etymolo gicilato
pervy and scribe
justa lovidactil
otta wormsandside

ima scribble bluey
evological snide
scriptiburgis outcast
meatiyum pride

urdadidafactus sum
party thatribe

looping over cants
and the meaningless tide

looping over cants
and the meaningless tide

She has a place for me in her heart
I've heard the others say the same
Yet I still
May rest my head
Where she would stay
Whilst all the others are long gone
Heart is a heavy word
Reminiscent of stranger times
Comforting to say the least

A shackle and a briefcase
Share her room with me
One wonders if an invitation is real
When not in writing
Enticement is real
As real as flesh and blood
As real as her
Laced ******* with frills
Bluey green
A colour best described as teal
Or was it turquoise?
Though that never mattered
Not important to me
Not a single detail

I told her not to be afraid of living
She said fearlessness is for the dead
I enquired about the living dead
She laughed
We are the only monsters
That feed off of life
We are the only demons
That go bump in the night

She is a goddess
A truly **** mess
I would like to pay homage
To the warmth between her legs
But there are many a pilgrim
And it is well documented that
I hold nothing sacred
Though I do have her favor
For now
Yet my invitation remains unanswered
I never knew a briefcase
Could be so ominous

Though she'll never be my queen
She still ***** me like I'm king

I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....

I’d just come back
from Somerset
the night before
after staying

with an aunt and uncle
and was walking down
from the Square
when Enid

was walking up
from the baker shop
off of Rockingham street
I’ve missed you

she said
got back last night
I said
her left eye

was bluey green skin
how’s your old man?
I asked
still thumping

his daughter happily?
she looked away
up at the flats
behind us

I walked into
a lamppost
she said
wasn’t looking

where I was going
I noticed four
finger size bruises
on her arm

but said nothing
about them
yes I know lampposts
kind jump out at you

when you pass by
she looked at me
I ought not
talk to you

she said
why?
my father said
he doesn’t like you

and I mustn’t
talk to you
but you are
I said

besides
I don’t like
your old man either
so that make us

kind of balanced
I better go
she said
but stayed

looking at me
if I see your old man
on the stairs
of the flats

I’ll trip him up ok?
no no
she said
her mouth

staying open
I was kidding Enid
relax
she gripped

the white paper
bag of rolls
in her hand
and looked up

at the flats
missed you
she whispered
glad you’re

back again
and I watched her
walk up the *****
to the flats

the sky was dark grey
promising rain.

i saw the autumn leaves

f
  A
     L
        l

like downy rain. they crinkled and fell softly to the Green earth.

silently surrendering their souls to a

GRAVE
of brown ashes.

simple stories, they all possessed
tragic in nature...

the green leaf filled with ENvy, cried out, "why should the brown fall first, why not I!"

He lay alone to fall by his lonesome self, turning brown as he imagined, only to fall by himself like a lonely book on an aching self.

the orange one desired to be like the sun, she saw the dawn a glow with ORANGE delight, and wanted to fly up there in the bluey sky...

the red loved her soft home amongst the tallest branch

she out cried as he let her go, to fall among the ashes of others, her beauty was FINE,

only at a glance. It died as she drifted farther from her last chance...  

the one that mesmerized me the most, was the Brown one,

He D R I F T E D across the morning air

dreaming of a long awaited rest.
                                                   d
he had dangled and F            e
                                   l      A t
                                      o
                                             from,

west                      to                  east

         his journey was

L                      O              N            G.

but he found no wrong in his life,
only joy,

he cared no more of Vanity, or GREED, or the wonders of the Sky.

he had lived his life in these heights and he long to rest among the Greenly pastures of life.

God blew a soft wind and lifted him off course,

he now drifted to the greeny land and laid there, in pure

BLISS

he was not worried of the fall or his homely grave, he dreamed of the simple pleasures of this Bark filled home and drifted away

like an aerial nomad in gay nature.

Unlike the others, the brown leaf was blessed to die among the soft green ground,

a blessing for a humble spirit, cheerful at HearT.

as the other men walked along the thoroughfare,

i watched the autumn leaves f
                                               a
                                                l
                                                l
, like the spirit of the browny leaf,

i was humbled and very happy

And would that be it?
would that be how
it was with him?

And to think
it was as if
nothing was wrong

and that maybe
there would be
another day
to follow

and he'd
be there still
and rain would fall
and clear
and the sun
would come out
and shine
as it often did

and the people
on the ward
would be kinder
to each other
or not
as the case turned out

but I thought things
would be fine
and that he'd be
there all

sitting upright
and happy
and that I'd
bring him home

but it was not
that way at all
he sat there
kind of hunched over
catching his breath
puffed and bluey dark

and I asked
the questions
he said
and seemed so calm
and not uptight

as if it was
always like this
the hands and arms
the skin
the eyes looking
but not doing so

and looking back
there was lingering
unknown to us
over his shoulder maybe
pushing out
his breath
silently
that sinister
unseen
slippery death.

