Homesickness & Appreciation

Writing

Am I the only person who gained a newfound appreciation for my home country only once moving away from it?

I think the saying is true, we don’t really know how much we miss something until we no longer have it. And this point couldn’t have revealed itself to be more true than during my recent trip back to visit my parents in Northern Ireland.

I use to think that the little town I grew up in had nothing going for it. But actually it has quite the opposite, it holds my most cherished childhood memories, from my first day at primary school to the day I left for university, it was the place I was a child, the place where I was brought into this world. And I will always be thankful for that. Northern Ireland, in such a contrasting way to my parent’s experience due to The Troubles, gave me an overall safe childhood, filled with an eclectic range of memories, from my 12 year old self racing snails on makeshift race tracks I caught in the local park to my awkward yet endearing coming of age self throwing the bizarrest of shapes at school prom nights in cold Decembers.

I used to think I was from a quite a quiet place but with time my perception has changed, I’ve came from quite a peaceful place. That the smell of manure infiltrated my lungs making me wish I didn’t have a nose at some stages, yet now, I see it as a welcome home sign, a pleasant change from more polluted places.

To be clear, I’m not trying to say that I detest city life, if that were the case I wouldn’t be living in a city. Infact I like living in a city because it makes me appreciate the places I visit when I’m not in the city even more if that makes any sense!

Do you have an appreciation for your country of birth?

 

Poem: Planet Earth

Writing

What is this planet we call home?

 

Crying tears of salt water,

Which hugs the coastlines days later.

Spouting rivers of lava,

Meandering from vast volcanic craters.

Motions of oceans,

You see land, you feel safer.

Deserted deserts.

Here thirst does not waver.

Hosting the coldest of climates

Where chances of death become greater.

This planet we call home,

The home of Mother Nature.

Poems: My Self-Written Seasonals

Writing

What better way to welcome in the season of Summer than to give a recap of the ones that come before and after it through poetry:

autumn autumn colours brown countryside

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The Fall of Autumn

Death never looked so beautiful,

Leaf litter burnt orange in the fading Autumn sun,

Crunches beneath my feet as the day carries on.

 

The air is colder,

Green is no longer seen.

The days are shorter,

A Midsummer Night is merely but a dream.

 

Ochre, pumpkin,  chestnut and crimson.

All show their true colours to this decaying season.

Autumn – like a Pageant Queen Killer,

Gushes with guilt,

As she plants the kiss of death.

On her Mother Nature.

 

bonfire

Photo by Mitchell Henderson on Pexels.com

Winter

Crimson embers of fire crackle,

Beneath the pale moon light.

The stars they twinkle like tiny freckles,

Upon the face of the night.

 

The sun awakens, from its slumbers,

Naked vegetation shivers with delight.

For they are scarce, they’re few in number,

Desperate for the new day’s light.

 

The season sets a spell of slumber,

Upon the many lives,

Of plants and animals growing fonder,

To sleeping day and night.

 

This too shall pass,

It just takes might,

Time will change,

The clock will strike.

 

A day will come,

Where we can surrender the fight,

Of surviving these testing hardships,

But until then. Goodnight.

road landscape nature forest

Photo by veeterzy on Pexels.com

Sensation

Smell the rain,

Smell the rain, don’t see it

The dampened tarmac aroma intensifies as cars go flying by like drive bys at midnight

Feel the heat of the rays on your skin,

Hairs on your neck rise like budding blossoms in spring

Hear the drops of tears hit the leaves, leaves crushed by commuters, the buyers and thieves

Don’t see……….feel

 

When your eyes sleep, other senses awaken

Do not be mistaken, the alternative senses must not be forsaken

When I ask you what do you see, please don’t just say trees

Say the rustles of leaves in the breeze or the sticky sap on your knees

Tell me that you will see more than you thought you were meant to see.

Too many people let life pass them by, avoid eye contact with strangers, avoid our environment’s hidden surprises.

To only stop for a moment and take in the world around us

would be a pleasant realisation that life has finally found us.

birdseye photography of city buildings near trees and mountains

Photo by O1234567890 on Pexels.com

A December Day

The air is crisp, cold and clean.

My breath sparkles in its grasp like fairydust.

I feel like a fairytale’s dragon.

 

The darkness cloaks the clouds,

Choking out any lasting glimmers of light,

As the sun sets low in the Winter sky.

 

The trees look fragile.

Their vulnerability exposed,

By the nakedness of their form.

 

Time slows.

Patience is a virtue,

As you wait for the freeze to thaw.

 

Spring is almost upon us,

Fingers crossed,

The wait won’t be too long. .

 

 

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Poem: Climate Change

Writing

 

My limbs gnarl, sap suffocates my lungs as I gasp for another breath of the smog.

I’m losing my fight for life.

For centuries I have supplied oxygen to your veins, now you remove it from mine?

In times before you uprooted me, and spoiled the very soil I laid upon.

Now you turn to decapitation,

Intoxication.

Of the very  air I rely upon.

 

You think only of the immediacy and  not of the future.

Thinking only of your own benefit, and not even that of your own mother’s.

Why are you blinded to what you are doing to this planet?

You wouldn’t walk into your own house and quite simply trash it?

Would you?

 

You think it’s cushy, that to try and save the environment is some sort of tree huggers eulogy?

That in their last breath they begged for an epiphany from humanity.

With irony, perhaps that really is what life is all about.

Death.

Why bother carrying on the life of your genes,

By having children when you leave,

Them a planet which will just get weak week after week?

You teach them your petty practices of pumping out pollution and pompously wasting.

For what? So they can have instant electricity to cook their microwave meals while watching TV.

 

You don’t see the problem, because you purposely don’t look for it.

You don’t see the wood for the trees.

For you basically cleared most of it.

You only care about the you and the now.

 

When you are laying 6ft under and the soil around you is toxic.

When your toxic thoughts have played out in the lives of others just for profit.

I guess then the state of the planet means nothing to you.

Just make sure instead of one child, you double up and have two.

For mortality rates will likely rise,

As the planet gets sicker too.

So yes, be as selfish as they come,

Isn’t that what life means to you?

Poem – The Fall of Autumn

Writing

Death never looked so beautiful,

Leaf litter burnt orange in the fading Autumn sun,

Crunches beneath my feet as the day carries on.

 

The air is colder,

Green is no longer seen.

The days are shorter,

A Midsummer Night is merely but a dream.

 

Ochre, pumpkin,  chestnut and crimson.

All show their true colours to this decaying season.

Autumn – like a Pageant Queen Killer,

Gushes with guilt,

As she plants the kiss of death.

On her Mother Nature.

 

Poem: A Human

Writing

A Human

A subatomic bunch of laughter and woes,

From our nose down to our toes,

We either grimace or glow.

Why are we here on this planet of blue sea and earth?

Does it own us?

Or do we own the world?

Brief is the time we get to embrace it.

You blink your eye,

and it’s gone, you’ve missed it.

Decades of memories have gone, they’ve passed.

All that’s now left,

a subatomic mass within grass.

 

How morbid am I?! Although it’s true, life is so precious because it’s so short. So as Horace so eloquently put it ‘carpe diem’!