Poet’s Canvas

A poet’s canvas,
The written page,
The clear mind,
Ideas from everywhere.
Feelings, thoughts and more.

Words used, but never enough,
Always the inadequate canvas.
Never able to capture.
Never able to grasp.

Much like people,
Always viewing without, seeing without.
Listening without hearing.
The landscape of the unknown.
A barren wasteland,
Given meaning,
By the poet’s mind.
The words painted onto that blank page.

Feelings encapsulated.
Message whole yet also not.
Many bits,
A fractured puzzle,
Fractured whole,
Fractured person.

The view from the now,
Always a mere piece of the whole.

Feelings the paint and brush,
This is the poet’s game,
The poet’s art,
The poet’s life.
The poet’s canvas.


Was going to write a blog about writing poetry, but instead I wrote a poem about writing poems, poetry and what is used to create. Especially as a person on this new app I have asked how to write poetry. For me it’s the simplest thing. As long as you know a language, and have feelings then you can write poetry.

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Those Changing Times

Those changing times,
The seasons passing,
Winter to spring,
An onward march of time.
Times changing,
Kind, sweet, soft and unstoppable.

Those times how they change,
So fast.
No time has passed,
But the times have.
Those times have.

Changed in place.
Losing my place with how,
Fast those things change.
Sweet, casual, nice.

A sunrise,
Without the doubt.
A nice moment,
Just for the moment.
No cost or condition.

Oh, for those changing times.
It’s all.
I’m all,
Alive for all of those…

Everything for those sweetest, kindest changing times.


Writing thinking about stuff, nearly finished my essays due soon, the future and this really kind friend I only really got to know just as I got home as Christmas and we’ve been chatting quite a bit since.

We’re planning to hang out more, it’s funny, thinking. How those things change.

Blog on Value and Deception

A quick blog but more really a note to myself.

I’ve never believe I’ve been smart even though I am told endlessly by everyone. I accept it when people tell me but never really believe it. Kind of (but also slightly different) like when people say I’m nice, I accept it (but what is different is that I know I’m nice and totally hate it with a passion hence I wish I was more like Negan from the Walking Dead, quick summary of him, a person who is badass, if he doesn’t like someone then he gets what he wants no matter what affect it has on anyone).

One quick aside, even over Christmas I met a close friend’s uncle (I think), got on with him really well and I was warned he’d ask me loads and loads of questions (and he did) one of the many was ‘are you smart?’. My answer as usual is, “kind of, but I cannot really be the judge of that” and then to go on how everyone is smart in their own right (something I wrote about on a different blog, a more academic one I have on WordPress).

Studying history at university you very occasionally come across people who seem to have encyclopaedic knowledge on random or niche topics. I must be one of them but never thought of it like that. What brought this up earlier today, was a friend told me their topic and I recommended a film I studied prior and they having researched their topic hadn’t come across that film that fits their entire topic perfectly, looking at gender, and class in courtship between 1930 and 1940. I picked a ‘perfect film’.

And through my whole academic studies from the start of secondary school to now doing a Masters, many, many classmates have always asked me and even specifically me questions about the course, assessment and stuff, I mean at me personally through direct message. My friend, or the two friends I helped today I know it’s okay and they didn’t ask and it wasn’t a problem for me. As most. I just like helping as I have this stuff in my head and I may as well make use of it if it’s taking up space in my head.

This leads me to the less optimistic part. I have been used many times since the start of secondary school I have been used for my head. Not that I really ever realised. That’s a bit I need to improve upon. Seeing through the most terrible people who merely think of themselves, use to their own ends and discards. People who are my antithesis in how I think.

My antithesis because I help because helping is good, it’s usually easy and non-costly, and even when it has been I often do it anyway. But it’s hard to see in my own head that’s not how others work.

I will not change how I help people, without expectation of gain. But I will keep an eye out and not offer help to those unkind, hurtful, accusation all, manipulative and self-seeking.

The problem comes, at least for me, to tell the difference. To give kindness to those who deserve it. To leave those who don’t To their own lives.

I am feeling okay, this blog post, may not be riveting, but has been very personal and cathartic for me. I hope someone else finds something of use in this.

Find Themselves Again

The chat, a kindness.
Helping, waiting, thinking, doubt.
Times of uncertainty, in all of our lives.
Friends by our side.

Strength gained from the fight,
The struggle to hone,
To strengthen,
To harden.
To break free.
Raging against that coldest darkest night.

Waiting to find themselves again.

Finding that darkest time too hard,
But battling a bit at a time.
Friends by the side,
Helping, thinking, supporting.

All the while,
A support,
Help,
To find themselves again.

This is the path,
Times lost,
Times found,
All the parts between,
The pain, joy, sorrow and regret.
All a trial,
A gust to blow away.

The response of rage,
Nothing to step in place,
Nothing in the way.
To stand up.
To stand against,
Until.
They’re found,
To find themselves again.


Inspired by something I wrote to a friend, inspired the title, and the poem came naturally, as all mine the meaning kinda changes as I’m writing it.

From one I written thinking about someone else to one again to do with me.