fortytwowrites

The world through the eyes of a male domestic abuse victim, but its so much more than that !

Month: April, 2015

Who am I ?

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i once was young but am getting old
and so my story must be told
i built the chimneys that caused pollution
the workhorse of industrial revolution

in the linen mills the work was maniac
my hands built that ship titanic
people and goods i did export
ships from all nations i saw through port

i made fine rope, Delorian cars
I’ve served a million pints in bars
i fought my battles, i show my scars
but yet I hold what we call ours

I’m proud of my traditions
orange and green
hindu, seek and Muslim
and all shades between

who am i ?

i am the first
i was built to last
i am indestructible
i am Belfast

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved
Picture Credit : BBC

Author Notes
To close my collection for National Poem Writing Month I am writing about the City I call home. I hope you have enjoyed the month and found some value in the poems. My personal favourites were The Void and Chaos and Calm. Thank you all for reading.

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Work

This thought process is no success

but I will write this poem none the less

you see I’ve stamped my card

i’m at the keyboard working hard

writing words, after a fashion

but they are quite devoid of passion

29 poems in 29 days

rhyming words in peculiar ways

so if this one is described as shit

I tell you boss, i’ve done my bit

so dont get mad or go berserk

this is what happens when poetry becomes work

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Author Notes

The end of National Poetry Month is near, you should have expected something ropey…..

What Veterans Know About Leadership

good article about ex service personal and their qualities

Social Health

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All too often I encounter the idea that the military promotes blindly following orders, rigid conformity, and a dictatorship style of leading. This is understandable since most people nowadays don’t have any contact with the military world and likely don’t have close relationships with those who have served. Before listening to the experiences of several Canadian Veterans throughout my research, I had similar prejudices.

Here I will dispel these myths about military leadership and highlight what we can learn from it. But this does not mean it is perfect. Since the military functions in high pressure political contexts, it brings out the worst and the best in individuals. When leadership fails, it fails hard; but when it succeeds, it far surpasses any Fortune 500 company in terms of its functional efficacy and capacity to create a meaningful work environment. This is particularly the case regarding life on deployment.

Besides a…

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The Forrest of Death

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You come to our land to raid and plunder
into our woods you thoughtlessly blunder
with horses charging hoof’s like thunder
laid waste to our most sacred space
twas the weak and lame you did chase
now this will be your final resting place 

Five thousand years we ruled this land
so manny days like grains of sand
we lived with this forrest hand in hand
look around at what you would debase
as darkness falls we start the chase
this will be your final resting place

you will loose your way it will transpire
your horses wallow in the mire
as we decimate you with our fire
this is our land, we are not afraid
we bring vengeance with a serrated blade
no one shall come to your aid

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : www.pageresource.com

Cattatude (written for fun)

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Bozo, tell your story walking

and don’t do any talking

to the fuzz,  the pigs or the cops

or i’ll find you in ten minutes tops

check out my cattitude

i’m running this whole dam neighbourhood

watch your step you know you should

I was away but now i’m back

hustling dogs, taking their snack

my reputation is quite renowned

and I just stepped back into town

so dog muggings will again be rife

this cat knows that is the life

and they call me Cat The Knife

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Author Notes

Written for the contest

Make me laugh my butt off hosted by Ez Writer on all poetry

Watching Paint Dry

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The paint
is transferred from the pot to the tray
from the tray to the roller
from the roller to the wall
the wall changes from
melancholy maroon
to wonderful white
then lightening lemon
the process is cleansing
the flat is silent
save the noise created by my movements
the process is repetitive
leaving my mind free to wander where it likes

I am taken to forgotten conversations
incidents and actions
decisions I made that were not my own
or made only to appease
or find acceptance
it brings questions
why ?

understanding comes like a chisel
cutting away huge husks of armour
that has wrapped around my core
a wisteria circling vine of protection
that had stifled my growth

like a crumbling icecap
part of me tumbles to the sea
leaving my new face raw and exposed
as the old floats into the distance
I watch it through watery eyes
and ask
who am I

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By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved.
Picture Credit : Forty Two

Author Notes

Approximately two and a half years after escaping abuse, I have been housed. I am now in the process of decorating my new home. In truth I have not used the term “home” for a very long time. The house I lived in with my abuser I referred to as “the house”, my fathers house is “dads”. Soon I will be “home”. I intend to write about the changes after National Poem Writing Month. Work, decorating and a poem a day means that Blog Post must wait, but I look forward to sharing my thoughts with you.

