Water breaks. Babe emerges head first into crowd of angry onlookers, who are upset to be reminded (in this tailored town of latte cafes and jewelry shops, of Neiman Marcus, ballet schools and boutiques, a pristine habitat of gazelles in print leggings and matrons carefully coiffed) that their lives began wet-headed, ***** and helpless, expelled from ****** orifices of screaming women.  Forced to view this reminder from sidewalks, Subarus and minivans, they register complaints.

Perhaps in the future there will be no wet babies nor screaming mothers. Fetuses will be grown in carefully calibrated aquariums. The female experience muted and rendered obsolete. A brave new world in which "woman" is no more than a pose adopted.

Only a dying world rejects the blood and screams of life. Over Kubrick's horizon perhaps a new baby will be born, rising from an unexpected place, as the decayed earth is swallowed by an exploding sun
This piece of art was controversial because people thought it was too intrusive, according to what I've been told
Sometimes I am the poet of cowardly men
I advocate staying on the Bus
Don't get off because you think you can
Sit back and be one us

Every one of those stops is Life-changing
You're giving up a comfortable seat
From here things go by in simple stages
Life on the Bus is ordered and neat

The bus stops of life are out there
Of course, waiting for you to be tempted
It looks as though it's all sunny and smiley
But Life is a sidewalk of the unexpected

You would have to make all the decisions
Which way to turn? Where to go next?
On board with us there are no random revisions
No sudden conversations out of context

Safe, you're on the bus, you are One of Us
Ticket in hand for the Terminus
We watch Life go by with a predestined eye
We're a band of like minded brothers

We are the men who like orderly queues
We don't take risks, we carry umbrellas,
Wearing gloves, we know when enough is enough
We have never, but never, been jealous

I champion them the Cowardly Men
Who take the back roads to get anywhere
We are at peace in our comfortable seats
Playing a never ending game of Solitaire
In the drawing of a self portrait
There are choices to be made,
Surprises that lie in wait -
Which Me will show his face today?

The Cynic, the Lover, the Clown,
The textures of Shadow and Pain,
The Father, the Loser, the Frown,
The calligraphy of Peace regained?

Should i try and aim for a likeness,
Improvise something dramatic,
Make a statement, Bold and Revealing,
Or go all out for the Laconic?

But who is the Writer and what is Written?
Who is the Painter and what is his mission?
On the canvas or on the page
Do I want a mirror and not a portrait?

Who knows? In poetry or in a sketch
The aim must be for something essential -
But never The Truth, no no no, for that
We'd all need a much sharper pencil !
I wanted my words to hit home
I wanted my Poetry to be bigger
To cut meanings of life to the bone
And, you know, be some kind of trigger

I wanted my words to have a life
To set up house inside people's minds
To be loud and proud and erudite
To be tuned into at difficult times

So I bought a 40 inch monitor
To get my head into the groove
I typed them as colourful metaphor
In the wackiest fonts I could use

It didn't work I must confess
On the page they still didn't get noticed
So I knew I had to invest
If my words were going to get quoted

Then one night in the cinema all was revealed
And now my poems get a proper outing
I project them up on an 80 foot screen
And now my Poetry is SHOUTING!!!!
Counting down the days
Til the new poem arrives
It's nearly ready for the page
But back there behind the eyes
Things are still changing
Shapes are being formed
Some rhymes rearranging
Some ideas being scorned

Is it a single or multiple birth?
I've tried counting the beats
The slow heart beats, alert
To clues in its embryonic sleep
But Poetry is notorious
When hiding its nature
And Poets impetuous
In the application of nurture

Nothing for it but to wait
Work on things more concrete?
Nothing for it but to state
I will love it, upbeat or offbeat
I will live with its moods
Put up with its tantrums
We may like to choose
But we Poets take what comes


Of course every poem is precious
Though this one sadly is not a prodigy
It is trying hard to impress but
Sadly it won't make the Anthology
The proverbial creator I maintain a neutrality
A post natal poet I remain unbowed
Though It does have uniqueness and originality
So I suppose I can be parentally proud
I'm at a time of life when there are little insights
Getting older you see things from a certain place
I don't mean all that philosophical stuff
Just from where your eyes are in the middle of your face

There are times Life is all about Height and such
The things you can and cannot do
Can you get things from the very top shelf?
Is it hard getting down to tie your shoes?

Changing a light bulb at the top of the stairs
Getting a pair of trousers to fit
Looking up to even the grandchildren now
But still bumping your head on cupboards a bit

Height is one of the ways people divide us
Often to discriminate or categorize
There's all that clich├ęd list of stuff
Talking around seeing each other Eye to Eye

Does it matter I stopped at five eleven and a half
And never made six foot tall?
I found out a long time ago that when making love
Height doesn't seem to matter at all

And being a Poet it matters less
There is no height advantage using lofty language
There's a million ways no matter how incorrect
Just using simple rhyme to say how it is!
... always wanted to half rhyme language with is!
I fell in love from afar not for me but for you
It seemed right, the best thing to do
And, we've gone on being the same closeness apart
To the beating rhythm of this yellow heart

"Everyone! Get yourselves a Yellow Heart
That burns like tallow in the cage of the dark."

It's been a metaphor for the Love between us
It's been my light when I've needed purpose
I've used it to sign off on screens filled with words
Like a silent full stop needing to be heard

"Everyone! Get yourselves a Yellow Heart
Carry it inside you like a work of art."

This yellow heart is an iconic thing
Kind of contradictory but still very living
Others may see it wanting it to be red but it's not
It won't be unpicked like some simple plot

"Everyone! Get yourselves a Yellow Heart
Golden like fire but joy like a spark"

It's a yellow heart for a very good reason
It represents what I happen to believe in
It's not about blood, and its not about passion
It's not a meme, or emoji, or a flake of fashion

It's just a note in a tune, a beat of the drum
A piece of the future to be relied upon
A measure of the nearness I set out to maintain
No matter how far life steered me away

"Everyone! Get yourselves a Yellow Heart
For any journey it's a good place to start."

I'll keep being in love. for me not for you
It seems still the best thing to do
And, we'll go on I guess being the same closeness apart
To the beating rhythm of this yellow heart.
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