.
there'z one under
each
mine armz
hold'n mine
up
whilst i lay
whut
In an old-time real-book-with-pages feel in his day,
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote 'Treasure Island',
in his own inimitable way,
and tho' I know I may be wrong,
he could not have been pulling Long John Silver's leg,
as John would not have had a leg to stand on,
for, with his crutch (plus parrot), and I quote,
'He had still a foot in either camp.'
is that which, in 1883, Stevenson of Silver wrote.
Was it black (spot) humour to write of Long John so,
as I dearly need to know,
and it clearly goes to show,
we need much more input,
with that said, putting my best one forward,
it begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Parroting the scriptures,
won many admirers,
on the cocktail circuit
but offered not the taste,
of truth the words affirmed.
Parroting the scriptures,
trapped soul in lower mind,
afraid to walk the talk,
interpreting symbols,
held in rigid belief.
Parroting the scriptures,
failed to erase heart’s fear,
since there was talk of sin,
wrath of an unknown god
and a deep sense of guilt.
Parroting the scriptures,
then discarding this crutch,
rekindling innocence,
the childlike heart blossomed,
becoming love and light.
the pain is too much
i am here as your crutch to
lean on in this life
Friendship
‘tis so truly special
How very lucky am I
To have found
a dear friend
Who is there
when I need her
If life becomes
such
need
proverbial crutch
For be sure
she will always
answer her door
Where she can be found
With a kiss
and a hug
Thus my worries end
Thanks to my best friend
But at times
I need just a little bit more
With her positive vibes
she dries tears from my eyes
As we sip on a cuppa
or a glass of white wine
So happy together
~~~
Best friends forever
Written 2023
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1222
I've been on crutches for 15 years now
And one might think it gets easier with time,
it doesn't,but luckily where I'm at now
I'm okay with the passing time, I'm in it to have a good time
Less time worrying about my next move
When I can, I just watch over my steps
So that I don't make a wrong move
Cause I'm afraid to fall down the steps
Cause with every fall breaks down my spirit
Spirit to go out in the world and try again
Cause I wear my mind and spirit
In worry cause I've got scars that still pain
My elbows are sore from using my crutch
My palms are hard from holding on
But because I can't let go I clutch,
onto it hoping that I'll still have it on
I've been on crutches for so long
That that's the first thing I pick up when I wake up
So that I'm able to stand strong
And work my way on the ladder of life, all the way up
The PO£T
We all sin
I sin
You sin
Everyone is a sinner
A sin is a sin is a sin
There’s no way to win
Your actually guilty before you begin
So how do you actually get a reprieve?
To acquire the salvation
You wish to receive
The game is rigged
And not in your favor
What depravity may I offer you?
What’s your flavor?
Many choices to be had
Mix and match your wickedness
Custom made immorality for the mad
Smoke, drink, inject and snort
Can I have some more? Is the retort
Mind numbing at it’s best
Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,
No time to rest
Gotta get high
I must confess
My blanket
My shield
My sanctuary
Sobriety is quite contrary
To my goal
Of being numb, dumb, and resistant to succumb
So, don’t bother trying to save me you fool
The drugs are my tool
And reality is my school
Follow the line of the diseased mind
You may find it to be kind
If not, a monotonous grind
Welcome to the cognitive bind
Eric (and sometimes not)
Helper for heartbreak's dissipation
Coat of slick paint covers pain
His younger hair longer temptation
Gives dead Romeo fresh frame
Travel miles along Australia's coast
Brought assailed soldier to me
Astringent ginger kisses Kylie ghost
Instant skin soothe of proximity
Tersely told stories, recently passed
Undo injury of passion's abort
Urge rapid recovery, characters cast
Script for infant territory taught
27th January
Cathartic Cleanse
(He chose name Katherine)
Don’t blame it on me
I gave you a warning
It was clear to see
I don’t intend on hurting people
It just sorta happens
It’s like a skill trait
Or a debate
They all see but no clappin
Everyone around me is hurt in a way
Say i ignored you
Or called you dumb
Or said throw your shoes away
I’m not sure what makes me do it
If it's something deep inside
But i can stop
Just need to prove it
So I dig until it hides
I know him I can tell you who it is
It’s some other me
I promise
I can tell by his-
Hm what was i saying
Confused loss of thought
Is this a game that i’m playing?
Am I a christian?
For a second I sorta thought I was praying
Like I looked up to see the foot of my bed.
Not only that
But it wasn’t I
It was some other me instead
Did I hit my head?
Because the other me is laughing
And not at something else
But it is pointed directly at me
He’s sad
Crying
He doesn’t even seem happy
The laughter was fake
A cover of some sort
But it wasn’t fake at all
It’s his crutch
His support
I’ve written over a thousand Poems,
in search of just that one
Each word to slay the demon time,
each phrase my soul respun
I’ve come so close a hundred nights,
to see but not to touch
Then left to limp between the lines
—their failure now my crutch
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
I’ve written now a thousand Poems,
in search of just that one
Each word to slay the demon time,
each phrase my soul undone
I’ve come so close a hundred nights,
to see but not to touch
Then left to limp between the lines,
—their failure now my crutch
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
I try to fight it
I try to forget it
It used to be my comfort zone
Now it has lost it's luster
For my eyes have awoken
Yet in time of weakness
It still pulls me in
This artificial safety
Is like a drug
It brought back my innocence
When there was no responisbility
And stress didn't exist
Before everything fell apart
Oh what i would offer
To feel what i felt then
Priceless
However,
I have leaned on my crutch
Longer than i should
Everyday of every moment
I try to fight it
I try to forget it
This past of mine
Won't let me go
Nothing more than a crutch is what the sceptics say,
A weakling, softy, Christian in Christ we must obey.
Have I got news for those who haven’t got a clue?
It’s sad to think they do not know, the word of God is true.
Apparently they’ve never heard the price some had to pay,
Apostle Paul and countless others were tortured every day.
They never found a crutch, or wanted out at any time,
But kept on trusting Jesus by faith, the only joy and
Peace one can ever find.
A crutch the last thing a real Christian would ever need,
Just a close relationship, not religion, daily on His word
We feed.
We are hard pressed, ridiculed, rejected on every side,
But eager to sacrifice everything, not to lean on a crutch
Believing God’s report, only in Him and Him only
We can abide.
My hands are always shaking,
but never from the cold.
My heart is always racing,
from secrets never told.
I'm always out of breath my dear,
but not from the lack of air.
My eyes are always aching,
Because I can't avert my stare.
Its a deep and painful need,
I can't control the way I feel.
I will keep on going,
until I feel something real.
My throat is always parched and dry,
but not for need of water.
I'm nervous, like an animal,
waiting for the slaughter.
I feel a deep and hungry ache,
for your hands, your mouth, your touch.
It carries me, and it cripples me,
my sweet and painful crutch.
It eats me frrom the inside out,
and yet it carries me through.
I won't give in, and I won't give out,
until I get my hands on you.
My crutch, it carries me, it carries me through.
My crutch, it carries me, it carries me through.
My crutch, it carries me, it carries me through.
And my crutch, it cripples me, cause i'm still sad,
alone,
and blue....
Was the one
redeeming feature
a peg
to hang
a poem on
enough of a crutch
to justify
a life.
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