GOODBYE
When I awake and you’re not beside me tomorrow
And my eyes well up and my heart fills with sorrow
When I can’t reach over and stroke your cheek
And I cannot grasp the comfort I seek
Your smile wont fill up my world with romance
And I’ll never again be blessed with the chance
To look in your eyes and tell you I love you
The hardest thing that I ever could do
Is say goodbye
This burning hollow I feel deep inside
This chronic pain I just cannot hide
I look for your face on the pillow near mine
But it isn’t there, and no matter the time
That passes me by I’ll never forget;
Never look back and feel any regret,
You always knew how I really felt
You knew what to say to make my heart melt
Who will hold me in the long cold nights
Who’ll reassure me I’m doing it right
Who will be there to hold my hand
Who will listen and understand
That the world is dark and I can’t see the sun
I’m running a race that can never be won
When all I want to do is hold you again
But I’m left on my own - no sun now, just rain
I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of despair
I can’t see my future without seeing you there
My mind suffers flashbacks of when we were together
Me by your side and leaving you never
But you have been taken and I am in Hell
Because when you went away I died as well
I’ll never be whole without you, I know
Please come back to me – why did you go
Days have passed now and I stand in black
And all I want is to have you back
I’d trade everything for just one more day
A smile, an embrace, a chance to say
I miss you more than I could ever confess
My heart is torn - my life is a mess
Every day of my life I was meant to be with you
And the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do
Is say goodbye
Goodbye to you
Thursday 11 December 2008
IN TIME
There's an unspoken word
Between you an I.
A danerous whisper,
That sits on the tip of my tongue.
A sentance never uttered,
Lest it's true meaning show.
A time and a place,
It's not here, nor now,
But bide your time, my sweet,
For it will come.
Sometimes you need
To be lost,
Before you can
Find yourself again.
There's an unspoken word
Between you an I.
A danerous whisper,
That sits on the tip of my tongue.
A sentance never uttered,
Lest it's true meaning show.
A time and a place,
It's not here, nor now,
But bide your time, my sweet,
For it will come.
Sometimes you need
To be lost,
Before you can
Find yourself again.
Wednesday 10 December 2008
I THOUGHT
I thought it would be easy
I thought I could be strong
I thought I could wave you off
And be back where I belonged
Now is not the right time
I thought that I could cope
Leave you to your own life
Free my heart of hope
I thought you’d go your own way
Clear me from your dreams
I thought that I could do the same
Tricky though it seemed
When I put this mask on
I thought it would always stay
I would never take it off
I would wear it everyday
A fight beneath the surface
I thought I could control
A turbulent existence
A lonely, vacant soul
I thought I could forget you
Wipe you from my mind
That we could just be friends
I thought time would be kind
I thought if I didn’t see you
I’d forget your face
But I see you all around me
From place to place to place
I thought I could ignore it
I was doomed from the start
I thought I didn’t love you
I should’ve listened to my heart
I thought it would be easy
I thought I could be strong
I thought you wouldn’t matter
Then I found that
I was wrong…
I thought it would be easy
I thought I could be strong
I thought I could wave you off
And be back where I belonged
Now is not the right time
I thought that I could cope
Leave you to your own life
Free my heart of hope
I thought you’d go your own way
Clear me from your dreams
I thought that I could do the same
Tricky though it seemed
When I put this mask on
I thought it would always stay
I would never take it off
I would wear it everyday
A fight beneath the surface
I thought I could control
A turbulent existence
A lonely, vacant soul
I thought I could forget you
Wipe you from my mind
That we could just be friends
I thought time would be kind
I thought if I didn’t see you
I’d forget your face
But I see you all around me
From place to place to place
I thought I could ignore it
I was doomed from the start
I thought I didn’t love you
I should’ve listened to my heart
I thought it would be easy
I thought I could be strong
I thought you wouldn’t matter
Then I found that
I was wrong…
Wednesday 26 November 2008
Wednesday poem
This one was written by Edwin Morgan to celebrate the opening of the Scottish Parliament building in 2004 -
Open the doors! Light of the day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!
We have a building which is more than a building.
There is a commerce between inner and outer,
between brightness and shadow, between the world and those who think about the world.
Is it not a mystery? The parts cohere, they come together
like petals of a flower, yet they also send their tongues
outward to feel and taste the teeming earth.
Did you want classic columns and predictable pediments? A
growl of old Gothic grandeur? A blissfully boring box?
Not here, no thanks! No icon, no IKEA, no iceberg, but
curves and caverns, nooks and niches, huddles and
heavens syncopations and surprises. Leave symmetry to
the cemetery.
But bring together slate and stainless steel, black granite
and grey granite, seasoned oak and sycamore, concrete
blond and smooth as silk – the mix is almost alive – it
breathes and beckons – imperial marble it is not!
Come down the Mile, into the heart of the city, past the kirk
of St Giles and the closes and wynds of the noted ghosts of
history who drank their claret and fell down the steep
tenements stairs into the arms of link-boys but who wrote
and talked the starry Enlightenment of their days –
And before them the auld makars who tickled a Scottish king’s
ear with melody and ribaldry and frank advice –
And when you are there, down there, in the midst of things,
not set upon an hill with your nose in the air,
This is where you know your parliament should be
And this is where it is, just here.
What do the people want of the place? They want it to be
filled with thinking persons as open and adventurous as its
architecture.
A nest of fearties is what they do not want.
A symposium of procrastinators is what they do not want.
A phalanx of forelock-tuggers is what they do not want.
And perhaps above all the droopy mantra of ‘it wizny me’ is
what they do not want.
