Outside Looking In Poetry and Pictures
by Bernard Young
Outside Looking In Poetry and Pictures
by Bernard Young
© 2012 Bernard Young. All rights reserved. Bernard Young has asserted this right to be identified as the author of this work. Copying and distribution of this PDF other than for the personal use of the person who purchased it to read on Computer or eReader or Tablet is an infringement of the terms of the copyright. Published by Karen Cropper First published in Great Britain 2012 Printed copy available from www.Lulu.com See: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/bernardyoung Unless otherwise stated on the page all images by and copyright to Bernard Young Designed and typeset by Karen Cropper, Manchester, UK Cover layout Karen Cropper, images copyright Bernard Young.
Embryonic
One Bird
Outside Looking In
In The Dark
I Call Your Name
The Night Bench
We Had To Have The Truth
Nothing But
Virtual
White Lie
Start. Stop.
Not a red herring
Baggage
Return
Mrs Who
Toothbrushes
Where To Draw The Line?
Not A Fine Line
Past It
Enough
Disconnected
Get In Touch With Yourself
Heavy
Driving Rain
Guilty
Wonderful Weather
Them
Not Driving Miss Crazy
Contents
He Drinks, She Speaks
Just Desserts
Chocks Away
Hooked... until death do us part?
Is Gin A Good Idea?
Have you ever been left wondering
BIG
The Present
Nice
One Little Room and the Biggest of Plans
Night's Dreamy Trees
Dream
Perhaps?
Duck
Deep Water
Great Night
Last Night The Rain Came
Be Vague
Who's There?
Us
How Long?
To grab the ball and run with it
White hair. A stoop. A stick.
R U Acting Your Age?
Poem For A Gentleman
Another View
Love
Embryonic
In The Beginning Was
The Word
Early stages
Taking shape
May take ages
I must wait
Words emerging
Fully grown
Happens rarely
With a poem
One Bird
Emerging
from the night
into morning light
I marvel
at the sight
of one bird's flight.
It is as if
I have not seen this miracle
a thousand times before.
I am in awe.
Or
dreaming
still?
Outside Looking In
I've stood on the inside looking out. But this place
had a different owner then.
We were staying here when her depressed brother showed his face.
It was difficult but we tried
to jolly him along. I'd known him have a severe case of the blues before. He'd often
be a closed shell that would open
gradually and, in the space of a day or two, he'd step outside
of his troubled self, or at least hide
that troubled self, and face the day as do other men.
But this is now. That was then.
Though I'm back in this haunted place wondering if there was more we could have done.
In The Dark
In the deep dark
everything seems possible
is possible
until you lurch to the loo
about half past two
and find yourself looking into
the deep dark truthful mirror
I Call Your Name
She heard her name. 'I only have eyes for you,' said the sky. And meant it. But then the clouds came.
The Night Bench
This is where my neighbour sits
when she can't sleep.
Which is most nights.
There was snow on the ground
this time last year.
That didn't stop her.
I recall waking to not a sound.
Waking to that peace you get
when snow has fallen or is falling.
She saw me at my window
and raised a hand.
Lifted it as is if she was holding a glass,
beckoned me with the other hand.
Inviting me for a drink.
A drink in the snow.
I would have gone
but knew that bastard of a husband
she had, still has, wouldn't understand.
We Had To Have The Truth
Oh, we just had to have the truth
It had to come barging in
Like a bloke at a pub quiz
Who always has to win
We had to have the truth
It had to raise its head
You woke up in the morning
And it was there in your bed
Can't the truth be locked up
Away from her and him
Imprisoned behind black padlocked gates
In the basement of somewhere grim?
Nothing But
The truth is, yer Honour,
it's all his fault.
He caused me to have these feelings
that made me do
the things I did.
Before him I'd been asleep.
He woke me up
and for a time
I turned into a monster.
Always hungry. Huge
appetite that couldn't be sated.
