Ultimatums

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If you do…
If you don’t…
None of it stands to reason
None of it rings true

Control and manipulation
Random shots in the dark
A landscape, oh so stark
Why the stay of execution

Trying, what?
Hit and miss – poor odds
Is that really your best shot?
Delusions – not the right path of action
Look for
Communication, not excommunication

Who is the type of person who repeatedly throws ultimatums into the ring?
A fully functioning human being knows that communication is the key to resolve conflict.
Issuing ultimatums is acting like a child, it’s throwing a tantrum because you want to get your own way, it’s raging and stamping your feet.
I can understand children throwing tantrums for a variety of reasons, mainly because they haven’t yet learnt to communicate, express how they feel – but an adult?
Why would anybody ever resort to that? Ultimatums smack of desperation, frustration, they’re an attempt at control and manipulation. Ultimatums only work in certain, dire type of situations – but as a way to repair a relationship? Nope.
Issuing ultimatums is the same as erecting barriers, shutting down the gates on communication. It’s useless and (especially when used repeatedly) only breeds resentment. Ultimately, ultimatums (usually) are the death knell of relationships.

Image credit:Banksy “Mobile Lovers” – Telegraph.co.uk

My tempest

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There is a storm rattling my windows and shrieking over the sea – its sheer force is awe-inspiring, hence this little stab at deciphering its message:

The wind is blowing, hissing and rising up to a shrill
The angry wind lifting the waves, oh it’s such a thrill

Roaring gusts devastating, flattening everything
Indignant squalls biting, as a dark vengeful wing

Unstoppable howling gales looking, forever searching
My irate wind, how I feel your rage, your suffering

Shriek and scream my glowering, majestic tempest
Regain your pride, make them feel your harshness

Mayhem and chaos you are sowing, as is fair and just
Leaving desolation in your wake and only barren dust

Additional note: this is from the archives but the storm two days ago was as fierce as the one I wrote about back then…

Painting: “Miranda – The Tempest” by John William Waterhouse

Nostalgia

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Oh for the Halcyon days
On which we lavish so much praise
Forgetting they are only
Untrustworthy memories
No better than
Long ago forgotten melodies

Nostalgia is a magic wand
That
Rubs away the rough edges
Makes less and softens the woes
Imbues with a faint glow
Renders souvenirs
Pristine as unspoiled snow

And so,
We dream and hanker after days
that never, in truth, existed
Such is the human race

Painting: “Concert in the Tuileries” by Edouard Manet – source: http://www.manetedouard.org

Warped

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When you thought you were gonna drown
You wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down
with you – I was suffocating, trapped in somebody else’s misery
Withering, no oxygen, poisoned by the fumes of hypocrisy

The slow erosion of everything I thought I knew, an acid so corrosive
I could not even perceive – grasp – how one could be so manipulative
All the things I did for you, you never tried to do the same
I was trying to save you, from you, I must have been insane

I’m the mirror you shattered with your warped reflection
You play the blame game but the deceit, the deception
Was all yours, drama of your own making – raging, not caring
Due to inability – twisting, distorting, lying, stonewalling, never admitting

You have no empathy – but oh, the mastery of perfidy, the cruelty
The gaping hole at your centre – sheer and utter lunacy
Is not anything I ever want to deal with, ever again
There’s no more pain, yet I bear the scars and the stains

We are the makers of our own destiny – fuck the stars
It’s down to us, not the Cosmos or the God Mars
I grabbed happiness by its slippery tail
Fought it, won it – end of this pitiful tale

Painting: “Echo and Narcissus” by John William Waterhouse

4 little words

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Mary is 16, in the bloom of youth – very pretty, with long luscious chestnut hair, a clear smooth complexion and deep blue eyes.

She is a maid at the castle like her mother was before her.

One night, there is a grand feast at the castle – it is a sumptuous occasion with many lords and ladies in attendance.

Mary is walking around with a tray full of drinks, she takes in the ladies’ beautiful dresses, their perfectly coiffed hair – she is particularly fascinated by their pale unblemished hands. Those hands have never known a day’s work in their lives, some are adorned with rings of precious metals and stones Mary doesn’t know the name of.

As she approaches someone beckoning to her, a handsome man stops Mary in her tracks. He leans over, picks up one of the goblets while his eyes linger on her face, and says in a low voice: “you are very pretty”.

The room seems to spin, the colours are fading in and out. By the time Mary recovers, the man is gone. The rest of the evening passes off in a haze. Who was the man? Mary did not know: a lord, a guest at the castle that she never saw again – his name was a mystery but his face was imprinted in her mind. His face……and those 4 words she replayed constantly in her head.

Years passed, hard years of labour, of incessant toiling. Mary’s beauty faded a little more each day. She got many propositions of marriage but refused them all. How could she marry those kind but coarse men……after him? His handsome face had receded a little from her memory but she clung to it stubbornly, bringing it up in her rare moments of leisure and while she was working. He was a presence that never left her: in the scullery, while polishing the silver, the last thing she saw at night – he was always there.

Mary lived and wilted without knowing love – only infatuation born from that fleeting moment when he had bent towards her and murmured those 4 words.

4 little words threw her whole entire life in turmoil.

4 little words he forgot as soon as they left his graceful lips.

Image credit: “A pensive moment” painting by Daniel Ridgway Knight