poetry – Love again and again – Because we know we can and we’re worth it.

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Love again and again

It’s true. There’s no end to love. It’s infinite. It can blow you up.

Love is like hydrogen. It makes you float and it explodes in your brain.

It’s an anaesthetic

It banishes the dark.

It makes you laugh and it makes you cry

But it gets you high.

Love. Love. Love.

All the people and animals, trees and things I’ve loved and still do.

There’s no end. I’m never full.

There’s no loss with love – it’s all gain.

We can love an infinite number of times then do it all again.

 

Love again and again

 

It has no weight.

It has no size.

It’s antigravity

Built of sighs.

 

You carry it around

And it buoys you up

Making each sip

A whole full cup.

 

You can never have enough

But need never be afraid:

The more you give away,

The more you’ve made.

 

There’s no end to the people

You can give love to.

When you give it to them

They’ll give some to you.

 

It’s the kryptonite to hatred

The antidote to pain

Luckily we can fall in love

Again and again

And again

And again

Again

Again

Gain

Gain

Gain

 

Opher 12.12.2015

 

 

Poetry – What we stand for – I can’t hear you!

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What we stand for

The freedoms we have, the standards we enjoy, have been well fought for with blood, thought and bravery. Nothing is given lightly and the freedoms and standard are rapidly eroded.

We are paid with sops while the top table dine on swallows’ eggs.

The inequality that runs the world is creating poverty, war and disease. It is time we stopped electing psychopaths and began to look at a fairer way of running things.

This inequality breeds fundamental madness.

In order to look into the future it is best to have a firm knowledge of the past.

Britain has achieved much but there is still much worth fighting for. The world is in a mess.

The planet is being trashed. Wild-life is being decimated. There is mass migration due to fascism, fundamentalism, climate change, overpopulation and war.

Who’s shouting?

I can’t hear you?

 

What we stood for

 

There is resilience.

There is determination.

There is skill.

There’s a sense of justice.

Tolerance

And ‘trouble at mill’.

 

Industrial revolution,

The enlightenment,

And Trade Unions too;

Scientific discovery,

Evolutionary theory,

And a benevolence or two.

 

Individuality

With revolutionary style,

Education for the masses

And going the extra mile.

Fighting for a worker’s rights

With intelligence and guile.

Forcing through new laws

To create fairness in the trial.

 

So much we owe

To so many in the past.

Still more to do

To make their efforts last.

 

Opher 11.12.2015

Poetry – When Britain is no more – a poems about abiding values

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This is my latest book of anecdotes and short stories. This poem isn’t in it but the sentiments are there.

When Britain is no more

The British have always been a creative race. We like dance, song and music. We know how to have fun. We are problem solvers and wonderers.

We’ve sailed the ocean and discovered the world. We’ve searched our hearts and discovered poems and songs.

We set up trade across the world and tried our hand at many things. Our genes were enriched with those of others from diverse parts.

I set my Britishness upon the ideals of William Wilberforce, Wat Tyler, Mary Wollstonecraft, Emmeline Pankhurst, William Lovett, Henry Hetherington, the Swing rioters, Tolpuddle martyrs and all those who fought for liberty, social justice and better conditions. They stood for fairness, respect and equality. That’s Britishness for me.

The British speak up for justice in the face of brutal government.

The trade union movement grew out of that long struggle. It created a fairer society.

What we need now is another wave of social justice that sweeps aside the inequality. The rich are still getting richer at the expense of working people.

When Britain is no more I hope that those values of fairness, tolerance, compassion, democracy, equality and justice will still be a beacon for the world.

I hope that the values will be enshrined in song, music, poetry and drama. I hope that people will speak out with the same fury at injustice, racism, tyranny and misogyny.

You defeat fascism with song and dance, ideas and a smile.

When Britain is no more

 

What is it that we will leave behind

When Britain sinks below the waves

And the sun finally sets?

 

Democracy and freedom?

Fighting for the underdog?

Creating dreams with few regrets?

 

We are masters of the understatement.