But I'd waited years
to get my fill.
And boy, did he fill me!
So when he said that was it,
and moved out, I moved in.
For the kill.
So yeah, yer Honour,
that's the truth.
The truth is
I killed him.
And it's all his fault.
Virtual
Let us take this moment
And fake the way we feel
Truth is not an issue
Let's pretend that this is real
Tell me lies, why don't you
Say the words I need to hear
I know that you won't mean it
But tonight I do not care
White Lie
In another place
at another time
this rain would be falling as snow.
Instead of forming puddles
it would be filling the drive
and making getting to work difficult
and making getting to work impossible.
I'd be out there
trying to shovel it away
but as any snowman would tell you:
'It's just no go.'
I'd be phoning up and saying:
'This snow is making getting to work difficult.'
I'd be ringing up and saying:
'This snow is making getting to work impossible.'
I'd be calling up and saying:
'It looks as though I won't be able to make it today.
Maybe tomorrow.'
At another time
in another place
the impossible snow would be falling.
A million excuses would cover the ground.
All of them plausible.
All of them pure and simple.
I pick up the phone:
'This snow is making getting to work difficult.'
'What snow?’
'This snow is making getting to work impossible.’
'What snow?'
'It looks as though
I won't be able to make it today.
Maybe tomorrow.’
'Tomorrow?'
'Maybe.'
Start. Stop.
You start. I stop.
I bottom. You top.
I laugh. You cry.
You hello. I bye.
You whisper. I shout.
I in. You out.
You leap. I flop.
I start. You stop.
Not a red herring
Troubled darling, troubled
All that has gone wrong in our colourful lives
we have brought upon ourselves.
Rather than meet mine you proffer your fish eye
to all who pass by.
I may be feeling unwanted and tense
but I am not fishing for compliments.
Let us accept
that we are swimming in opposite directions
and that I am troubled, darling.
Troubled.
Baggage
Here I am Luggage in the rack
In my seat Heading down the track
I've left a note
To explain Why I've caught
The morning train
Here I am Luggage in the rack A smile on my face
Cos I ain't coming back
Return
Disappearing.
Destination
Watching
Fast.
Backwards
Heading
Mrs Who
He arrived from nowhere
on Valentine's Day.
Burst in on the party
brandishing a bunch of flowers
and a sonic screwdriver.
Not a crease in sight.
He proposed there and then.
Down on one knee
in front of the whole gathering.
And yes, reader,
of course I married him.
Toothbrushes
A familiar and a welcome sight.
It means the day has started
and you've survived the night.
Where To Draw The Line?
She wakes.
She is being kissed.
A hand in the small of her back
presses her against the naked body
of a man who tells her she is wonderful.
He kisses her again.
She is in the shower. Soaping herself.
She feels his hands on her waist.
He kisses her neck.
She turns and he kisses her mouth. Again.
And then again.
She is in the supermarket. She bends
to check the washing powder prices.
She feels a hand on her bottom.
She turns. He kisses her.
His hands are everywhere.
He says, 'Be mine.'
Other shoppers stop to stare.
She wonders if now is the time
to draw the line?
Not A Fine Line
This is not a fine line
between what is happening now
and what happened before.
It's the last straw.
Past It
Past holding hands
Past kissing
Past smiling
Past hello
(Approaching goodbye)
Past any physical, mental, emotional contact
Past anything in any shape or form imaginable
that could be mistaken for love
So I suppose a fuck is definitely out of the question then?
“Enough
is enough,"
she said. Calmly.
But firmly.
I had to admire
her assured authority
even if I didn't like
what she was saying.
My own hunger, desire,
was still in the stalls
applauding wildly.
I wanted to yell
Encore! Encore!
but knew if I did
she'd hit me
with the old adage
that less is more.
