Ripe Fruit, poem

ripe fruit

spring rains, summer sun
bundled energy, capsuled vitamins
stored in red green and gold packaging
for easy handling and fresh consumption
customer warning : may contain nuts and seeds

I am from, poem

My response to this blog post. (Didn't find the template till too late.)

http://tanyamarlow.com/i-am-from-she-loves-sychroblog/ 



I am from ...


I am from The North, though half way up.
I am from East Coast, though in the West.
I am from a hill though a plains dweller.
I am from a city though it's more county.

I am from pretty blond Anglo Saxon meets handsome dark Celt.
I am from Mum : home baker, listener, creative, intellectual, takes time for us, despite having to leave the house key in the outside toilet for us after school.
I am from Dad : school failure but sports champion to social pioneer and PhD.

I am from traditional standards yet modern thinking.
I am from two languages although both are English.
I am from able yet disabled, a hearing in the world of the deaf.

I am from native born to foreigner and become as a stranger in my own land.
I am from trees all round to people in every direction.
I am from comfortably off to living among the uncomfortable.
I am from waste-not-want-not to living among huge-telly-ers.

I am from fit, active, aware, lend-a-hand, fiercely independent, never-take-anything-stronger-than-an-aspirin but I am sick, dependent on pills, reliant on carers, living off the state.
I am become a walker who can't walk, a musician who can't play, a missionary who can't go out, a worker who can't work, a carer who can't help.
But I can love and care, can imagine and be curious, can hope and dream, can laugh and cry.

I am wholeheartedly alive and in the now.
I am not my past, even though my past is in me.
I am not my parents, even though my parents are in me .
I am not my illness, even though my illness is in me.
I am here.
I am now.
There is no back, only forward.