

To ride the Valkyries,

Londinium beneath my feet

Unbeknownst oh fellow citizens,

Returning to 17F.
I'm neither shaken nor stirred.

Explanation

This one is about my romantic view of what it means to be and what it's like to be a spy, mixed in with a little bit of what we're lead to believe it's like - when it most likely isn't.

Crowd surfing upon statues bronzed,

This is in reference to Vauxhall Bridge, London. At the south end of the bridge is the headquarters of SIS/MI6. So each day, I imagine that there are many spies that walk over this bridge each on their way to work, passing many hundreds of other people who shall never know what they do. Crowd surfing just refers to being carried over, and the statues relate directly to the bridge which has bronze statues on the side of the bridge.

The double O's head to 85,

This refers to the 00 status (e.g. 007) of the best of MI6. I don't know (and doubt) there is such a system though, but it's what we're shown. The 85 refers to the street number the building is on. It's 85 Albert Embankment. Although don't bother writing to this address. If you want to write to MI6, you want "PO Box 1300, London SE1 1BD" according to their website.

License to kill,

License to watch TV,

Whilst of course having a license to kill (in fact, as far as I know, there isn't a license to kill), there is a license to watch TV that everyone in the UK who wants to watch TV needs to have. Presumably this includes spies? Oh and there is a 50% discount if you're blind (no, I am not kidding.)

Through the whooshers,

Yes, I have watched "Spooks" far too many times, but this refers to the little entry pods that let people into the building. I imagine walking through these and in my romantic view, they would be colloquially known as the "whooshers" for the onomatopoeic sound they make as they open and shut. 

And a wink to Mike,

Mike actually would be a woman. Mike = M in the phonetic alphabet. "M" is of course James Bond's boss. I like to think that M is real.

Call over to our northern cousins,

And our friends across the pond,

When I think about those who are spies, I actually don't think too much about the specifics of the work they're doing, it's more the culture of who they are and the type of people they have become. This bit briefly suggests that some of their duties would include calling over to MI5 (across the river on the north side) and of course our US friends across the pond to find out what their latest intel is.

In the queue for my toys,

Queue = Q. The character in James Bond who has the cool gadgets that Bond goes to visit to get all the cool stuff.

The sword-and-shield,

I can imagine a mission given to the spy who is tasked with breaking into the Russian embassy to steal vital info. The sword and the shield have two meanings. Firstly it's some "toys" given by Q. But the main reference here is that "the sword-and-shield" was the emblem for the the KGB when it was known as that (I think it's FSB now)

Boarding Warwick's finest,

Every good James Bond features an Aston Martin. The headquarters for Aston Martin motors is in Warwick, UK.

To ride the Valkyries,

I always imagine (especially senior) spies to be incredibly intelligent people and very well cultured. People who seem to know everything, probably went to an exclusive school, then onto Oxford or Cambridge to study history and philosophy or something. In my romantic view of them, they're regularly dressing up smartly to go and see an opera, probably a performance of one of Wagner's compositions, such as Ride of the Valkyries.

Londinium beneath my feet

Unbeknownst to my fellow citizens,

So after going to the opera, our James Bond style spy decides to make his way home on a typical drizzly English evening. Walking through the streets, all those people he passes have no idea to his true identity and the fact they are more protected because of his/my work.

Returning to 17F,

I really like the idea of a spy who actually works at MI6 living in flat number 17F. This would be so cool. The reason is that the creator of the James Bond novels, Ian Fleming was actually in naval intelligence. 17F was his codename.

I'm neither shaken nor stirred.

Obviously had to have this in. "Shaken not stirred" is how 007 prefers his martini's. But his demeanour in all he does it to be cool, calm and collected.

This Time in Four Years

This Time in Four Years

This time in four years,

Gold on my chest hairs

Training and training,

Running and running,

Tactics, nutrition,

Psychology, competition,

The arena erupts,

Flash bulbs galore,

On your marks,

.......BANG!

Eyes forward,

Run, run, run,

Baton in hand,

Sweat drips down,

Hand on the horizon,

Opening to receive,

Oh no,

Oh no,

I dropped it,

What's happened?

Four years,

Gone in a moment,

The eyes of a nation,

I've let down,

The gold,

It must be mine,

Training must start,

I can't do it all,

But, I will,

This time in four years....

Explanation

This is a bit of a depressing one....well maybe it isn't actually. It'll depend how you take it. I think just as much as it might be depressing, it could equally be seen as strength through determination. With the Olympics   on the mind this summer (by summer I mean 6 months where it's rained a lot), this poem uses the analogy of an athlete who has trained and trained for the past four years, determined to win a gold, but during the final of the relay, he drops the baton. The analogy represents the battles with mental health that many experience, each time that they have a bad spell.

This time in four years,

Gold on my chest hairs

Often people who have had to climb back up again will have told themselves and those to close to them that they'll be much better and well by [insert time period of choice]

Training and training,

Running and running,

There is often a lot of practicing and training involved. Whether that be going to see the Dr, taking medication, seeing a psychologist, all sorts.

Tactics, nutrition,

Psychology, competition,

A continuation of the above

The arena erupts,

Flash bulbs galore,

You've made it to an acceptable place. Perhaps not exactly where you want to be, but you're considered to be "well" - whatever that means. Certainly you're having many more moments of joy and surreal, fun experiences.

On your marks,

.......BANG!