i am not dumb
i could read before i could walk but i don't remember when i talked, or what i said.
the words always tangle
they tangle in my ears and my mouth and they ooze down through my bones to my lungs
make it hard to breathe and see
i am not dumb
i know your bluey veins and your callous knuckles. i know your eyes are green and i have never seen them, not ever. but i saw your hand twitch, just once, next to you
myoclonic ****
like you're falling asleep

There were raised voices. Ingrid heard them. Her father's booming voice over her mother's screech. She stirred in her small bed. Pulled the blankets over her shoulder. Sheltered by the thick ex army coat of her father's on top of the blankets she snuggled down trying to shut out the sounds. It was Saturday, no school. She hated school, hated the tormenting kids, the lessons, the teacher bellowing at her. Only Benedict talked kindly to her, only he made her laugh, took her on adventures round and about, the bomb sites, the cinema, the swimming pool in Bedlam Park. The voices got louder, there was a sound of glass smashing. Silence followed, her mother's screeching began again, her father's booming voices trying to drown her out. Ingrid pulled the blankets tighter around her. She daren't go out along the passage until it was over. Even though she needed to ***, she held it in, thought of other things. Her wire framed glasses lay on the bedside cabinet her mother had bought at a junk shop. The thick lens were smeary, the wire frame slightly bent where her father's hand had clipped them when he slapped her about the head for talking out of turn. There was a small cut on her nose where the glasses had caught. A radio began to play, the voices had stopped. A door slammed. Her father had gone out. She poked her head out of the blankets. Music filtered through into her room from the radio. She got out of bed and stood on the wooden floor boards. Her clothes: dress, cardigan, underwear and socks were laid neatly on a chair where she'd folded them the night before. She opened the door of her bedroom and ventured down the passage to the toilet and shut the door and put the bolt across and sat down. The music played on. Her mother began to sing. She had weak voice, kind of like a child's. Ingrid played with her fingers. Pretended to knit, as her mother had unsuccessfully tried to show her, with imagined knitting needles. As she sat she felt the bruise on her left buttock. Her father's beating of a day or so ago. She knitted faster, fingers racing. She stopped dropped a stitch as her mother called it. She left the toilet and went to wash in the kitchen sink. She wished they had a bathroom like her cousin did. Her parent's bath was in the kitchen with a table that was let down when not in use. She washed in the cold water, her hands and face and neck. Dried on the towel behind the door. Her mother came in carrying a cup and saucer. She set it down on the draining board and looked at Ingrid. Get yourself some breakfast and then get dressed, if your father catches you in that state, he won't half have a go, her mother said. Ingrid went into the living room and got a bowl from the glass fronted cupboard and a spoon from the drawer and poured herself some cereals and added milk from a jug on the table and sat to eat. Her mother brought in a mug of tea for her and put it on the table and went off to the bedroom to make the bed. The music from the radio played on from the living room window she could see the streets below, the grass area beneath with the two bomb shelters left over from the War where she and other sat or climbed or played around. Over the street was the coal wharf where coal lorries and horse drawn wagons loaded up with sacks of coal. She ate her cereals. A train went across the railway bridge over the way;puffs of smoke rose in the air. Below boys played on the grass. One of the boys had offered her 6d to see her underwear, but she had refused. He shrugged his shoulders and said your loss and wandered off. 6d would have bought her sweets, a drink of pop, but she had her pride. She finished her breakfast and sipped her tea. Warm and sweet. She let her tongue swim in the tea. Benedict said he would buy her some chips after the morning film matinée at the cinema. Her mother said she would give her 9d for the cinema, but not to tell her father. As if she would, she mused, watching a horse drawn wagon leave the coal wharf. She drank the tea and took mug, spoon and bowl into the kitchen  and washed them up and left them on the draining board. She went to her bedroom and took off her nightdress. The mirror on the old dressing table showed a thin pale looking nine year old girl with short cut brown hair and squinting brown eyes. She only saw a blur. She put on her glasses and peered at herself. No wonder the boys laughed at her and the girls avoided her. Only Benedict was friendly to her. He said she was pretty. She couldn't see it, the prettiness. She turned. Over her thin shoulder she saw the bruises on her buttocks. Fading. Bluey greeny yellowish. She walked to get her clothes off the chair and began to dress. She wished she had a cleaner dress, she'd worn that one for nearly a week. The cardigan had holes and there were buttons missing. She did up what buttons there were and brushed her hair with the hairbrush her gran had given her. It had stiff bristles and a large wooden handle. She stood in front of the mirror and peered at herself. She put the 9d her mother had given her in her pocket. Ready or not Benedict would be there soon. He knocked his own special knock. Once her father answered and glared at Benedict and asked what he wanted. Benedict said, to see the prettiest girl in the world. Her father glared harder, Benedict simply smiled. How did he do that? How did he do that to her father? There was a tensive wait, her father glaring and Benedict looking passive. Then her father called her to the door and said, this here boy asked for the prettiest girl in the world; he must have got the wrong address. Ingrid went red and looked at Benedict. No, right address and girl, Benedict said,looking by her father's brawny arm at her. How she managed not to wet herself she didn't know. Her father just walked back indoors and left them to talk on the balcony without any more words and she never got a beating afterwards, either. Now she waited for that special knock. That rat-rat and rat-rat. She smiled at her reflection. Prettiest girl. Ugliest more like. Rat-rat and rat-rat. He was there. He'd come. She could hear his voice. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, wet fingered she dabbed at her hair. Time to go, time to get out of there. Her knight in jeans and jumper had come on a white horse to take her away; imaginary of course.