We have the humour and the wit,

The empathy and daring

The bravery and grit.

 

All part of a culture to be proud of.

The best of what we are.

So put the bad stuff in the past.

The best will take us far.

 

When Britain sinks beneath the sea

We’ll know it will not have gone –

As long as people stand for their fellow man

And can still put those words to song.

 

Opher 11.12.2015

Poetry – More of the betweens – a poem about British compassion

Poems & Peons BookCoverImage

This is my latest book of poems. This one isn’t in it but there are others of similar vein. It is available on Amazon.

More of the betweens

I spent a while thinking about the plastic culture we live in. It is so superficial, so crass and so manipulative. We are being shoe-horned into a niche as consumers of trash.

The media stirs up hatred and guides our tastes. It focusses on royalty and celebrity as if there were no real issues.

Within a minority there is an underlying dislike of foreigners and those who are different that flares up into violence.

Yet behind the façade of mediocrity there is a British spirit that welcomed refugees from war and persecution and lent a helping hand. The Huguenots, Jews, West Indians, Pakistanis, Indians and now the Syrians were all included. And Britain is the stronger for it.

We are a race of mongrels. Our culture and our spirit knows no colour, creed or religion. It goes beyond all that. It is the indomitable spirit of freedom and justice.

That is a cause men and women have fought for through the centuries. It runs molten in our blood wherever that blood originated.

That compassion is what I hold to my heart.

 

More of the betweens

 

Between the video games and the porn,

The addictions and the take-aways,

The teenage proms and the Boy Bands,

Is a core of invention and expertise.

 

Between religious fanaticism,

Victimisation and discrimination,

The hatred and the skinhead vitriol,

Lies a caring altruism

That provides

Refuge from whatever storm.

 

There is something to be proud of

Something to be proud of.

 

Opher 11.12.2015

Poetry – To be British – The real British spirit.

Poems & Peons BookCoverImage

This is my latest book of poetry. This poem is not in it but it gives you an idea of the type of work I produce.

To be British

I am not a patriot. I despise nationalism. I do not wish to fight or die for my country.

I am a man. I love my freedom and the philosophy by which I live – the right of all men and women to be free and live in a spirit of harmony, love and equality.

That is a cause worth fighting for.

I am a pacifist and a citizen of the world.

I believe in the rights of all living creatures and their right to live undisturbed by man.

I love nature.

I am never short of a cause.

But last night I was mining a vein of emotion as to what it was to be British and whether I had any pride in that label.

I felt a sense of affinity with the spirit that has typified my countrymen in the past. I believe it is there in my culture. It is not be chance that we have created so many adventurers, explorers and dissenters. We have had our men and women willing to stand in the face of torture and death and proclaim their truth. We have had our citizens who have opposed evil in all its forms, stood against religious tyranny, unjust wars, social injustice, misogyny, racism, intolerance and the rule of the strong and mighty.

They have reached out to those that were different and shown the hand of empathy and compassion.

That is Britishness for me.

 

To be British

Within the heart of all

There beats a spirit

Of dissention,

A dash of adventure,

A rash of compassion,

And a desire for discovery.

 

That spirit is real –

To fight for fair play –

The willingness to stand

For tolerance,

Freedom

And the rights of man.

 

Opher 11.12.2015

Poetry – Between all the horrors is pride – an ode to Britain and the real, underlying culture.

Poems & Peons BookCoverImage

Between all the horrors is pride

Walking through a city centre on a Saturday night with all the lads leering and jeering around with their shirts hanging out and the girls, made up to the nines in their tight micro-skirts, tottering around on high heels, on the pull in a world of drunken mindlessness, it is hard to find the pride in your culture. Sex, booze and incessant back-ground pop. It doesn’t add up to much.

Turning on the telly to the endless stream of game shows and competitions with their ubiquitous squeals, (an import from America where squealing is the norm), it is hard to find anything of substance.

Looking back through history with the ruthlessness of the British Empire, it’s suppression of the ‘natives’, the genocide on the non-compliant, the in-built superiority emanating from Rugby and Eton but infiltrating down to the most base and uncouth soldier, and the invention of the concentration camp as a weapon of war, it is hard to feel satisfaction.