So I didn't say another
Disconnected I called myself up early today But then I hung up I'd got nothing to say
Get In Touch With Yourself
"If you dial 1049
you will hear a voice
it will be mine
So make your request
State your demand
Whatever it is
I will understand
No need to act
Or strike a pose
You're in a world
Where anything goes"
I picked up the phone
called 1049
I listened to my voice
on the end of the line
Heavy
Sometimes
the unspoken
words hang heavy in the
air. You wish they were not there. They
crush you.
Driving Rain
After a text like that
who would feel like driving?
Best to sit, in the car,
in the rain, and wait
for the storm to abate.
Best to let the thunder
in your brain ease
and allow the tears
on your cheeks
to evaporate.
Guilty
Those clouds have been threatening us.
All day. I'm glad the police arrested them.
No trial necessary. They're guilty.
Cart them off to jail. Throw away the key.
Allow the good, honest sun, the freedom
to shine down on you and me.
Wonderful Weather In the middle of my holiday we met. It was a typical summer's day. Wet. She had a big umbrella. Blue and white. She said, 'You can come under it if you like.’
Beneath it we were close. We stayed dry. I kept a careful eye on the marvellous sky. I thanked the Lord for each welcome rain- drop. And prayed that the rain would never stop.
Them
Sometimes they glide past us
in their sleek cars and shades.
They gaze out at us
but do not see us.
Occasionally we get a glimpse
of their impossibly glamorous faces
and know that they are going places.
Then we crawl back
under our stones
Not Driving Miss Crazy
I'd like to give this pair a happy ending as they head out west in the blistering sun. He's not driving her crazy prattling on about his pride and joy; the motor he dreamed of owning since he was a boy. And she doesn't object to all the time he spends washing and polishing it and tootling around in it at 30 mph.
So they drive to the future where life speeds up and computers and mobile phones are invented and sleeker cars with bigger engines rule the roads. They move forward to the happy ending I have waiting for them where he will propose, I guess, and she will say yes. And they will live happily ever after. Because, on a sunny Saturday, I say so.
He Drinks, She Speaks
but he doesn't hear
her words
all he can concentrate on
is her lips
her shoulders
her bare arms
the black straps
and the way she leans in
towards him
exposing…
Just Desserts
Eventually
our appetites were sated.
Then came some spooning.
Chocks Away
We took off
We didn't worry about landing
with a bump
Hooked... until death do us part? Well, truly Well and truly hooked They're in the church The reception's booked But, like fish out of water they're gasping for breath They've got stuck on that vow about parting and death
Is Gin A Good Idea?
As she was trying to leave the flat
I was hanging on to her ankles.
I think I said, 'If you go
I'll kill the cat.'
Of course, I meant to say,
'If you go I'll kill myself.'
'Pathetic!' was her last word
as she kicked me away.
The cat was half way through
when she unwittingly slammed
the door on him. He loves her
too.
Right now I need a slug
of something sharp and wet.
And then I'd better call
the vet.
how you ended up there? There, in that position among the craters and the holes of your existence? Alone. You're looking for that buried bone. You're thinking you should have known (at your age) better.
You're thinking, life is a bitch. You're desperate for a reason to wag your tail. You're still hoping someone will throw you a stick. Teach you a new trick. And, even as you howl, you're thinking you fucking well deserve to have your day.
Have you ever been left wondering
BIG
On a big day
you need a big drink.
If it's a day
when just a call
could change your life
you might want to sit down
and drink in the view.
Soon, things,
might not look the same to you.
They might seem better,
bigger, brighter,
which is quite a
big deal
or your world might be
abruptly drained
and all your hopes and dreams
seem suddenly less real
which, again,
is a big, big, deal.
The Present
No time like the present
No present like the time
You wrap it up
You hand it out
And the moment is mine
But oh, darling
you're picking me up
then putting me down again
Putting me down again
No time like the present
No present like the time
It's a gift
You give it to me
And the moment is mine
But oh, darling
you're drawing me in
then moving me out again
Moving me out again
No time like the present
No present like the time
I take the here
Accept the now
And the moment is mine
But oh, darling
you're drinking me in
then spitting me out again
You're spitting me out
spitting me out
spitting me out again
Nice
As I called in at the Corner Café
a nasty customer was just leaving.
