Curiosity to Climb ….

… 287 steps, Edinburgh…

Why is it that when we see something high, we want to climb to the top?  

(from the moment we begin to crawl we see the world around us and choose to climb those obstacles to gain a better view)

Looking up .... By JynxzCharm

Looking up …. By JynxzCharm

It is not surviving the ever-narrowing climb up the spiral staircases that provides self achievement, or the periodic rest points allowing you to see how far you have come, neither either is it on reaching of the top of the spire with its liberating view all the way to the horizon of the North Sea….

……standing where only one person can stand at one moment in time,

the spire wavers in the wind,…

the uneasiness of vulnerability does not vanquish with the view,

….but the possibilities are endless as the sight of mans’ creations standing before you… shrink,

how they were so proud and strong from the ground,

now you see the limitations of mans’ achievements,

just another massive beach before the sea,……… figures travelling through the sands of time,…..

Looking down ...

Looking Down… By JynxzCharm

It is the journey back down…

…..the ever dizzying decent is made all the more difficult as you must cling to the the centre-column of the staircase to allow others to squeeze past you in their ascent,….

there is only space for one person on these steps at any one time otherwise,….

the further you go the more apparent that action becomes…

one person must submit to another before they can commence,…..

before they can move forward… was that noted on the way up?

It is on the way down that statues stare in judgement and gargoyles consume the surrounding area…….

the cold touch of stone….

turned black with the souls of countless generations now passed on haunts intrepid fingertips,…..

creating a lasting memory of a place and time………,

at the most important place and time……….

at the bottom of the last spiral staircase …

one last deep inhalation of slightly stale air and propelled back out into the world……..

and another figure is added to the travelling sands of time. ..

Another Figure ...

Another Figure…. By JynxzCharm


Crow’s Theology by Ted Hughes …

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What it should be …

Crow realised God loved him — Otherwise, he would have dropped dead.

Visitation2013 059So that was proved.  Crow reclined, marvelling, on his heart-beat.

And he realised that God spoke Crow — Just existing was His revelation.

But what … Loved the stones and spoke stone?

Visitation2013 061They seemed to exist too.

Visitation2013 062And what spoke that strange silence …

Visitation2013 063After his clamour of Caws faded?

Visitation2013 065And what loved the shot pellets …

That dribbled from those strung up mummyfing crows?

What spoke the silence of lead?

Crow realised there were two Gods  —  One of them much bigger than the other …

Loving his enemies …

And having all the weapons.

Please put your rubbish in a bin.

It does look like a Penguin …

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The Glass Had Had It’s Fill …

Clattered with Ice, Cool liquid Within. Lifted high and set back Down here, there and everywhere.Sometimes handled with care, a raised pinky! Often handled by inexperienced hands, covered in whatever sweet stuff by little hands and nibbled on with tiny teeth. Dunked in bubbly water and rinsed with scolding heat, it is at this point it finally meets defeat.

Left to dry on a rack, by a window, up high. A warm breeze flows through and replenishes. The child drives his bike around the space on the floor of his imaginary track, he loses control and crashes into the side, vibrations run right through the cabinet, the glass shivers, it tumbles, it topples, it falls.

It feels no pain as it bumps off of the window ledge, takes a spin, and begins the long decent. It is a short contact with the concrete, followed by the splicing of every atom within. Some travelling far (in the paw of some random animal unlucky enough to step upon it) or within the rubber of someone’s shoe, some not so far, falling into a gutter and swept away into the sewers, or to be swept up by the street cleaner with the rest of the trash. Every piece has its moment of truth, every piece has its chance to shine, glisten in the sunlight and be a star.

But is it fate that one piece ends up in the Penthouse apartment, attached to a fine lady’s shoe? And another ends up in some old man’s left buttock, as he stumbles and falls in his drunken stupor? The latter has least chance of being discovered, but given the choice is that where this piece would choose to be?