The words, poems, stories and thoughts of award winning writer and journalist, Nic Outterside
The brush strokes of the passing day
Paint his life in shades of grey
The clock it ticks each fading hour
As his life withers like a dying flower
A road less travelled lies ahead
Finding a place to rest his head
The old brown moss, the limestone comb
The wooded glen where wild cats roam
The final doorway to his life appears
Colours saturate the passing years
Red of anger and deep blue pervade
Under the bent willow he’ll find his shade
They’re telling tall tales of my lifetime
They’re obscuring the truth with lies
The carpet-bagging whisperer
Has sent out all his spies
Here comes the blind note-taker
He’s writing in a trance
One hand is tied to the Imperial typewriter
The other is in his pants
And me, I’m getting restless
As the heat pipes they just cough
The bank account it empties
And I think I’ve had enough
The long dead scout master
Walks the dark sunrise
Still poisoning lost children
While doing up his flies
Outside the sky is grey and laden
The trees are turning brown
Hilary, the old bag lady
Is wearing her winter frown
All except for Jo and Lizbeth
And the neighbour without a name
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And my dreams they are undressing
As the heat pipes they just cough
The bank account it empties
And I think I’ve had enough
The long dead scout master
Walks the dark sunrise
Still poisoning lost children
While doing up his flies
Across the street they’ve nailed the shutters
You can hear the women scream
Diwali is now over
And the bright lights are all a dream
The Muslim taxi driver
Has booked his last fare home
He’s riding with false confidence
Since the hoodies stole his phone
And I’m left peeking from my window
As the heat pipes they just cough
The bank account it empties
And I think I’ve had enough
The long dead scout master
Walks the dark sunrise
Still poisoning lost children
While doing up his flies
The lonely poplar
Pricks holes
In the darkening
Sky
As snow cascades
In chill white
Flakes
By my window
To the world
Outside
Just waiting
Waiting
Waiting
For the grey around
Me
To lighten
My journey
Onwards
To a place where
We can
Live
Our Dreams
The mist of morning cloaks the field
The dead of calm
Replaces
The blackness of the night
The dawn of day breaks gently
A faint glimpse of fear
Lingers
The greyness of the night
The faces of dreams dance away
The terror of the dark
Echoes
The sickness of the night
Memories of mistakes go slowly
The hand it holds on
Strongly
The stillness of the night
The song of birds call onwards
To brave another day
Shivers
The bleakness of the night
Now the darkness only stays the night-time
In the morning it will fade away
Daylight is good at arriving at the right time
It’s not always going to be this grey
All things must pass
All things must pass away
All things must pass
All things must pass away
(George Harrison, 1970)
The black veil advances
Cutting out the light
The smoke of day draws in
Dimming all in sight
The blanket haze envelops
Blurring edges of my plight
Dim memories are created
Nothing now seems right
Dark forces are advancing
Forcing hope to flight
The wind howls like a hammer
Who can resist its might?
The emptiness inside me
As the day it turns to night
No Time to Think 