You're still doing well. Plenty of things you want to be doing with your life. More smiles than frowns.

Eyes forward,

Run, run, run,

You know what you're doing....well pretty much.

Baton in hand,

Sweat drips down,

Yes, it is very hard, but it's being done and you're floating, sometimes even swimming.

Hand on the horizon,

Opening to receive,

You're starting to think that you're finally moving on. The demons are being well and truly exorcised.

Oh no,

Oh no,

But no....yet again, it's all going horribly wrong. You're sinking, you know what's coming and you know how scary that is, yet even once you've sunk, it somehow manages to be more scary than you remember, and it's not as if you remember it fondly.

I dropped it,

What's happened?

There's often a degree of "dumbfoundment" about what's happened. The one thing that you do know, however much you wish you were wrong is that it's all falling to pieces and your quality of life has become very poor.

Four years,

Gone in a moment,

All the effort you've had to put in....it feels a waste. Perhaps even wondering whether you should've just called it quits and given up the time before. The speed with which it's all happened is staggering. How can you have gone from the premier league, to the little league in such a short space of time?

The eyes of a nation,

I've let down,

You look at yourself, your loved ones look at you. "Did I miss the warning signs? Did I make a mistake? Did I take on too much? I'm so much of a failure. I've let myself and everyone down. I am such a waste of human life." These are all the thoughts running around with great speed and strength around your head. You feel as if they have become you.

The gold,

It must be mine,

You yearn for what shoulda, coulda, woulda. There's a determination to get well, coupled with a feeling that it's all over. Delusions about your identity are rife. There is also a degree of denial too, especially when one begins to compare ourselves to those who we believe have it all, and think that's the gold standard which we either have or it's all horrible, forgetting that there may be a way to make silver feel like gold through accepting limitations of the mind but finding a way to life in harmony with oneself.

Training must start,

I can't do it all,

Once again, the uphill struggle begins - because it's kind of the only option. I mean, you could kill yourself I suppose, maybe you'll even get to the point where it's what's going to happen - yet it just doesn't. That (in the moment) blasted survival instinct makes you suffer for what? You feel as if you can no longer do it any more. Your resolve has gone, you want out.

But, I will,

Yet, some more time clears and there you are once again, you're training, doing more of the stuff you should be doing, aiming for gold. Hopefully each time increasing the chances of the outcome being a positive one, but never knowing, and kind of always living in fear.

This time in four years....

I guess time will tell.

Rochester Row

Rochester Row
Eight thirty, and shutters up,
The lone drummer, swaying in the breeze,

Chimes ring out for ten,
The bookbinders bound by the awning,

For some their time has come,
With dignity, she lays them to rest,

Ants search for their next lair to colonise,
Pacing to the beat of the speaker's voice,

With wispy hair and apple in hand,
The ink pours into storytelling mode,

Back to their posts in all directions,
March the armies of orange blue and white,

Five thirty the exodus begins,
Delta, Victor, India, India.
Explanation
This poem is about Rochester Row in central London, which is a street I often need walk down to work. Kinda interesting what you notice when you really start to pay attention over a long period of time. Walk down and work on a road enough and you'll kind of figure out what the daily pattern is.
Eight thirty, and shutters up,
There's an army careers place on this street which has the opening hours of 08.30 on its door. There's also a big shutter which opens up for cars going into the barracks
The lone drummer, swaying in the breeze, 
Outside the entrance to the army careers office, there's also a sign that sways back and forth whenever it's windy. I like to think of this as the lone drummer in a military band
Chimes ring out for ten,
The bookbinders bound by the awning, 
A bookbinding shop sits along the street too, opening at 10am. At 10, someone always comes out of the shop to pull down some awnings over the shop to say they're open for business

For some their time has come,
With dignity, she lays them to rest, 

The next shop along is a funeral directors, which is part of the dignity group. It's run by a little old lady.

Ants search for their next lair to colonise,
Pacing to the beat of the speaker's voice, 
Next shop along is an estate agents. You'll see people going in throughout the day ready to find their next home. Someone that works there is a guy who often comes outside to make phone calls. He's in the "pacing" group of people who appear as if they're on sentry duty when making a phone call. I'm in that group too
With wispy hair and apple in hand,
The ink pours into storytelling mode, 
Next shop along is a printing place. Basically, there's a hot girl that seems to go into there a lot :D (hey come on, I'm a guy!) I presume she works there and I just noticed she happens to have nice hair - the sort I go for anyway. There's also a guy that works there, who always seems to be eating an apple. I guess there are worse things to eat. I often wonder what the people are getting printed when they go in there. Important documents, digital photographs, all kinds

Back to their posts in all directions,
At lunch time, you'll see many people walking to and from their places of work. 
March the armies of orange blue and white, 
This refers to seeing people carrying bags with, I'm guessing their lunches in after they've been to either Sainsburys (the orange bags), or Tescos (the blue and white) ones. It's a little like watching an army of colours moving up and down the street during lunch hour
Five thirty the exodus begins,
Most of the shops along here seem to close at 17.30 in the evening
Delta, Victor, India, India.
Gonna have to explain this one! Delta, Victor, India, India in the phonetic alphabet would spell out DVII. DVII when expressed as Roman numerals is 507. The 507 bus is the one that goes up Rochester Row on its way to Waterloo. Kind of wonder about the stories of all those people who are on the bus and getting on and off the bus at Rochester Row. (I'm weird I know)