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Read another line, I dare you!

An introduction to Parisian Poetry

For many years I was happy to live my life safe in the knowledge that I would keep some aspects of it close to my chest, rather than on my sleeve for all to see. But, recently, waking up from what seemed to be a bad dream which had eclipsed my life for too long, I came to the realisation that life itself is precious, and time is our enemy. So, as Liam Gallagher’s eponymous new album’s title, “Why me, Why not?” shouts: this is my time, these are my thoughts, green light…go! Liam has turned his life right around from the boozy-addled nowhere days of post Oasis depression by breaking into the charts and the hearts of the new generation. Liam has cemented himself as an admired wordsmith and performer, controversially challenging any of his incredible performances with his brother Noel, in peak Oasis 1990’s Britpop Britain. However, I am digressing, which is something I always do. I’m not saying I am being Liam here, we are poles apart, but my reasons for making things public come from what the modern world defines as ‘same energy.’

‘Why me, Why not?’

My love for the spoken word, written in a novel, poem and song has inspired me to write what I loosely call ‘poetry.’ This term is loose as I do not follow a particular rhyme scheme, so free verse is probably the best way to describe it. It’s odd also, that I can only seem to write when I am in either in pain: emotionally, physically along with experiencing sadness or fear. Being happy gives me the freedom to put down my pen and enjoy life.

‘Needless monologues and incessant egocentric waffle’

I will endeavour to not get bogged down in needless monologues and incessant egocentric waffle. Instead, I have pieces of my past and wishes for the future which connect with such human emotions as: love, depression, loneliness, yearning for escape, regret and many more. Don’t fret, I have some happy stuff too, so stick around for that.

I love music with a passion, and this is something I will be covering in my posts. Any genres, if the words speak to me, they are locked in my mind and I will show you my thoughts on singles and albums from artists like The Rolling Stones, The Wknd, Arctic Monkeys and many more. I’ll dip into the charts a bit as well, which is always fun to see what songs are bopping.

Writing is something which has always helped me through tough times, whatever I was feeling, getting my words down has prevented me from following through on pointless first-time reactions to situations, which could have resulted in catastrophic results. What I am trying to say is that when you write, you feel yourself halving the problem and pains you have. It’s almost as if you bleed these thoughts onto a blank page, which you can cry over, chuck away or keep for a lifetime. Keeping it, in my experience enables yourself to see into a window of your past, which seems like another lifetime, another you.

I want to share my experiences through my writings, which are important to me. I do not profess to be an expert or whether I am doing it right. But the truth is there is no right way, honey, there is no right way…

the earth and everything within it

There’s no rhyme or reason for the changing of the season as larks loom large in autumn’s garden prowling upon the gnarled branches close to those of which you fell

No better time come spring to plunge into the closed thicket and beat the brush for a hunting repast for those rich enough to shoot game becoming one with the undergrowth and the Erl-King of reminiscence

Now, we are running with beasts whilst money makes time and the summer propels us into hotter climbs the languishing sun punishes places without shade as your skin feels the tough centigrade

Interesting notions stroke your cortex as the nights darken and dim when light becomes as rare as a penguin’s wing

A long, cold, hard winter it has been, and you’ve felt them all, but still you can’t seem to become used to it all

By Samuel Fawcett

‘No better time come spring to plunge into the closed thicket…becoming one with the undergrowth and the Erl-King of reminiscence’

The Peninsula Retreat

He walked with despair

He screamed at the world

But no one seemed to care

In built in his mind

Puffs of smoke like time

Billowing through life

He sat once or twice

Catching his breath on the long march

He told himself

“As long as you can breathe

You’ve got a chance”

Godless mountains and desolate hills

Shadowed screams of blacks and blues

Cast out in the night – a cruel tempest

The men of the 33rd knew only pain

The peninsula retreat ensured their strain

By Sam Fawcett

The Rear Guard by James Princip Beadle, showing the retreat to Corunna 1808

The Retreat to Corunna (1808) was an horrendous affair during the Napoleonic Wars, where British, Spanish and Portuguese soldiers retreated through harsh weather conditions with little to no food for weeks until the reached the coast to board ships taking the survivors back to England. They had fought Napoleon’s armies in Spain, but only to be caught out by advancing too quickly, food and supplies could not reach them. As the weather became worse, full scale retreat was announced by Lieutenant general Sir John Moore. This culminated in the French re-taking Northern Spain and the temporary dominance of Napoleon in the Peninsula.

Consolers of the Past

In a flicker of moonlight

Where the brave fear to tread

Upon the west side of the moor

Lives a place of powerful intent

In mists and blizzards, it stood through them all

And even when the metropolis came to call

Industry and revolution marked the land around but left the place alone, solid and sound

It stood for sixty years and sixty years more

“no one has come and gone, in that time, for sure”

“It’s definitely haunted, or something of that score”

Remarked those who lived around who whispered in fear

Surely the housewives and lonely men knew that the place was always empty

It’s foolish to think it through

For the house stands alone

As we must too

By Samuel Fawcett

It stood for sixty years and sixty years more

“no one has come and gone, in that time, for sure”

Alone in the City

Walking down a foreign street at dusk, the air is sweet and crisp.

