the off-grid life.
untied from the shackles of strife,
2017, the modern existence,
getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,
going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,
needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy
unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,
money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.
often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,
homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,
a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,
one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,
the homeless, the people with nothing,
but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,
once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,
the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,
but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,
who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?
Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,
a growing transition for many people too,
it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,
think about it for a moment or two...
who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?
or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,
from a time when they lived without these conditions,
the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs
when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.
hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,
not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.
a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,
forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,
scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,
ADHD, also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues
is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?
than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?
or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,
in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.
Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,
all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,
that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,
with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,
the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,
living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,
food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,
enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,
the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,
the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.
off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,
with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,
the power of community, working together, I want to spread,
to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,
the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.
Waiting for you I am standing like
slowing down to get a better view of the ground under our feet,
waiting for the snow in July.
I like me better when I’m with you,
I can’t seem to create as much as I cry
but I still love the ache because it’s something.
Here I can trick myself,
I’m brave and bold and bulletproof,
I’m more than counting dimensions like falling asleep
and I run out of spaces to call home.
Home.
We can hang so much from four letters.
Sometimes I forget to say I’m coming home.
I just want you to know that I am halfway there.
I’m home, but not really
I know, that sounds silly
There is a roof over my head
In which where I am fed
This building that I am in
Is where my whole life has been
But despite all of that
My heart feels flat
I am home they say
But my heart is gray
The heart knows when its home
Right now it feels like stone
Where will I find home
How long do I have to roam
Maybe home is him
I might be going out on a lim
But when he’s with me
Home it could be
When his hand in mine
Everything seems so fine
With him I smile a lot
More than I ever thought
Could home be a thing
That makes your heart sing
I am scared of my hoover
By jfarrell
I am scared of my hoover.
I bought it about nine months ago,
A “vax” power nano,
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh
Sounded so coooooooooool.
Silver grey handle and base.
Transparent bagless chamber,
With a red hat to empty it.
And a bunch of tubes.
I’ve used it twice.
The second time I used it
I think I broke it
And I am scared to confirm that fear.
If the hoover I spent £120 on nine months ago
Is broken
It means I have six months worth of cat hair
To sweep up with a dustpan and brush.
And that ain’t gonna be fun :(
"This is it,
the last time.
Not my last time,
for there will be many more,
but before I go,
take a second.
Or two.
As though leaving a humble abode
for the last time.
Or realistically,
one to be proud of,
one no need for humility.
A tendency to be crass,
the one-stop coffeeshop
that was the first building
foot stepped in,
the exact final destination
of a journey
across from
one Ocean to the next.
First impressions,
wild differences between
vernacular and tone,
'shaka brah',
and an immediate inquiry
as to where the hell
I come from.
Brash,
but immediately warm
the very first contact
turned out to be,
only to observe
more than a year of stumbles,
pieces scribbled,
baristas in and out,
one to be a brother
calling this location
headquarters,
locomotives blaring by
in a flash of red
everyday.
Bicentennial
the count not of years,
but of poetic conveyance,
written in the soft glow
of this shop,
this shop the subject
times so often giving
detail to who,
what, where,
and how that one girl,
that one time,
smelt as she walked by.
Edited,
the time spent
since the Spring,
but some things never change,
and that's how at home
I feel in this booth.
Bottoms up,
here's to you,
one last brew,
one last time.
No more lines
to be written
here,
skate to the next place,
though it won't be the same."
PORTLAND OREGON
My streets were paved in yellow dreams and setting suns over bodies of water
and blues music followed by the smell of cigarette smoke that I find comforts me now as I’ve moved away.
My angels were bridges that enveloped the sky and my heaven was the blurred lights off of tall buildings that were the stars in my city.
My canvas was the Gorge and my painting was the sweat of summer adventure committed by a coniferous childhood.
My happiness was shutting my eyes and taking in everything I couldn’t see. Smells of campfires, songs on guitars, gasoline burning behind our rocket to the memories I cherish most.
My freedom was escaping into the night to sit on the shoulder of green giant and have conversations with her but never needing any words.
My relief was to exclaim all my furiosity to the water, and take it out on the rocks by the dock. To mock back at the seagulls who first mocked me with their judging eyes.
My guidance was light posts that flickered and signaled my return to home.
and still today I reserve a section of my heart and mind to Sauvies island, with its bushes painted red in the summer and its ground splattered with orange in the fall and its pine scented traditions growing in the winter.
And my childhood romance was with a City whose outer beauty was comprised of skyscrapers and waterfronts and inner beauty was the acceptance of the people who resided there.
And I bought her love in return, not with money, but with hours of my life spent roaming the trails, and the tracks, and with all the times I got lost in a City that I know like the back of my hand, and with all the times I loved underneath those rain clouds, and smiled at a bus stop, or let my arms get slapped with wind on a long car drive while blaring billy joel in the back seat of my mother’s minivan.
I earned her love.
and the problem with moving away is that you leave different parts of your heart in different cities, which never allows you to fully feel at home ever again.
Yet the price is worth paying a million times over.
But what I know today is that I left
my untamed spirit,
my wild abandon,
my insatiable hunger for color,
the smell of rain and lavender,
the jumps to the trees
the mowed grass
the smashed cherries on the ground
the feeling of being small and big all at the same time
the finite and massive details that I captured with my blue eyes
in a city that flies with her own wings
and will forever be my start
P.S Suck it Seattle
There they sit
At the edge of the table
Worn and heavy
Resting in fables
Tales of adventure
Of sweet smelling summer
And self-discovery roads
Planted in autumns comer
Roads connecting
To everything and everyone
That’s touched my life
And left the sun
Of star seeking nights
That stain that back of eyes
Of heart clenching moments
Lost in music, so high
These keys to life
Life’s twisted streets
Bring me back home
To dust my feet
Small diverse community in rose-shaped streets near downtown
In Salt Lake City
West
Pride
Rose Park - hugging the Wasatch Mountains