Sometimes life flayed you
And no- one bound
The wounds.

You kept them clean by gouging out the
Soft soap.

Only deep cleansing
That searches out the grit from every sliver
Of raw flesh
Can keep the gangrenous pus at bay.

That open wound
Heals from the deepest level
And gets to know each layer as it heals.

Beneath the skin all humans are alike
Are blood and sinew.

Deep sorrow can fashion
An internal telescope
That peers into the inner core
That we all share
Or else it plasters over
The pulsing wound
With platitudes.

And pain avoidance
Derails empathy.

My road runs parallel
To the main roadand the sea,
The railway line and the canal.
I am becalmed within the flow
In a four layered sandwich seasoned
By the sound of distant traffic and the train's roar.

The birdsong in my garden is the clearest note;
District
Unflustered by the further sounds.
The birds take centre stage and make their exits and entrances from the wings
Of my neighbours' gardens.

The drone of a holiday flight
The muted murmurings of pedestrian chat retreating,
The click of an iron gate
Complete the orchestra
And all is harmony.

Come in! Come in!
And share my shed.
Come here! Come near!
It's clean and clear
Of all the mess, the flying dust, the stinking mud
The fear, the angst and all that crud.

Some lingers on, some lurks unseen,
Some hides in corners in my shed,
But I will hunt it out. I dread
The thought that in  my mind
A little speck of fear I'll find;
A crevice with a little spot
Of worry , or I know not what.

This shed has special walls that stretch
To take in all within our reach
And all that lies beyond our sphere
To bring the world outside right here
To this small space where we are seated.
Before this blazing fire our heated
Chatter ranges; opinion changes.
Thoughts explored, new stances taken.
Some we keep and some we ditch.
We've learned to change our minds and switch
Our egos off ( a litte bit!) and own that we might be mistaken.

My shed ? you guessed. It's in  my head
In that same place I've learned to shed
The thoughts that keep me from my bed.
The thoughts made up of stress and dread.
So join me now! Come in! Come in!
There's room for all, the walls are plastic.
You've got one too! Now that's fantastic!

There is a luxurious lair of lies
Lovingly tended and layered with blanket truths;
A soft-bedding of sumptuous sycophancy
Tucked in too neatly with a pat on the bottom
delivered by hand.

Delusion drips from wet lips and silken tongues and
Lips smack with self-satisfaction and serial smugness.
Syrupy sentiments mist the eyes and blur the vision.
Charity is cold and cynical here with oily patronage to grease the wheels.
Fresh facts freeze outside the glowing house of harpy half - truths
as self- advancement holds the floor.
You need to wear a cloak to enter and hold it tight against you
You need to study the players
You need to act.

Oh mind! Where are you drifting?
Where will I follow? Where will you lead?
Oh mind! I watch as you are sifting
Through boggy marshland and shifting reed.

Oh mind! Stay on the right side:
Stay in the present. Don't wander through the past.
Oh mind! Don't fret about the future
Just stay with these joys and hold them fast.

Oh mind! I watch you as you wander
Down darkened alleys and grimy lanes.
Don't lose your way now. Look where you're heading.
Don't look behind you to grief's sharp pains.

Oh mind! You are my friend now
I've trained you well and given you peace.
Oh mind you always were there;
Always waiting for your release..

Oh mind! It's time to soar now
To loose the chains and reach so high.
It's time to spread now beyond the confines
Of time and custom. It's time to fly!

Drop it, mate. Just drop it! Drop the act.
The audience has gone, the theatre's closing.
Get back to the dressing room and change -
No! Don't change, just take the costume off
And hang it up behind the door.

Outside the theatre it's useless-
Prince Hal buying beans in the late shop,
Cleopatra tucking children into bed,
Madam Bovary putting out the bins.

You got the house and set the stage
Brought on the family and dressed them in their parts,
Planned out the series,
Laid the clues for story lines to come,
Dropped hints, blocked routes, built tension as
The plot evolved and let the story board grow legs.


It walks away and sometimes backwards, looking backwards
To the previous acts.
Draws different pictures from the plans
And looks back past the plans
To the producer and director
Asking why? And How?
And 'What's my motivation?'

