She came in, guns loaded, with bullets of red lipstick
Cigarette smoke rings like vows
Her heels were high but her head was held higher
As everyone else bowed.
Her nails were polished, she was too
Her teeth were pearly and white
Her legs were long and her arms were strong
And her hands were clenched in fists, tight.
She stomped on crowds of angry men
That told her girls ain't tough
Her high heels pierced the skin beneath her feet
As she told 'em enough was enough
She came in, guns blazing, with bullets of red lipstick
While them boys had shields and swords
The world put her down for her feminine body
So she took her just rewards.

I stared hard at
the night.
Half drunk in
a public park
that was still so
alive with
happy memories.

As a boy I
dreamed of
becoming nothing.
Now all I long
to do is this.
The words are all so
dear to me.
They've kept me warm
as I laid in cold
jail cells and
cold hide a ways

I promised myself
to free myself of the stress
of desire and need.
And to in gulf
all of what is
left of me into
this.

Only in the dark
can one truly
see the shadow
of madness
that's always one
more drink
or one more failure
behind it all..

I used all of
whats hidden in
the night as a mirror
to the world.
Scattered images and
the sound of the
night bird.
Traces of all
that lays stark
still in the night.

I warmed myself with
the last of the bottle.
I felt the presence
of all that is left
of the wild and
untamed in the city.
The Elder trees
stood stone silent
in all of their
greatness.
A testament to
the strength
and will of nature.

I whispered thanks
to the sun even
though I
felt better without its
presence.

The sea crashed
and sounded
its rage against
the edge of the world.

And I sat drunk
and alone in a
public park without
any of the clueless
public anywhere
near.

Could you love me at once?
The way you do in my dreams,
Lying on the viridescent growing tendrils of grass
The beat of your heart being my lullaby
Your fingers strumming my side
as I took a deep breath from the nook of your neck
The redolence of earth dimmed as your cologne
marked me as yours.
Your fingers slide to my cheek,
caressing the skin dotted with freckles,
connecting the pattern they made.
My content sigh
tickled your ear, making you laugh.
A gust of wind blows my hair all over your face,
the fingers leave my cheek and settle in my hair.
Playing with the ebony strands
shuffling them, I stare into your umber eyes
and your lips descend to mine
claiming me gently.
Could you love me like that in reality?

“Stand up and show every one how tall you are”, that is what Grandma would

always say. She showed us off and I took a secret pride in parading around on

display for whichever stranger had wandered into her room on that particular

visiting day. Grandma noticed the finer details, the things that we sometimes

took for granted as a healthy and growing family. Visiting her would bring us

back to these basic observations; she always made Grandmotherly comments

on how much we had grown, how we had improved in our various instruments,

increased by five shoe sizes, grown our hair and moved onto the next stages in

school and life.

Grandma lived a long and interesting life. As a young woman she was moulded

by the war before living through a lifetime of change and revolution, a lifetime

in which Granddad and her raised four children. It would be impossible to sum

her up in this short speech. Nevertheless, one thing springs to mind when I think

of her – that she was a strong woman. Over the past two years I have come to

fully appreciate the relationship that we had with her, and the security that her

constant presence in our lives gave us. How could my mind ever erase those

wonderful afternoons when Grandma would present us with an assortment of

stale, out of code sweets in recycled shortbread tins and empty Clover tubs? I

don’t think that my digestive system has recovered yet. Nor could I ever forget

the numerous afternoons spent running wildly through the orchard in Grandma

and Granddad’s back garden, chasing the flurries of butterflies that inhabited

the rose bush every year while Granddad lovingly looked on, only intervening

to rescue the poor insects when we accidentally grasped their patterned wings

too tightly. I can see Grandma perched on the bench by the conservatory, and

suddenly my mind overflows with memories from the bungalow that we all

know so well. The smell of Grandma’s freshly baked Eve’s pudding is not one I

often stumble upon in Bangkok but I can smell it now, and of course I remember

sitting around the dining room table eating greasy fish and chips from the local

chippy. I remember the room off the kitchen where we would lose ourselves in

all of the toys and games, cast a sceptical eye over the ancient television before

moving on to study the shelf of family photographs where I first learnt about all

of the other generations that make up our family.

This is what today is about; it is about surrounding Grandma with the generation

that will live on. One generation ends but another generation continues on in

its place. This morning is about seizing on the fragments of Grandma’s life that

we all share, the memories that we remember together as a family. Death can

be an uncomfortable subject, especially when we feel we have to dwell on the

person’s absence, on the fact that this person has gone and that we can no longer

feel, touch or smell them. But I believe that we should celebrate the life that our

Grandma had.

We miss her, and we love her.

River gift, flowing upstream and down
Cresting with the bumpy waters tow,
Slick as an eel, you move and fro to play,
Warm in the gleaming sun that rides
With you each day,

                              you have shone, great
Knowledge of salmon, found the pearl
In the dark mussel, bend as even light
Must, piercing the waters of the under-
World, lording the fey, riparian borders,
Like a God.