It was a nice day. Sun shining.
Birds singing (I expect).
A good time to sit and reflect
on my life.
(It was a veggie sort of place.
John Martyn playing on the turntable.
Yes! Turntable. Vinyl.
Racks of records to browse through).
I ordered tea and cake. A generous
dark slice with Guinness in it.
And then I heard a man's laugh.
It went on and on. And on.
I joined in. Then everyone in the café
(5 of us) began to laugh.
Wildly. Insanely.
But gradually our laughs were exhausted.
But not him. He laughed loudest.
And longest.
One Little Room and the Biggest of Plans*
Within these walls a plan takes shape
Within these walls
we escape
Within these walls hopes are high
Within these walls
we learn to fly
* T
itle
an
d po
em in
spir
ed b
y ly
rics
from
Elb
ow’s
“W
eath
er t
o fl
y”
Night's Dreamy Trees After the weekend you've had you know that the sensible thing to do is sleep. That moment passes and night's dreamy trees keep you wide
awake. They rustle their papery leaves. Persuade the night owls into flight. You hear the beating of their wings. You know that they are calling to you. Too-whit, too-whoo. Too-whit, too-whoo. Too-whit, too-whoo.
Dream
To beach the boat
and make our way
around the harbour
until we reach
the high house
overlooking the sea
would, I think,
be good for you and me.
A weekend away
from the world
and its woes?
We could find out
how the land lies.
Dip our toes.
See how it goes.
© C
ait
lin
Yo
un
g
Perhaps?
Perhaps that really is a mountain and not a molehill?
Perhaps we can cross that bridge
when we come to it?
Perhaps we can sit under that tree? I can read to you. You can read to me.
© C
ait
lin
Yo
un
g
Duck!
I was admiring the whiteness of him
and his orange beak
when my thoughts drifted back
to the time I tried to sneak
out of Wanker Wortley's chemistry class
once he'd taken the afternoon register.
"Duck!" I heard. Too late.
The blackboard rubber hit me hard
on the back of the head
and sent me flying.
Briefly I felt myself floating.
His voice anchored me.
"Detention Young. Tonight. One hour."
"But sir?"
But there were never any buts.
Rules were rules in Grammar Schools.
Blackboard. Rubber. Back. Of. The. Head.
The bastard wouldn't get away with it
these days.
Back then we hadn't a clue.
Today we'd sue.
Deep Water
Sometimes
I forget
I'm in deep water.
I surface.
Feel the sun
on my face.
Delicious air.
I gulp
it down.
For seconds,
sometimes minutes,
I refuse to drown.
Ima
ge
© K
are
n C
rop
per
Great Night
but as we left I began to feel
something was not quite right
and wondered if it was only me
who knew we were wading
through a liquid floor
and that once again the world
was turning all Sgt Pepper
and Lucy in the Strawberry Fields Forever...
Last Night The Rain Came
It was a steady drumming
in the dark.
It was a presence. A humming
in the air.
It was an influence. A pulsing
in the atmosphere.
It was a change coming. A shifting.
A worry in the heart.
And I closed my eyes to it. And I felt
weary and frightened.
And I fell asleep to the sound of it.
And in the world behind my eyes
apprehensive dreams occurred.
And I was scared. And I wanted to wake
and be soothed by the sun.
But I didn't. Couldn't. Didn't.
Be Vague
You can walk through my garden
ill defined
You can be a vague shape
I don't mind
You can be foggy and fuzzy
blurred and blind
You can be a figment
if you're so inclined
As you walk through my garden
ill defined
Who's There? A presence A vagueness A shadow A blur A hint A suggestion A notion A purr?