Silence

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The city sounds faded to silence
muffled by the fresh snow
it settled and encrusted 
any stationary object

in a desolate doorway
an old man
was coldly consumed by its touch
and faded to silence

the city woke the next morning
birds sang, ships entered and left port
the tide turned twice
the old man was a stationary object

the next day
by chance passing pouch
investigated the stationary object
it’s owner was aghast

it held a cardboard sign
“will work for food”
his wallet contained not money
but old photographs

each of father and two sons
a section ripped from every image
and one of a young man in uniform
society faded to silence

By
Forty Two
© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Author Notes

Picture Credit : dawnsdaily.com

Thank you to The Hut Owner Blog for the prompts “old photographs” “i’m hungry” and “father” you can view the hut owner blog at
https://thehutownerblog.wordpress.com

95 % of rough sleepers are men. Being Ex Forces increases your risk of homelessness, across the developed world. Where we send men into battle, we must be prepared to provide services for these men when they return.

Chaos and Calm

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Chaos and Calm

Missiles screamed towards the earth

emitting on impact a dull thud

a noise that two years ago

had shook him to his bones

but he had learnt to ignore that noise

easily

the screams of men

ripped asunder by molten metal

was a closer, more shrill sound

that was drowned out

by shouting sergeants

ordering guns to be loaded

savage shells sent in return

the deep thud

that echoed with the scent of acid

the dust cloud that lingered and intensified

as more shots rang out

the cry that constantly carried

over all of this

“medic” “medic”

was silenced by the crack bang

of riffles

that brought a closer cry

“medic” “medic”

he silently stood still

taking no part in the carnage

passing no judgment

not complicit, just compliant

he hauled heavy equipment into place

then watched

Alfie, Artillery animal

horse

the calm amongst the chaos

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Picture Credit : cometscorners.wordpress.com

St George

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George, slayer of dragons, soldier of Rome

who against the Emperor stood alone

ordered to reject Christ, he would not obey

so with his life he would pay

he gave his wealth to the sick and poor

then prepared for the ordeal he would endure

23rd April, year three hundred and three

was the date of George’s destiny

a wheel of swords was the torture device

he died and was revived not once but thrice

throughout the ordeal no repentance was said

so they took him out and cut off his head

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved.

Picture Credit : www.constantinian.org.uk

I had no real idea why George was sainted before today, so I looked it up. In todays world The Truth is defined as a widely held view regardless of the facts. If this story is new to you, and I suspect most only know about the mythical dragon, I implore you to look closely at all the things you “know”

The Void

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The summer sun, will warm my skin

but it will not thaw the chill within

the icy cold inside my core

will require something more

my limbs are heavy at resting state

flavourless food sits upon my plate

my hands will shake, my throat is dry

try as I might I just cant cry

I have smiled real smiles

twice this year

on the occasions you were near

my symptoms vanish instantly

when you feel close to me

five senses spring to life

my brain relived from daily strife

it is your essence, not your name

that brings me back to life again

The ice returns when you depart

along with the weight within my heart

another memory locked away

that I recall day upon day

and so I sit in summers glow

refusing to let the turmoil show

and let my memory quietly race

to the warmth of our last embrace

By

Forty Two

© Forty Two, all rights reserved

Picture Credit : wellforliving.co.uk

Author Notes

This poem was written without gender or reference to the type of relationship, this was intentional. The sadness that comes from missing someone is universal wether it be a parent denied access to there child or a solider away to war. Work commitments and a multitude of things separate fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, grandparents, husbands, wives, friends and lovers.     Hopefully this poem will mean something to all who are for whatever reason, living with a void.