Online

Never in such connection,

Have we all felt so alone,

Eyes fixed locked,

To our forever scrolling phone.

 

I remember we had friends once,

Of flesh, blood and bone,

Souls of which we connected,

Now mainly through our phone.

 

A letter had a smell,

A meaning on the page,

The curls of the words whispered,

Now silent, from a bygone age.

 

I miss the meaning of mattering,

Even if I didn’t matter at all,

I felt I had purpose,

Before this empty social drawl.

 

My friend he is around the corner,

But feels a million miles away,

He likes my posts sometimes,

How I hope to see him again someday.

 

We like the world over,

No seas or miles matter,

But we are all so alone,

Despite this social media clatter.

 

Maybe it is a good thing,

Who really knows?

But what about the negatives,

Do they outweigh the pros?

 

And yet here I sit,

The irony is not lost,

Searching for my meaning,

When all meaning feels so lost.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

 

Speed

Drive to work,

Average car, average speed,

Watch fuel, watch speed,

Turn on news,

Trump tweets, Putin, Brexit,

Turn off news,

Arrive, same destination, same time, ish,

 

Leave car, start on foot, want to laugh at something funny I heard the other day, can’t would look mental,

Smiling now, bite inner mouth to stop,

Stopped,

Uniform socially acceptable vacuous expression back on,

Chest eases,

Breath,

Attractive couple walk past,

He loves himself,

She hates herself.

 

Pit stop,

Homogenised coffee chain,

Familiar coffee, safety coffee,

Overpriced coffee, indifferent coffee,

Reusable cups, I should do my bit, think of sea life,

Never end up getting one, pang of guilt,

Good idea though, uniform coffee ready,

That’s 1.6 million pounds please, only ordered a medium?

Exaggerated smile,

Same time tomorrow,

Back to scowl.

 

Resume death march,

Should park closer,

Enter building, scan to get in,

Take lift,

Should take stairs, Fitbit, steps,

#Goals, seeking perfection, never enough, failure,

See another person, hello, don’t care,

Pretend to care, goodbye,

Aim for desk,

Sit. Die inside.

 

Working now,

Doing work stuff

Now,

Now,

Now, like a machine gun,

Now,

Email stuff now,

Talking work now,

Rushed now,

Everything ends up later……now,

It keeps the lights on work, going to explode work, flip my desk work,

I will tomorrow, out in a verbal blaze of glory,

Then oh shit,

Time to go, check Fitbit, #goals, more failures, chasing star bursts, why?

Its not that bad, means to an end, as they say, who is they?

 

Travel home, dinner, already prepped, save time,

Piggy bank time, for kids I don’t have yet, don’t like kids, for tomorrow, never today,

Healthy, clean, green, cardboard flavour, nicer than unhealthy,

No, it isn’t,

Prefer a burger, can’t, not Saturday,

Watch waistline, why? happy how I am,

Shouldn’t be, could be better, but make sure you are body confident,

But be healthy,

But be beautiful,

But be body confident,

But be healthy,

But be beautiful,

But be body confident,

Another machine gun, but but but but,

But find a balance,

In a time of tight ropes.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler

 

 

 

Ball and Chain

The ball weighs heavy on this chain

Swollen ankles clasped web tight

Conditioned filtered brain.

Heavy this lead ton titan ball,

And clinking clunking chain.

 

Pulling us down down down

Along the spit mud ground

Along this austerity track.

Breaking and broken dreams,

Sit shattering on our shattered china back.

 

We pile from driven pillar to nailed wayside post

Once wide eyed grasping souls,

Present virtual eyed reaching ghosts.

Ghouls of yesterday’s promise and brighter burning dawns

Better days, current reality mourns.

 

Freedom of speech an ironic tale,

As free as a bottled sailing ship

No winds to sail,

Inside this bottled acceptance ship.

The righteous and offended hoards seal the cork top tight.

 

The ball continues to weigh heavy on this Maggie Farm chain.

Down down down in the salt dirt and chipping clementine rust,

The asylum doors have been flung open

The last silenced daggers have been thrust,

And all the unborn ankles, await the ball and chain.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Promised A Diamond, Given A Spade – (old post)

Richest divide back-dropped against poorest side,
Poorest side losing to society’s advancing,
Advancing credit tide.

Credit given hand over fist
Then cracked back by cracking whips,
Whips bought and paid,
People offered short lived diamonds that fade.
Promised a diamond, given a spade.

Spades dig only down,
Down further into sticky mud
Created by this credit flood.

People dig with breaking backs
Dig at the man’s tax dodging tracks,
Derail this train on these inequality tracks
Take off the straw from these camels backs.

No more turning of perfumed cheeks
Or looking down past judging beaks,
People need help to stand,
A caring pull, a gentle hand.

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler

OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part Deux.

 

So now it is 2018 and the worst of all of the above is behind me. I am still not an Astronaut, but I feel that the more mental the world around me turns the less mental I feel.

Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation around this whole “mental health awareness” thing, I felt very annoyed when I saw slogans like “its ok not to be ok” no, you mean “society and Instagram have determined through a series of hollow quotes that now it is ok for everyone else to be ok with your mental health problems”. The stigma is still there though, I remember when I used to wrap my hands with plasters in front of the full view of people I work with because I washed my hands so much they cracked and bled. In some cases, that was met with strange looks. I am not surprised, it was mental. But, I felt like saying “this is what my mental health problems are, it’s not all pictures of sunsets or someone doing push ups and being triumphant with a dreadful hollow quote underneath which are mainly always posted on Instagram on a Sunday when everyone is bored or hung over and all of a sudden feels deep” ….or something along those lines. People who don’t understand mental health I think on the whole have limits to their acceptance and accept it when it is not in their line of sight.  I may be being unfair but it stirs passion in me. Mental health is very fashionable these days, or the idea of acceptance surrounding it is. If it helps people then fine but I find some of it a bit hollow. I am probably bitter because when I was growing up mental health was a dirty secret and then all of a sudden someone printed an article in vogue or something and everyone now is very much “let’s have a chat about it” ever since. (I have just noticed how I started this paragraph Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation…..in fact no, those days are not gone. It still grinds my gears. Moving on.

I am still not perfect. I have a resigned feeling that I never will be. I am still pretty selfish and impatient. I don’t tell my fiancé I love her enough, nor do I take much interest in what she has to say sometimes when I am tired or too wrapped up in myself. But, I am working on it. I am work in progress to my core, like many others, I will get there, wherever there is?

What else?

I need to get fit again, for my mind mainly. I would be lying if I said being fit wasn’t a great feeling. At the moment aesthetically, I feel like a crap version of myself 5 years ago.

Still writing the poetry in the background, second book coming out soon April / May. Looking forward to Spring to get back out in the garden. I am very rock n roll like that and it is the high adrenaline rush I get when gardening that keeps me coming back for more.

 

That’s it for now.

 

Cheers

Threatening Mushrooms

We all sit under the threatening mushrooms,

Fat ignorant fingers, 

Attached to fat ignorant hands,

Hold all our fates with a buttery grip.

This world is a sinking slippery ship,

Held afloat, afloat by a careless oiled grip.

 

Better minds hold their heads in dismayed hands,

Our past has been forgotten, we walk on repeating sands.

Backs all facing reason, 

Cheeks all turned about.

Madness threatens to send us back to stone.

Suggested violence now seems,

The daily current tone.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.