The ring of a thousand voices and car engines echo in the spring sky above.

The aged buildings of bricks and mortar, made of stone and sweat tower above you. You are a mere ant in this abyss.

You have a destination to keep, a time to meet.

You are on your own, looking at the people walking by, wondering just for a second – where do they go? What do they do?

 – it fascinates you.

By Sam Fawcett

‘Aged buildings of bricks and mortar, made of stone’

One of the first poems I ever wrote.

A Cravat My Father Wore

A cravat my father wore De-cantered from his father’s core

Amber liquid and tough smoke from pipes of oak Did splash upon my mind’s floor

Signs of antiquity, but not of age Left upon life’s centre stage

“Take life steady” He once said Words carved from his ancient head

The day three of them came I knew life would never be the same

I should have seen him more To hear stories of that old war

Now, I hang his painting’s high Those made with an artists’ eye

Every season in a frame The more I look I understand my name


By Samuel Fawcett (a proud grandson)

My grandfather & I

This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, who represented such good and happiness in my life and of whom I had the great benefit of knowing in my youth. He was a controlled man, a survivor and he never acted rashly. He fought for his country against oppression and hatred. The words he wrote to me in birthday and Christmas cards echoed a love for our family; to carry our name forward. I shall never forget the stories he recounted to me and his love which I shall never forget.

Meditation Mantra

Let the tendrils grow in your mind
Igniting blossom of all kinds
Omit negative and embrace positive
In all what you do

Uncomfortable – it can be somewhere you have been
Words you may have said
Next time you entertain the thought
Explore it until you hit the root, say it aloud
Shocked but quietly proud

Standing still for a lifetime
And feeling, feel the space and fill your shoes
With the unceasing strength of gravity, You are of this earth, feel yourself upon it With no words

Walking on a tightrope daily, In one hand strength the other frailty. Understand the areas where your thoughts are in pain, Hear it, heal it, let it explain
…and smile, “I haven’t felt this in a while”

By Samuel Fawcett

‘Walking on a tightrope daily, in one hand strength the other frailty.’

Copper in Kind

Soon to be nothing left of me

A hopeless wanderer cast out to sea

Foaming with pride – held tight to a swathe of wood and copper

The rulers of the waves all those years ago

Where tyrants turned with nowhere to row

In fistfuls of fighting where men became all they had dreamed of

To be away from their land, embracing salt and sea

Holding those dreams down is no good.

Did it ever stop them?

They broke on through, and so too must you, if you want to be the best

Why settle for anything less?

By Samuel de Birche

‘In fistfuls of fighting where men became all they had dreamed of’

A Cornerstone of Capabilities

Open the book and turn the page
A timely essence of your potential
Has been unlocked, somewhere in your mind

Do you possess free time? Good!

Don’t fill it with phones that feed your head
Like an escapologist lying in bed
Engage the mind in an auld authentic way
Embrace your mannerisms and re-invent your day
Trace your line and savour the time

How nice is this? Sitting had become so remiss
Hark at the range of your brain It exists you know, no need to explain

I can re-live Chaucer
Sing Cobain
Sail the Seine
Relinquish pain

All from my mind With no great strain

By Samuel Fawcett

‘Engage the mind in an auld authentic way
Embrace your mannerisms and re-invent your day’

Hardwired to be happy

In our inherent nature we strive to be

We strive to see our minds in the best shape

Shaping to a circle with infinite sides of happiness

Happiness is what comes when we get something we want,

But, could it be achieved all the time?

Time is what we are short of, but it can be our friend

Friends are for support, they are chosen family

Family is at the heart of our soul

Souls exist within us, making everyone unique

It is in this uniqueness with thrive

By Sam Fawcett

‘We strive to see our minds in the best shape, shaping to a circle with infinite sides of happiness’

Proud King

A proud king sits upon his throne

Cast out to the horizon

His closed eyes settle on the foam

Thought and belief are out of sight

His greatest victory, now his longest dream

As he sinks below the surface of the world’s seams

His legacy will become whatever the script writers say

Sacred, terrible, vicious, innocent

A myriad of adjectives become stapled to his memory

For all time

Finally, he rests his bones

After lifting heavy mail and sword

Energies that were pressed into missions

Of feudal accord and chivalrous craft

A lifetime of spiritual repast

When the earth has caressed its orbital glow of the sun

A grave will be found, the bones dispersed and swept into oblivion

History – a desperate noun for former times

The archives are dusty, memories are ink

People of the present have no care for yesteryear

They think only in the now, watching others do as they do

Instant gratification and judgement

The proud king of antiquity turns his head from the scene

High above the clouds

So many years it has been

Time has turned apace

In death as in life he feels more could have been done

Watching over the earth

No one has won

By Samuel J.H. Fawcett

‘King Alfred’, 1890. Alfred the Great (c847-899) King of Wessex from 871-c886 and King of the Anglo-Saxons from c886-899. He won a decisive victory in the Battle of Edington in 878 and made an agreement with the Vikings, creating Danelaw. From “Cassell’s Illustrated Universal History, Vol. III – The Middle Ages”, by Edmund Ollier. [Cassell and Company, Limited, London, Paris and Melbourne, 1890. ]

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