Stop trying…

Social media, blogs, podcasts… I show willing, but life, work and an ‘intellectually’ promiscuous personality seems to prevent me from fulfilling the quota of posts, articles and recording sessions I have set as my ‘adequate’ threshold.

Am I a failure? I think not… While not meeting the above targets, I have endured remarkable events in life, developed great things in business and learned a huge amount of new knowledge and skill. And all this is potential for new posts, articles and recordings.

All I have to do now, it put fingers to keys… turn on the microphone… and stop trying.

Stop Trying

Valves open and close fast as life essence pounds around my body,

A dozen cognitive fireworks ignite inside my effervescent skull,

If I could distort time I could choose any one of these ideas and have the temporal currency to run with them, 

But time seems to distort in the wrong direction… Hours to minutes, minutes to seconds.

I look at the clock… 21:00…. Do I have a ‘spare’ hour? Maybe I can paint? Maybe play my guitar?

No! Of course not… I chuckle and look at my keyboard.

The well worn keys could do with a clean, but how to do that while typing?

A glare of disapproval shoots from across the room… I hold a single finger up, knowing that she knows I don’t have enough fingers to scope the time allocation requirements.

It’s Monday evening… Maybe tomorrow I’ll do ‘that’… 

[cue Friday and ‘that’ is still not done]

For all you industrious, creative, ideas people out there! 👍

The Tree

© Copyright Colin Kinnear and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

© Copyright Colin Kinnear and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Dreams often link us to the deepest insights of our own minds and for me they are an inspirational muse. The imagery they leave in my mind on awakening sometimes stirring deep spiritual longings, connections and relationships with the Gods, Wights and Ancestors.  Are they a call…? A message…? A shout in my direction…?

Here is one such example of an imprint made on my mind last evening…

The Tree

The rasping call of a raven cuts through the misty air,
A sodden foot purposefully steps in front of a sodden foot,
Wet crystal droplets float in the air and cling to his face and plaited beard,
Looking up with a single eye, he breaths deep as the branches of a great tree appear through the fog.

Leaves rustle and bark creaks knowingly against bark on his approach,
A light seems to flash in his eye as he looks upward,
No sign of an end to the tree’s height,
It’s form disappearing into the grey expanse.

Holding a spear in one hand, he bends,
Placing his hand flat on the ground at the base of the colossal trunk,
A deep thud penetrates the air, the mist curling outward from the trees,
A deep vibrating hum emanates from below as roots respond to his touch.

Voices from below,
Voices from above,
Voices from within, without and around,
His voice, speaking to himself and sending a message through the tree,
Their voices from every inch of trunk, branch, leaf and root join in the words,
We listen, we learn, we do, we are…

Early Flight

Another day, another airport…

I’m both lucky enough and at the same time unlucky enough to travel a great deal in my professional life. Whilst this does give me a great chance of broadening my world view and meeting a diverse range of people it does take me away from those I love, sometimes for extensive periods of time. I’m not alone in this situation and I’m sure some of you reading now can identify with me.

But I thank the Gods for each and every experience, regardless of the meaning we attach to those experiences, for we can always learn and grow from them. My time in transit is often spent observing… Myself, others, the environment around me and the dynamics of how we all interact…

Blessing on your own travels and maybe our souls will pass each other someday /|\

Early Flight

I breath… My chest expanding as the cool air rushes in,
Looking to the stars I count my blessings,
Under the speckled inky blanket I am safe,
Watched over by the Father, Mother and Kin.

Travelling once more, away from my homeland and family,
I miss the embrace of loved ones,
But I accept the embrace of new experiences,
Connections and friendships further afield.

The early morning darkness and the accompanying silence,
Seem to permeate my body and my mind,
A catalyst for a stillness rarely known by most,
In a manic word of perpetual distracting stimuli.

Moving inside, saccadic eyes everywhere,
Lead bags to be checked with automaton scripts,
A stone chiselled face shifts into beaming grin,
As I place my bag with a heart felt smile.

The quiet times are a chance to watch,
Sit back and notice the animated corpses,
With their occasional caffeine fuelled glances,
In the direction of the lounge info screen.

Eventually the gate opens.
The herds shuffle accordingly,
I smile again… Preparing for more adventures…

Treading the Bones of The Ancestors


I recently replied to the question posted on Facebook, “Where are your Happy places?”. This took some considerable thought as I live in an almost relentless wave of happiness so I had so many ‘places’ I could name.

However, one such place may seem at first glance to be a rather morbid venue for bathing in the warmth of love, security, belonging and yes… Happiness. And, that place is my local cemetary.

It is without a doubt one of the most peaceful, if considerably (and favourably in my opinion) reclaimed by nature, places in the area and it always blesses me with the gift of relaxing with the wildlife that dwell there… I wrote this poem a while ago that endeavours to put into words, one such visit… I hope you enjoy it.

Blessings /|\


Treading the Bones of Ancestors

Bright rays shine through the needles of the great pine,
Scattering flashes over the ground as if ripples reflected on a turbulent sea,
The cool breeze moves slowly past me,
Continuing on to gently wave the grass and wild flowers.

Resting places of long departed souls embraced by the vibrancy of nature,
Forgotten by humankind but watched over ever vigilantly by others,
A rich repertoire of stories recounting messages of love and loss,
Buried now, except to those who peek under blankets of creeping moss.

The quiet is disturbed briefly as an old Yew shakes,
A small deer ventures into the sunlight cautiously checking the air,
I watch and listen… Still… Silent…
The deer, now relaxed, begins grazing amongst the stones.

As I continue to simply ‘be’ here, I feel honoured to form part of the landscape,
The pace of life is shifted, slowing as our spirits touch and blend,
My human mind throwing off the shackles of time, if only briefly,
Treasuring each passing instant, I breathe and smile.

I return to the path as the deer returns to the Yew,
The crow calls a farewell and I nod in acknowledgment,
Thanking those that form the tales of our past,
Whilst I slowly drift back to my present.