Asia was a word that came one Summer as a child
While looking at a huge map of the World spread out in all these amazing colours
And then
Then someone said ...someone said the word Asia... Asia
Was like an enchantment, a magic spell...Asia !

And there was a book of flags
Again so many wonderful colours  
And all these magical sounding names
Arabia, Morocco, Syria, Egypt.....
You'd go off to sleep with lovely turquoise blues and crescent moons dancing around in your head
And the smell of the lilacs in the vase in the window
The world it was so magical, it was so enchanting.

And in our books there were stories of Japan and Genghis Khan... of the Picts in Scotland... and the Romans
And the Great Wall of China...

                        2

Asia was a girl that came smiling one Summer long ago
Out of a book with pictures
A Persian princess, she came in a caravan from the East
Smiling and giggling to herself
Like a mischievous little kitten
In the mirror of her face I saw my own
"My world is fun", she seemed to be saying, "and I want you to come, come and be my Prince, my Prince Charming"
She seemed to be reaching out to me as if for to dance
And with her lovely rosy lips that wanted to kiss mine.

                              3

Asia was a light wind that blew through empty Summer rooms
With the sunbeams coming in through the white lace curtains
And a lonely kid just wandering there
A small boy perplexed.... not knowing
In a world that said it knew
Told to be quiet, that you were small...that you were stupid
Struggling between the beauty and the ugliness of it all.

My first cigarette was at twelve years old,
under the climbing frame,
after my turn on the monkey bars.

My mate told me not to do it-
he tried to take it off me but
was too late.
I’ve been trying to quit ever since.
Soon after, that little climber
discovered cider, yearned
for something wider and
ended up with alcohol poisoning by
the end of the year.

My first stand-up gig was Lee Mack.
I was 13.
I sat right at the back on the balcony and revelled in the
happy faces below me.
Ending with a slow motion impression of Eric Morecambe,
I could’ve sworn it was the fastest hour of my life.
I can’t believe I was
So naïve.

When I sat my first exam at sixteen,
an hour seemed a minute.
Crash forward to A-levels and I
was being examined in a
therapist’s office-
how the tables had turned.
Ticking boxes to be assessed and there’s no way I can
pass this test because a
high score can only mean
very bad things.

How can life be so virile, yet so lacking and sterile?

I was told I’d find myself at uni
But I’ve ended up losing myself at twenty.

The little girl in me feels neglected.

I guess, til now, I never truly reflected
Never really understood
How parents like you didn’t do all that you could
To ensure I felt safe and secure
To keep my innocence pure.

You allowed me to witness
All of your recklessness.
I find it awfully selfish
That you claim to have been helpless.

I needed you at your best
You gave me 50% and gave everyone else the rest.

Now I’m grown and I have to pick up
The shattered pieces of my heart
And tear my toxic thoughts and habits apart.

While I’m healing and in recovery,
I make sure to show much love to the little girl in me.

They say it's
the sport of kings.
I have royal
memories of being
at Santa Anita and
Hollywood Park with
my dad and brother.
As kids, we watched
some of the best horses
and jockeys in the world.
The jocks were our
tiny heroes, gladiators
in silks riding tremendous
beasts.

Dad taught us
how to bet and study
the horses.
He called it
doping the form.
I liked the show bet.
I still cashed the ticket, as
long as the horse didn't
do worse than third.
My heart still gallops when
I think of those Southern
California afternoons.

Dad used to say, don't ever
gamble what you can't
afford to lose.
I live with my brother
now in Iowa.
Dad is long gone, and so is
the shoe, our favorite ****.
There are new jockeys on
the scene.  New horses.

We drove to Des Moines, to do
some off-track betting on
the Kentucky Derby.
The pageantry is decadent.
The hats and mint juleps.
Someone sings a beautiful
version of, My Old Kentucky Home.
It was truly a sublime scene.

Now, we have to
figure out how
we are going to pay
the rent.

Simplicity
Had like a child with no forethought
Quiet, angel, thinking joy implicitly...
Is a babes dream, even where love is not?

Not the taming wind?
Severity, in the name of solemn justness?
Can a vice, be a lover's stare, to lend
The our of presence; of mind, kindred, and bless

What has my lip, for another sigh?
Of peace, the still remaining share
Of life; so many, so many mind...
Even when peace is a step forward, sensation cares

Callousness, are we a fate, in silences fury?
Of prayer; notice the shade we compel
To look one more time, a sated cause to carry
Away the copious day, that is for more than another haste of hell

Here to say, stay
Outward limits we will know
With a new solemnity, with an ear for any
Who would save me, from the mind I blow...?

A photo: I'm six,

in the garden I bury --


a box with secrets.

My childhood is now

a story, told with a smile --


at dinner parties.