Looking back at our past with its religious orthodoxy, intolerance, oppression, vile class system, terrible inequality, cruel torturing, war-like disposition and social injustice, it is hard to feel a sense of belonging.

Yet in between the shallowness, arrogance, stupidity, unfairness, victimisation, mindlessness, inequality and brutality, there are the glimmers of hope.

There is a spirit in the British that is proud and free. They reach out a hand to the underdog and find a way to respect those who are different. There is compassion and a history of standing up for justice. This was the country that abolished slavery, that brought in trade unions, that fought for democracy and social justice. This is a country that has produced more than its share of artists, writers, scientists, engineers, musicians and social reformers.

That is where I can take my pride. There is an in-between culture that has substance and worth that underlies the squeals, the drink and mindless garbage, the arrogance and superiority. That is my Britain.

 

Between all the horrors is pride

 

Between the spew stains on the pavement,

The game shows and the squeals,

There’s a culture trying to be heard.

 

Between the concentration camps,

The genocides and arrogant superiority,

There’s a history to be proud of.

 

Despite the cruelty, the belligerence,

Viciousness and self-righteousness,

There sits a worthy spirit of generosity.

 

It is the ‘betweens’ that I wish to focus on.

In the ‘betweens’ I can feel affinity.

The ‘betweens’ are where I feel at home.

 

Opher 11.2015

Poetry – Books – An idle dream, a fantasy, of multitudes of readers.

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This is my latest poetry book. It can be found on Amazon.

I wrote this for Anna and her vision of hundreds of lorries carrying my books around the country. My vision was for a lonely moped delivering a solitary parcel to the back of beyond – my kindred spirit.

Books

I write books. I say what I think and put it as clearly as I can. I attempt to write well, to engage the reader’s mind. For me there has to be purpose, depth and meaning. Why else write?

As a writer am I merely part of the entertainment industry?

I think not.

I am an artist who paints with words. I tell stories with a purpose, with integrity and authenticity. I do not write for a commercial market. I write for discerning readers who want content.

Yet we can all dream.

What is the point of writing if there is no audience? If no ape is saved? No hatred melted into love? No chuckles forthcoming or hearts touched? It there is nobody to wonder what will happen next? No tree unchopped? No mind engaged?

Perhaps, one day, everyone will want to buy my latest book? Perhaps they will love turning the pages and avidly digest the product of my imagination? Perhaps they, in their multitudes, will declare me a genius, appoint me world leader and look to me to save the planet from the madness that is consuming it? Perhaps I will top the best-seller lists and win the Nobel Prize for literature? Perhaps more people will read an Opher book than any other book? Perhaps they will laugh, cry and be intrigued and their lives will be changed? Perhaps they will have to build more presses, more lorries and more trains?

But then who wants all that?

The reality is that I hope to connect with like-minded people who are intelligent, interested and alternative – artists, writers, dancers, musicians and dreamers. People who enjoy a story and are as concerned and interested as I myself am.

One book sold to a kindred spirit is worth a truckload of trite.

But I can still dream.

 

 

 

Books

 

Orders down the lines they pour

As through the night the presses roar.

Into boxes neatly packed.

Onto pallets tightly stacked.

Into lorries, on to trains

And off down the tracks again.

 

Convoys trundle down motorway –

Huge loads of books to convey

To eager people who wait

To hear the rattle at their gate.

 

Best seller lists record the score

As books are sold to rich and poor.

Everything is put aside

As the pages open wide.

Avid eyes devour the text

Wondering what is coming next.

A smile, a nod an excited mind

Delighting in what it is they find.

 

The planet is saved and peace reigns

As Opher’s message is obtained.

The hatred dies and birth rate dips

As Opher’s logic passes from lips to lips

Chimps, whales and rhinos heave a sigh

Safe again under unpolluted sky.

All is well and happy once more

As Opher touches to the core.

 

But wait!

 

The alarm rings

And kettle sings.

