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Here, on
the boundaries of the mind

there was a tear
in the space/time

continuum thingy
coming apart at the seams.

The Universe was looking
a wee bit precarious.

But I'd been watching
Blue Peter for years

and fixed it with
some sticky-back plastic

and some Wrigley's
Spearmint chewing gum

and 500 bottle tops
I had saved up

in case of an emergency
such as this.

The Fairy Liquid Bottle
was still half full.

Undoubtedly questions
will be asked but

I think it will last
until God or the Great Whatever

gets its finger out
and fixes it.

Meanwhile here I am
holding the universe together.

Houston singing on the radio
"You'are all the man I need!"

scratching at the silence
the pen's nib spreads the word
the empty page now overcrowded

the clink of an inkwell
the pen drinks its fill
word chases word

the pen drunk with words
blots the page
the poet curses

now the pen stops
to think. . .
before creating the next word

the candle fearlessly
standing up to the darkness
at last the last full stop

his head
rests upon his words
the candle loses its fight

in the morning
his words line up
for his inspection

his words
once only ink
dance in his mouth

he repeats them
to the walls...the furniture
anything that will listen

his thought
once invisible even to himself
now parades across the page

outside the world is
waking up
the dawn yawns

". . .these are my beloved words
in whom I am well pleased. . ."
his face smiles back from the mirror

As one can see I was born into the world of pen and inkwell with a fountain pen being the newest technology and the ownership of one proved that one had now attained a civilisation worthy of a poet.

She smiles in Russian.
"What's your name?" I ask her.
"Is Tina!" she laughs.

"No not..Tina!"
"Istina!. . .it means...the Truth."

she winks
slinks as if she's
in inverted commas

her eyes the colour
of an ocean
now green now blue

hidden inside
her smile
(the kiss )

she disappears 'round the
corner leaving in the air
a perfect perfume replica of her

the grand piano
sits in its silence
dreaming of music
(for Miss Kiss Kiss)

as we journey
drift from drift-
-wood to drift-wood

She asks me:

“Where do waves come from? ”

“Who is sky? ”
“How is green?
“Why is water? ”

I do my best(I
a mere father) to answer

but she is already
listening to a shell

tell of the vast sea
inside her.

I entered
the house
through the back wall

easier than
messing around
with locks and keys

careful not to
get stuck
halfway through

the cat
on the mat

with a scrap
of sunlight
trapped beneath a paw

"Help!" yelped
the sunlight
fading away with fright

and so
with a snap
of my fingers

the cat sat
in mid-air
still asleep

allowing me
to dust

and time
for the sunlight
to make good its escape

another snap
of my fingers
and the dog

was walking
in mid-

so much easier
than taking him
for a walk in the park

another snap
and the kettle
boiled itself

made the tea
even if only
a bit strongly

the dishes were busy
washing themselves
stacking themselves away

the self-cleaning clothes
were asleep in the wardrobe
waiting for the next role

and wondering who
they would have to be
in the days to come

it was now I
wished I
had paid more

in Magic 101
in Magic 103

as I had run out of
finger clicks and
emergency spells

this time I left
by the back door
as I couldn't

face another
wall to save
my life

I left
the cat and dog

up in the air
as I hadn't enough magic
to put them in their place

being a trainee wizard
isn't all
it's cracked up to be

"I feel claustrophobic
within my own skin
( I...want ). . .out!"

"I don't have a relationship
with reality
the world is like TV to me!"

"I'm locked out
of the life
I'm living!"

"I can't feel
the me
I am!"

"It's like I'm a TV programme
I have to watch again &. ..
I don't even like it!"

"I've forgotten
how to feel
nothing is real!"

"Even reality
seems fake to me
like it's all make believe!"


Working with people in mental health I would soak up their voices by osmosis so that years later the voices would percolate through the time they were haunted by voices in their heads and now their voices haunt me. This was a very English gentle man who when the "voices came" would revert back to his German background and speak in fluent German to his German mother who controlled every aspect of his life with a fierce iron grip.

Someone or other
lived & died here.

Some other someone
wrote their most

famous work

Every so often
a blue plaque informs us

as we journey
through town

(rain falling down)    

of Blah Blah
who blah’d & blah’d here

or was
blah’d there

... who cares?

In my mind
I ***** invisible
blue plaques

to commemorate

Here: we kissed
(did we not?)    
...a mere minute ago.

Here: we turned
& laughed

on the corner of this everyday

Here: we laughed
& hugged

on a pedestrian crossing

(a pedestrian

whistling at our

a taxi honking
at our armour.

All over London
our invisible
blue plaques



we once
passed this way

so deeply
in love.

the goldfish ponders
the world the other side of the glass
retires to its castle

it watches the coming
& goings of us
unable to explain our existence

"...I see men as trees walking. . ."
the vicar reads
his thought visible to the fishes

"...but what does it mean?"
one fish asks the other
"...and what are - trees?"

the vicar dies
in his sleep
words still floating about in his head

the fish unable to explain
his stillness....loudly
the clock talks in tick tocks

the God hand
that feeds them...does not

hungry for answers
they cease
to believe


& again

it all goes belly up
the dead vicar & his dead fish
frightening the home help

only the plastic Christ
nailed to the wall
hears her scream

ahhh little one
the only wrong
you ever done

dying before
you were born
never to know

the blue of a sky
the whisper of a sea
the laughter of one who loves you

I tell you of these things
create a world
for you in words

since it is
all the world
that I can give you

forgive my tears
this is not the way
to greet you


This grief...every so often I have to speak of her...speak to her...not let her fade away into a us she was our child...our promise to be. She was our love and our love still holds her. She is part of the warp and weft of us.
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