In dedication to my father.

Once there was a little spoon,
Who was so shiny, bright and new!
He had the sheen and glimmer that all good spoons do.

He learnt his lessons while he was young,
He never really thought it was fun,
Learning how to measure, stir and serve food.

So one late winter morning,
He heard the bed beckon, calling,
"Little spoon up on the table, how do you do?"

The spoon cried out "I'm bored!"
And slowly started shifting forward.
He'd found that rebel streak which was due.

The bed, menacing with his great lore,
Lay out far but still the nearest shore.
The colour, the pattern always in view.

The little spoon thought back to things his father said,
"All is well, and fair, but the bed!"
Yet the little spoon had thought it through.

He crept right up until the edge, and peered down, remembering his pledge.
"Always and forever, will I be a loyal, faithful spoon, through and through."

The thoughts plagued him as he began to hop,
But once he lept he had but one lonely thought.
"But I shall be the only spoon of the bed, what ever shall I do?"

But once he landed, although with regret,
He knew that he had decided his fate.
Forever to be held, forced between blankets, two.

He gave a shriek in despair,
And remembered his life so fair,
He cried, and sobbed, till the sheets looked like dew.

Then he heard a faint call,
"Little Spoon, Little Spoon, where'd you fall?"
His heart jumped and squealed and his spirit grew.

He knew the voice that was calling out,
And suddenly he was filled with doubt.
"I left my father" he thought, and back he drew.

But there, standing on a great crest,
Stood his father, bearing his chest.
The Little Spoon saw him, and felt renewed.

His father grabbed him and held him close,
"I've been searching for you, coast to coast"
The Little Spoon looked up at him confused.

His father held him tight and whispered in his ear,
"You never have anything to fear"
The Little Spoon just said "I love you".

For his father had saved him,
Fought warriors, and slayed dragons,
Just as the best dads do.

The Best Friend Paradox

As I lay through sleepless nights,
There is but one things that plagues my thoughts,
To think of you, wherever you may be,
Lying here, right next to me.

To imagine those lines and curves and colours,
And endless gazes at each other,
With glowing eyes and dark brown hair,
And a look that destroys my despair.

Your softened yet so sultry voice,
Your touch that leaves me with just rejoice,
A broken heart beneath layers of beauty,
If only you could see what I see.

Although your soul lies far from home,
Your wing's are clipped, your dreams dethroned,
Your complete and utter sacrifice,
To keep the peace, and let others rise.

I remember when we were young,
And my first love you had become,
So shy, so insecure, so very scared to lose you,
I didn't know that there was nothing I could do.

I held onto the dream of you for many and many a-summer,
But Decembers past and the dream grew dimmer,
When at last you had found your fix,
I knew my love had been replaced.

Although I could never bare to lose you,
You are the cause of my love-heart voodoo,
For once cupid's sharp arrow did strike,
And alas it has never done alike.

For you were my first true love,
My only, my white pure dove,
And though my heart to you is worthless,
My hearts desires will fight the surface.

The tears and weeps and cries will come,
When I stand beside you, when he has won.
And watch as you are taken from me forever,
Your best friend, and secretly the I-love-her.

A little poem I call...

Youth - R. Mould

If you ask me who I am,
I have but one word to say,
I would tell you were speaking,
To the youth of today.

I would tell you of my struggles,
And I would tell you of my strife,
I would tell you of those who weren't accepted,
And who took their own lives.

The words and tears would flow as one,
The emotions of the others of my kind,
The brunt of past, present and future,
And the reason we have been bind.

Tears would turn to anger,
As my story duly unfolds,
And the fables of so many stories,
That will be forever untold.

The stories of the average man,
Living in pure poverty,
This is not a man who's face you'll say,
You have seen on Disney.

Why is it then that when I'm asked,
So very few of my kin,
Are the ones given the burden,
To represent your sin.

Are we not one and the same,
Youth and sin?
Are we not forever plagued,
By man's greed that lies within.

Although now we are,
A facade of hope and life,
Deep within we know the truth,
That we are to be only greed's lustful wife.

Therefore I say,
Before you come and call upon the youth,
Remember yourselves,
Being the defiers of the truth.