Awake again

Different refrain.

 

Down some lane a lonely moped bumps

Driven by a woman down in the dumps.

Such a long way to have to go

A dreary ride through rain and snow

To deliver one lonely pack

Then to the depot heads off back.

 

Opher 9.12.2015

Poetry – But We Are ‘Here’. – A poem about taking control of our lives and making them better.

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But We Are ‘Here’.

I awoke in the night and had to get out of bed to write this down. It is a variation of ‘The Road Not Taken’ but with some subtle (and not so subtle) additions.

I like the analogy of life being a journey. We can follow our path back down the many roads and lanes we have strolled. We can see the times we stood at obvious crossroads and made a decision that had immense effects upon our lives. Some of those decisions we regret. They did not change our lives for the better. If only ……

Yet we are here.

There is no going back. The past cannot be undone.

What we are less aware of is the tiny decisions that we make each minute that lead us down our paths. They are subtle but just as decisive. We live through habit and not by choice. We take the easy course and it is not always the best.

We are here. We have things that we hold dear. Who knows whether those other paths were really as good as we imagine. We rarely look at the great things we have. Our lives are full of things that are good that might not have been if we had stepped along a different route. There are things we would not swap for any other ‘here’.

We are here. Ahead, at this instant, is a world of possibility. We could stand up, walk out and head into a new life. We could sit and read another poem. We could buy a gun. We could write a novel. We could board a plane. Through force of habit we reduce our options. There are good reasons why most of those options are wrong. But there are many options that would bring improvement – with a little thought, planning and action.

We are here but there are a million ‘theres’.

We cannot alter ‘here’ but we can alter ‘there’ and we can fill the journey with laughter, love, song and poems. There will always be sadness and pain but life is what we make of it.

All we ever have is the moment.

Here is a good place to start.

 

 

 

 

But We Are ‘Here’.

 

I am going ‘there’.

But if I was going ‘there’ I would not start from ‘here’.

But I am ‘here’.

Behind me stretches a plethora of roads not taken,

Pleasures not tasted,

Wisdom unplumbed,

Adventures not thrilled

And experiences not relished.

Who knows what might have been?

But I am ‘here’.

This journey is a meandering line

And ‘here’ is but a dot.

But from this spot

A billion roads lead to an array of other ‘theres’.

Roads full of laughs, discovery and love,

Or roads of sadness, misery and longing.

There can be no regrets.

If I had not wandered my choice of lanes,

No matter how dark,

I would not be ‘here’ now,

With the things I treasure most,

For they are many,

And with the choices I now have before me.

I can only visit those other roads in dreams

And none of them lead ‘here’.

The array of roads ahead are not the stuff of dreams.

They are opportunities to be grasped

And relished.

For my meandering line is not yet ‘there’.

I see no full stop.

There is more line ahead –

‘There’ is at the end of the roads I have yet to choose.

Best not spoil the possibilities

By languishing in gloomy days of yesterday,

I’ll miss the signpost to that better ‘there’

And fail to taste the pleasures ahead.

For ‘there’ looms and the roads rises before me.

They are full of twists and turns,

I cannot see far ahead.

But I must raise my head and strain with all my might

To see a brighter path,

One full of poems, songs and love,

That leads to a better ‘there’.

‘Here’ could be worse.

‘Here’ is a good place to start for ‘there’.

 

Opher 9.12.2015 (thank you Robert Frost)

Poetry – Keep on Rockin’ – A piece of doggerel for the Sixties rock scene.

In search of Captain Beefheart cover

Keep on Rockin’

For me there were a number of eras of rock excellence. The thirties acoustic blues, the fifties rock n roll or Chicago blues, the early sixties Greenwich Village folk, British beat and r&b, then the late sixties underground and the seventies punk. But if I have to pick an era it has to be the late sixties. That was when music exploded and anything was possible. It was when the world was flooded with a wave of optimism and possibility, an age of experimentation and fusion. That was an age that suited my personality. It was a revolution that threw out old values and sought to create some better ones.  It certainly allowed me to explore, think and expand my mind.