Dear friends, dear lawgivers, dear parliamentarians, you are
picking up a thread of pride and self-esteem that has been
almost but not quite, oh no not quite, not ever broken or
forgotten.
When you convene you will be reconvening, with a sense of not
wholly the power, not yet wholly the power, but a good
sense of what was once in the honour of your grasp.
All right. Forget, or don’t forget, the past. Trumpets and
robes are fine, but in the present and the future you will
need something more.
What is it? We, the people, cannot tell you yet, but you will know about it when we do tell you.
We give you our consent to govern, don’t pocket it and ride away.
We give you our deepest dearest wish to govern well, don’t say we
have no mandate to be so bold.
We give you this great building, don’t let your work and hope be other than great when you enter and begin.
So now begin. Open the doors and begin.
Edwin Morgan
This one was written by Edwin Morgan to celebrate the opening of the Scottish Parliament building in 2004 -
Open the doors! Light of the day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!
We have a building which is more than a building.
There is a commerce between inner and outer,
between brightness and shadow, between the world and those who think about the world.
Is it not a mystery? The parts cohere, they come together
like petals of a flower, yet they also send their tongues
outward to feel and taste the teeming earth.
Did you want classic columns and predictable pediments? A
growl of old Gothic grandeur? A blissfully boring box?
Not here, no thanks! No icon, no IKEA, no iceberg, but
curves and caverns, nooks and niches, huddles and
heavens syncopations and surprises. Leave symmetry to
the cemetery.
But bring together slate and stainless steel, black granite
and grey granite, seasoned oak and sycamore, concrete
blond and smooth as silk – the mix is almost alive – it
breathes and beckons – imperial marble it is not!
Come down the Mile, into the heart of the city, past the kirk
of St Giles and the closes and wynds of the noted ghosts of
history who drank their claret and fell down the steep
tenements stairs into the arms of link-boys but who wrote
and talked the starry Enlightenment of their days –
And before them the auld makars who tickled a Scottish king’s
ear with melody and ribaldry and frank advice –
And when you are there, down there, in the midst of things,
not set upon an hill with your nose in the air,
This is where you know your parliament should be
And this is where it is, just here.
What do the people want of the place? They want it to be
filled with thinking persons as open and adventurous as its
architecture.
A nest of fearties is what they do not want.
A symposium of procrastinators is what they do not want.
A phalanx of forelock-tuggers is what they do not want.
And perhaps above all the droopy mantra of ‘it wizny me’ is
what they do not want.
Dear friends, dear lawgivers, dear parliamentarians, you are
picking up a thread of pride and self-esteem that has been
almost but not quite, oh no not quite, not ever broken or
forgotten.
When you convene you will be reconvening, with a sense of not
wholly the power, not yet wholly the power, but a good
sense of what was once in the honour of your grasp.
All right. Forget, or don’t forget, the past. Trumpets and
robes are fine, but in the present and the future you will
need something more.
What is it? We, the people, cannot tell you yet, but you will know about it when we do tell you.
We give you our consent to govern, don’t pocket it and ride away.
We give you our deepest dearest wish to govern well, don’t say we
have no mandate to be so bold.
We give you this great building, don’t let your work and hope be other than great when you enter and begin.
So now begin. Open the doors and begin.
Edwin Morgan
Monday 17 November 2008
Monday poem
A haunting poem suitable for the time of year, actually for any time of the year... The first time I read this I was moved beyond belief, the sentiment is so honest and sobering...
Lament for the Gordons, by David Martin
I sing of the Gordons,
Lament to young soldiers,
Who never came back to the land of their kin,
O Lowland and Highland
On Singapore Island,
Your sons fell for freedom and Bonny Prince Tin!
Be silent now Greenock,
Dundee and Auld Reekie,
And silent the winches on Forth and on Clyde,
When Scotland is sleepin,
Sweet lassies are weepin,
For lads who will never lay down by their side.
How far from Malaya
To snowy Ben Doran?
How far from Lahore to Saltcoats or Ross?
No pipes and orations
On rubber plantations,
O chimes of St Andrew, how far Glasgow cross?
The Gordons are children
Of shipwrights and crofters,
Strong like the storm wind and tender as rain,
O that our cherished
Young eagles have perished,
And none of the gin sodden planters was slain.
I sing to the Gordons,
Lament to brave soldiers,
They will not come home to their land and their wives,
O Lowlands and Highlands,
And all the small islands,
Don't wait for the transport that never arrives.
A haunting poem suitable for the time of year, actually for any time of the year... The first time I read this I was moved beyond belief, the sentiment is so honest and sobering...
Lament for the Gordons, by David Martin
I sing of the Gordons,
Lament to young soldiers,
Who never came back to the land of their kin,
O Lowland and Highland
On Singapore Island,
Your sons fell for freedom and Bonny Prince Tin!
Be silent now Greenock,
Dundee and Auld Reekie,
And silent the winches on Forth and on Clyde,
When Scotland is sleepin,
Sweet lassies are weepin,
For lads who will never lay down by their side.
How far from Malaya
To snowy Ben Doran?
How far from Lahore to Saltcoats or Ross?
No pipes and orations
On rubber plantations,
O chimes of St Andrew, how far Glasgow cross?
The Gordons are children
Of shipwrights and crofters,
Strong like the storm wind and tender as rain,
O that our cherished
Young eagles have perished,
And none of the gin sodden planters was slain.
I sing to the Gordons,
Lament to brave soldiers,
They will not come home to their land and their wives,
O Lowlands and Highlands,
And all the small islands,
Don't wait for the transport that never arrives.
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