She was as crazy as a Norse horse
with a wild bleached mane and madeyes,
always willin to do anythin for ya
with a ''come on then''
her moods would drive you insane,
wrenching compassion and anger from your heart in equal parts,
spewing venom when talking of her ma,
it would hurt to listen,  yet it was easy to see this sulphuric froth
as just rage being rage.
In her kitchen she concocted over spilling potions
banana and coconut breads, her time was your time,
her table always spread, with baskets and jars,
Valerian by the bottle she sculled to help sleep,
baskets with moss and golf *****, Scottish tat in a heap
and beliefs, worn and threadbare like the carpets
in her tiny,  orange doored flat
with a gerbil called ***** and a hamster called pat,
and dear wee Jamie who spouted that Halloween mantra ''crap bat''
we filled and hung balloons with sweets and let the kids skewer
the hell out of them, it rained chocolate in the corridor for weeks,
and that is what I loved about her madness,
is that it dived and it did, and it speaked

when I see newly

vacum packed, black
plastic haystacks

two things
come to mind

that they look
like fair smoked

round Gubbeen
cheese's and would Monet

have ever painted them?

Absentmindedly
I foreplay with nature
and finger the air, contemplate
that even the bananas
appear to be spooning
while two oranges,
nestle in their woven
straw pod,for heavens sake!
even the pink pan and brush set
are celebrating their design
of fitting, matching,belonging,
together,and those ivory bowls
see, how one is carried,
the other sheltered,
and dont get me started
on the shoes, the boots
the pairs,oh my god
the pairs...

I had the good fortune
to visit it twice,
the first time
it was like the Marie Celeste,
dark with blue doors
and old coffee dregs shining on the base
of deserted mugs,
a full perfume bottle of Narcissus
glowed on a mildewed window,
for shame I thought , sketches,
letters, catalogues
all congealed together
in sodden shop boxes

I wasn't supposed to be there

then again in a dream,
all the walls were dark pink
and shelves were filled with treasure
trinkets for sale, I stopped at a pair
of silver earrings
and crystaline figures
that danced in unison
gold and black drawings
hung the walls of a bedroom
with roses for a carpet
a melancholy light
stilled the air, I wondered
how in god's name
did he fit there,
that tiny bed

I paused here,
others came in.

showering love in your direction
is like throwing seeds at the wind

never resting, never taking root
no flowering heads ever to greet me.

Let's
get up earlier
witness more mornings like these
before breakfast

collect as many symphonies in our hearts
as we can, be like the sun
touching surfaces

lets catch glimpses of tiny fat birds
sunbathing on high wires,
be like cars sheathed
in crusted ice,
waiting to be born into tones
of different colors
by the warmth of the coming day

let's awaken to the crunch
of a silent frost of a morning

and sing.

my life is like this, she said


and she tore a sheet of paper


and threw the pieces in the air.