Back then I was out three nights a week rockin’ to Jimi, Cream, Fleetwood Mac, Roy Harper Traffic, Tomorrow, Free, Edgar Broughton, Nice, Chicken Shack, Tomorrow and Floyd. Dylan was never far from my turn table and I got to see all those brilliant West Coast bands – Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band, Grateful Dead, Doors, Love, Country Joe and the Fish, Buffalo Springfield, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Jefferson Airplane, Byrds and Mothers of Invention. I’d been knocked out by Phil Ochs, Paul Butterfield, the Who, Small Faces, Pretty Things and Janis with Big Brother. Then there was Cohen, Bert and John, Donovan, Jackson C Frank and John Mayall. The Fugs and Velvets brought an East Coast realism. Joni, CSN&Y brought harmony and Neil brought energy.

So much was going on. You did not have time to catch your breath.

It went on and on. I thought it would never end.

We were having a Bonzo. John Peel was our Guru.

Anyway – I wrote a bit of doggerel that you might like to pick over and tease out some of the names. There are a few more obscure.

I was playing. But it is also a bit of a homage.

 

Keep on Rockin’

 

Country Joe was grateful as the airplane flew

From Buffalo with invention when that feeling grew.

Love flew like the byrds while velvets walked the streets

It was canned tomorrow for a bunch of cosmic freaks.

 

Doors flew open as magic filled the land.

We’d been devoid of Floyd but now we understand.

The cream of the traffic was a family of mac.

As Dylan had foretold there was no looking back.

 

We were all sunshine supermen across the universe,

Floating on a cosmic stream that skipped from verse to verse,

And I’ve been harping on with big brother in a fug

Where every stone is lifted a beetle runs amok.

 

Well I’ve been zapped with quicksilver, convention and who?

And experienced  with Jimi, the look on a small face with you.

But a field can make it happen as we all make for free,

As we peeled back with more reason, so that we all could see.

 

I, like a cross bee, shall stay young with Joni

And plant the ochs of a different tree, based on Guthrie, and sanity.

For music’s been my inspiration as my consciousness flows

Along that golden stirring, as that syncopation grows.

 

Opher 7.12.2015

My new poetry book arrived – Poems and Peons

Poems & Peons BookCoverImage

The postman just arrived and delivered my new poetry book. It was in the cardboard envelop that Amazon specialise in and was delivered to me personally by special delivery on Prime.

As I eagerly unwrapped it my wife told me off for using Prime.

She is right. I do not like Amazon as a beast. It has displaced all those little interesting shops and the thrill of the hunt. Nowadays you can browse and click. There’s little pleasure in that. Pleasure is usurped by convenience.

I do not like Prime. They use special delivery and that is plain stupid. Instead of using the Post Office, with its centralised distribution, we have thousands of people, on low wages, driving and zig-zagging their way around the country to deliver tiny packages. Yesterday, on Sunday, I received a package of 12 pens. They cost £2.36p and were hand delivered. How can that be efficient?

But I wanted to hold my book in my hand. I unwrapped it and looked at the cover. I opened the pages and looked at my poems.

Those pages were white but now they weren’t. I had filled them with my ideas, thoughts and dreams. I had saturated those pages with my creativity. Everything inside was original and undiluted. The cover was my artwork. I had designed it.

While I was looking at the book with satisfaction my wife looked over my shoulder and commented negatively on the layout. She would have preferred the poems to be centred. I liked them justified.

She burst my bubble a bit. She thinks I write too much. That I should do less. That I do myself no favours by producing so many books.

She is right. She is always right.

But then, I was holding my book in my hands. It had soared out of the electricity in my head onto the pages and it set me alight.

Who cares if I am doing myself no favours. I am holding my new book.

Should you desire to see what this is all about then you can purchase my new book of poems on Amazon in the Opher Goodwin book section:

I’m excited. You might be too!

You might also like to browse through my other books. If you’re looking for something different and brilliant you will find just what you want here:

Have a look, check it out – and please leave a comment about what you think!