personal training

his shadow is cast long by the early morning sun
already sweating though the day has just begun
step after step his tired feet pound the ground
a lone weekend warrior, with his boot camp all around

she wears her oldest clothes and yet she beams a smile
she's glad that she's back and has kept it up a while
aware the hardest part was just getting through that door
a single dancer, moves with her class across the floor

they shake off sleep and the morning chill
time slowly awakening and honing their skill
they pass to one another with a comfort borne of years
two teams of individuals, in a field full of peers

the air rushes from his lungs as he heaves at the weight
he repeats one more time though his need to rest is great
all around him there are others who sweat, moan and groan,
sharing an addiction, and yet each a junkie on his own.

their battle is a mental one, the results physical
but to call them vain or proud would just be cynical
though they fight in isolation, so too they alone achieve their goal
sound of body sound of mind and at peace with their soul.

Written Jan 2009, while running along the beach, started wondering about the individual nature of exercise, but how the individualism is mental and not necessarily physical.

The CrackBerry

In those moments where I find myself standing alone,
It only takes seconds to pull out my phone
I’m not checking the time, or a text from a mate
I’m just trying to look cool while I sit here and wait

I need something to do with my hands and my eyes,
Is she looking at me, what about those guys?
Where are my friends, the bus or the train?
On my own only my cell keeps me sane

Before the phone there was another distraction
A way to make sure there was never inaction
Constantly fidgeting because I’m too important to wait
There’s a high-powered meeting for which I’m obviously late.

Why do I feel this constant need to impress?
They’ll never see me again and I couldn’t care less
I’m only the centre of my own universe
She’s not interested in me, her head’s in her purse.

But what makes me so afraid of just standing and being
No matter who is looking, nobody is seeing
These moments alone are a misused gift
The chance to stop, reflect and let the mind drift.

So when the urge next strikes to stare into that screen
Instead I’ll think about how good my life has been
So limited is my stay on this earth
Its time to treasure these moments alone for all that they’re worth.

Written Dec 2008, to all the insecure people who fidgit while waiting alone in public (of which I am definitely one)

Trendy and Alone

As I sit surrounded
in a world that's left me behind,
I wonder if they are looking,
and if they are, just what they'll find.

I've never seen myself
through the eyes of another man,
never even seen a photo,
from which I haven't turned and ran.

Is this the new norm
for this chic world of ours,
to somehow feel alone,
in even the trendiest of bars?

People are like snowflakes
all of us unique,
so why is it only,
about others that we speak?

Why is there no longer time
to wander through one's soul,
and why only under drink,
is it possible to lose control?

If there is no point
to the superficial madness,
why does fitting in,
still fill the heart with gladness?

I have lived, and seen, and done
what most are yet to try,
and yet often feel,
that this world will pass me by.

I also have a dream
for a world not unlike this,
but in which people appreciate,
the simple things they miss.

I guess we'll never know
at least not for sure,
whether conformity is a disease,
rather than a cure.

And so we will leave it
to ponder another day,
time for me to join them,
and drink these thoughts away...

A poem I uncovered from years ago (possibly written in 2006), but oddly still relevant.