Once upon a time there was a man who fed on other people's fears.
He soaked them up, he seasoned them with myth and stirred them up for years.
The stew he made was glutinous. It clung
To one's intestines and it stank like dung.
The gaseous mess oozed venomous stink
That fuddled minds and made it hard to think.

This fog of hatred , fear and false report
Made careful thought
Impossible for some,
But others battled on.
They had begun in youth a search for clarity and truth
And soldiered on through media hype and politician's babble,
Ignorance and greed ( the fodder of the rabble and the man it loved; the man who spoke for it,
The man who made it fine to hate).
He promised all a blissful state where each would live and call his own
A paradise that he could have alone
For who would share it?
Who could share?

fold your arms
And purse your lips
Bow your back
To droop your ****.
Sidle eyes and make them slits.

Now tilt your head
And raise each lid
Slowly now
Do as I bid.
Raise your eyebrows
Sigh and frown
Look the creature up and down.

Fold your arms and make a barrier
This is working - she's a worrier.
How's it feel to make her cower?
How's it feeling - all that power?

Did you rise up in your chair?
Is all you want before you there?
Slam the desk, now point the finger
Hurry up. No time to linger.
You've got her now
Make her squirm
Show her what she's got to learn.

Lean back again
The lesson's over.You've made your point,
She's learned to cower.
Know your place and stay in role
Wait for this to take its toll.

In the still spaces between thoughts
Joy seeps in.

******* tastes foul in whatever sauce you serve it.
If you crave fawning flattery - you deserve it.
Oh no you don't! That line just worked to serve a rhyme;
A lie to fit my needs like oily flattery's slime.

Such falsehoods bury, smother, squeeze us into shapes
Of someone else's making; taking who we are
And shaping us in more convenient lines
To correspond with other people's ends;
Or try to mould us into current marketing trends.

There is a spot wherein I sit
A spot of light from high above
A spot of love.

It is a place that's everywhere
Within, without
A place to share.

There is a place where I can go
That's anywhere for me and so
I make it mine.

But it is there for everyone
Is now, was then, will be.
A place that's home for me.

A place where I can know myself
And know that I am part of all:
Of them of you, of those to come
And those who went before.

Heart
A heat,
The hearth, the earth.
The beat, the throb, the pulse, the purring engine
Deep within.
The depth, the soul, the core, the strength, the sinew.
The link, the chain, the tie,
The common thread.

Buried deep and barnacled with age or pain , but pulsating still.
Or worn upon the sleeve and open to the elements.
A warm heart giving
Heat, glowing for all
To  share its glow
And swelling in the reflected light of others' glimmer.

A cold heart
Buried deep
Among layers of
Preconceptions, pride
And fear
And shivering in solitude;
Exhausted by its tremors.

A broken heart
Bruised and tender, tending itself
And fending off invaders;
Encased in plaster while the fracture heals
And beating
With a gentler rhythm while the healing
Radiates.

A common core
An essence
That recognises itself in others;
A link
A shared experience
A common aim.

She wore a coat of paint and thin blue line around each eye
A doll's eye
A toy for someone else's game.
Painted lids to hide her shame.
Oh what a shame!
A 'pretty woman'.
Soft mousey curls
Straight now  and brittle as her voice
And yellowed , like her finger nails,
Painted and gnawed.
Sallow pitted skin
And thin - so thin!
Cheap flimsy dress
Her hair's a mess
Her smile too ready and
Her voice too hard,too gravelly and shrill.
A cloud has covered all she is
And taken all the shine, has chilled and numbed
Our Sharon.

On the pavement, on the street in Las Americas
She offers cards to pensioners who never win
Who talk to her because she's thin
And someone's girl.

The glass was full; a heady mix of labour, love and rearing
He drank from it he sailed the ship and knew where it was heading.
The potent brew kept spirits high and eyes upon the horizon
With swelling seas, a threatening sky and no-one to rely on.
The storms came in and shook his faith, but he ploughed on regardless
Mislaid the way, lost sail, made new and hoped that he could harness
A kindly wind, a clearer sky, and strength within to reach the shore
To give that future strength and courage he'd been hoping for.

Put down the sails and drain the glass. that journey's at its end.
This new one takes a different path: that crystal glass needs cleaning.
In harbour now: no roles to play. You've time to spend
On seeing clear, through spotless glass and searching for some meaning.