Us We have arrived for the awakening For the new beginning For the birth It is going to happen We know this We feel this We have arrived As one There is but one dissenter amongst us A blemish, a doubter, a scaremonger Who dares to turn his back On the future our future
How Long?
So, you reach 40 and suddenly 41
comes along. OK, you can cope with that.
But it continues. Your life is laid out
like a tape measure. 42. 43. 44.
Up and up and up go the numbers.
You mark them off. Annually. With a
party, a booze-up. Something special
for each Big One. 50! Can you believe it?
You have to believe it. It's true.
You whinge a bit but consider the alternative.
If the numbers are stopped short,
if someone, as it were, cuts the end off
your tape measure, you'll really
have something to complain about.
Not that you'll be able to.
To grab the ball and run with it
His radio. He turns up the volume a little.
Just enough to drown out the sound
of next door's Sunday morning orgasms.
Please please me, oh yeah...
That's an old one he thinks. Smiling.
To grab the ball and run with it
To have a bit of fun with it
To give it back when you're done with it
That's the aim of the game
She stood on the sidelines
watching him play. Cheering him on.
That's when she knew, she told him,
years later, that he was the one.
He remembers their Sunday mornings. Smiles.
To grab the ball and run with it
To have a bit of fun with it
To give it back when you're done with it
That's the aim of the game
The pitch is still there. Sometimes he goes
and stands among the ghostly trees
and recalls running with the ball.
His heart beats faster. He pictures her young face,
her cheers lost amongst the roaring crowd.
She's smiling.
White hair. A stoop. A stick.
I caught a glimpse of the future me.
White hair. A stoop. A stick.
I'm hoping I'll still have poems in my head
and not be feeble and sick
when I reach that stage.
And be with a woman less than half my age!
Yes, I'm hoping I'll still know affection
and how love feels.
And I'm counting on having the strength
to beat off all the young whippersnappers
who'll be snapping at my heels.
R U Acting Your Age?
The stoop?
A pretence.
The white hair?
Deliberate.
I've gone for the distinguished look.
I don't even need this walking stick.
And when I forget my lines?
I'm acting, dear boy.
I'm acting old.
And everyone's fooled.
Poem For A Gentleman
The gates are closed.
He needs them open.
He wants to get to the other side.
A train thunders past.
It is full of faces he recognizes.
He waves.
They wave back.
They are hurtling into a future
without him.
Goodbye, good man.
Another View
After the cars and the crowds and the streets
and the trains and the buses and the timetables
and the sights and the sounds
it's great to take in another point to view.
Another view to point
at.
I'm not sure I need too much reality.
And I've had enough of all this
grown up stuff.
I just want to read, write, eat, play guitar
and kiss.
Love
To hold a loved one's face
and kiss in a public place
is something
I might have frowned upon
and been jealous of
before I found love
and rediscovered
what a joy it is
to kiss like this.
About the Author Bernard Young has been writing poems and ‘songs’ since his early teens. He is a poet and performer who works in schools. He has also published several books of poems for children. This book, however, is aimed at a more grown up audience. All of the poems and images have already appeared on blipfoto.com. Bernard has been putting a photo a day on that site since June 2010, mostly with a poem too. Blipfoto.com is a photography site, so Bernard tries to get some interesting shots, but the poems are an integral part of his journal, and the interaction, support and feedback from fellow blippers has been invaluable in bringing him back to writing for adults. Also the discipline of writing something every day has helped him to rekindle his enthusiasm for his art. On his 730th blip he wrote, "So that's it. 730 blips (with gaps). I can stop now." He could, but he hasn't! For more information about Bernard, see: www.bernardyoung.co.uk
Bernard Young has been writing poems and ‘songs’ since his early teens. He is a poet and performer who works in schools. He has also published several books of poems for children. This book, however, is aimed at a more grown up audience. For more information about Bernard, see: www.bernardyoung.co.uk
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