Although we will try and push and fight,
To change the outcomes of your mis-doing,
But alas our attempts are in vain,
While you, your wallet are pursuing.

I Have Not Forsaken You!

This short, brief message is to say that I'm back. You may precede with your lives.

Drum-roll please...

I apologise profusely for the lack of posts lately, and I have a short and sweet reason as to why:

E - Excruciating
X - Xenophobic
A - Activities
M - Manufactured
S - So that all those trying, failing or passing, cease to blog.

Rowan's Chilled Vibes will be back after these commercial messages.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

We are now thoroughly into exams, and I find myself sitting the day before my first Varsity accounting paper, on the web. Listening to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's resplendent "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik". And it struck me. The famous composer hit it right on the nose all those years ago. We've made music so commercial it's sickening. We've polluted it with formulae and samples, so much so that nothing's original any more. Whenever you turn on the radio you think "Oh, that sounds like..." and precede to name at least one other artist already doing the same thing. But the same cannot be said for Mozart. When you listen to his music, it's pure emotion. Pure, raw emotion. Happy, sad, discontented, it matters not. It will be there. What emotion do you hear when you turn on your mainstream radio station? Unless there's an emotion called skanky, I doubt you will find any other emotion but desperation. Desperation. It seems that desperation is the root of the death of creativity. People are so desperate that they will do anything for their 3 minutes of fame. To hear their own voice playing over the airwaves thanks to some dirty lyrics and a torturous and repetitive "beat". And people say it's better than classical music. The ignorance. Personally I am an Indie/Alternative/Blues/Folk kinda guy, which is already leagues ahead of the utter crap polluting our ears from day to day. But even I can't deny that Mozart, in all his glory, captures human emotion better than any other of any other time. Even the 60's hero Bob Dylan with "The Times They Are A-Changing" or John Lennon's "Imagine" can't compare with the musical prowess. Of course I am committing contemporary musical blasphemy. Lennon and Dylan were beyond any of the last 100 years in the way that they affected and continue to affect generations of people, inspired by their works as musicians and activists. But when the Great Composers are brought into the equation, there are none that can compare. These masters of music were revolutionary for their time, but their music was popular because it was of high quality. Not because it can sell a certain number of records, or because it could've made them rich. It was because it was their lives. And their whole lives. And if we want to return to a place where people are respected because of the quality of their work, and not the profit it can make the record label fat cats, we need to take a good hard look at ourselves and really consider what we've done to our society. Or maybe, just maybe, all we really need, is A Little Night Music?

Friends. And Other Disappearing Acts.

Many will say that such is life. That when you reach Varsity some friends, who were so important to you, fade into the abyss. And, I guess, that's true. Many friends of mine have seemingly evaporated from my life faster than a glass of water on warm Sudanese day. But this begs the question; Are WE to blame? Perhaps the societal expectations of leaving school and going to university demands that we let go of, or try desperately to hold on to, once perfect friendships? I can easily name 10+ "friends" who have vacated their once prized spots since school ended and university began. But were they true "friends" to begin with? Or were they forced acquaintances that occurred due to circumstance? These are questions all first year students process. Often we're told that the friends we make while studying are friends forever and that you make most of your friends at university, in class and the like. This is when I begin to worry, for several reasons. First, I made no friends in any of my first semester classes. Only acquaintances that I was led to believe I would enjoy working with. I was wrong. But I find all these myths about university are there to force people into a specific social group I call the Wrongs. They are the ones who are forced into a friend group they probably have very little interest in due to necessity. Shame. I find it's a lot more productive to find one person, who you have a true friendly interest in, to be friends with. Cause she more than likely has other friends, who are equally as awesome as she is. True story. But even this has it's downside. This route will more than likely led you to comparing everyone you meet to said awesome person. Like your room mate. Who doesn't understand how to stop the slightly unfixed toilet from running. Or makes way too many attempts at poor conversation. Or insists on looking over your shoulder while you're navigating the hallowed pages of the web. You can see why this is an issue. But none the less, said awesome friend will end up letting you break her car. And allow you to subject her to endless hours of conversation about several other interests. Some of which are her friends. And allow you to become more awesome because of her awesomeness. For which, I am eternally grateful. So kids, the moral of the ever-so-enticing story? Lose friends. Cause you make better ones.