I  gave this pome to my daughter when she was 16,, after a hard few years,,

I know I am simple but
Hope you would have shared with me.
For Iam who ever you want me to be.
I no longer have enchanted powers like i did before.
So I wont tell you fairytales anymore.
The hard line is life has changed me.
Iam still your rock and grounded,
Just  a little batter ad bruised and a bluey shaed of grey.
I love you in the same way.
I know Iam simple,
One day
I hope you can share with me and forget the past.
Il always be your rock with hidden gems,
Il always be your friend.
I know I am simple,
But please share with me,For Iam whatever you dream me to be.

This rock.
Like life will one day turn to sand,Il come back as the beauitful sell that Iam.

Benedict looked over
the edge of the garden
looked down
at the sheer drop

Lizbeth looked over too
standing beside him
quite a drop
she said

are your two little sisters
safe when they stand here ?
she asked
we’re usually with them

or my mum
Benedict said
he looked
at the beautiful view

ahead of him
hills
fields
trees and bushes

birds in the sky
she looked sideways
on at him
his quiff of hair

the open neck shirt
the jeans
the rest of his family
were out picking blackberries

while he was here
alone with her
and all he talked of
was the garden

and the view
and how he helped up
at the farm
she looked back

at the cottage
thought of his room
the bed
the glass tank

of shells
and bones
and moss
the model Spitfire

hanging from the ceiling
she wouldn’t mind
the Spitfire
if she were laying there

looking up at it
while Benedict was on her
entering her
and the bed

was creaking
and she saying
(what the girl in class
said she did)

but no
instead she was standing
in his garden
on the edge

while he talked
of seeing
some butterfly
as if she cared

what he saw
except her
on his bed unclothed
sensing him

touching
feeling
gazing at the ceiling
can’t we go in?

she said
get to your bed?
have s.e.x.
before your mother

comes back?
Benedict thought he saw
a sparrow hawk
hovering in the bluey sky

beautiful in its skill
ready to dive and ****
I’m dying
to have *** with you

she said bluntly
tugging at his arm
not now
he said

he smelt the farm
over the way
sensed the cool
of county calm.

I swear the star-lit hours are thieves.

Deep navy our depressant
in those free hours of the night,
Principles drenched clean in burnished light.

Inhibition stolen now,
we flail a rhythmic roadside dance
an ethereal midnight trance.

Bluey blood flowers my sleeve,
Kneeling on ghostly asphalt - still.
I don’t know what I tried to ****

But blue looks red in the morning.

Not just another dead word from a
   book
But a magical word...straight out of
   childhood
Gathered from a fascination with
   looking at maps and Atlas books
And globes of the World
All the different countries in all their
   different colors
With all their fantastic sounding
   names
All spread out in wonderful greens pinks and oranges, yellows reds and
   purples
And then... that wonderful blue sweep
   of the Pacific...the Pacific ocean.

Through the eyes of a young small
   child
The wondrous...sweet Blue Pacific
   ocean
So vast and so full of romance
With its mermaids, its whales and its
   dolphins
Coconuts and palm trees and
   treasured islands
Its flying fish and grizzled pirates,
Its blue skies forever smiling
   overhead
The surf rolling up onto its sun kissed
   beaches.

.....There long ago I glimpsed the lovely
   blue of her blouse
And the wonderful patterns on it
As she lifted me up and spun me
   around
Just like being up on the swing boats,
And she laughed with her laughing
   smiling face
And her laughing smiling eyes
And I laughed too, out loud and
   unashamed
This was how it should always be
And I didn't want it to end
Wanted it to go on forever,
It brought me a Bluey Bliss
And suddenly all this world it was a
   magic place.

She was like Life or Love itself
Wanting to embrace you and kiss you
And sweep you off your feet
Life, it held so much promise and
   beauty
So much wonder and mystery
Yea! all was magic in those Summer
   months
The coloured pictures in our comic
   books
The kicking football on the lovely
   green lawns,
The fluttering and flapping of the
   clothes on the clothes line
Were like the sails of a Great Ship...
Sweet dreams and sunbeams as we
   ran out to meet the tide.

And still she calls to me today, wild
   blue ocean
How I love... like that sweet feeling of
   blue
The sight of her on a globe or Atlas
   still
And that name like some ancient
   spell
It sends me up into the sky
Delights, makes me feel so peaceful
The sweet blue Pacific ocean
You can...can almost taste it.

Sweet intimations of a world that
   came before,
A world underneath...that still lies
   there...somewhere
Whispering like some sweet lost
   Atlantis
Forever calling you back, calling you
   back home.

I'm afraid I can't be more specific
About the wonderful, the beautiful
...The Blue Pacific.

The view
before me:
a sky
comprised
of sky like
Attenborough
sea side

Rice krispies
and water
between us

St. Petersburg
3-6

Blue shifts
bluey pinks
meet clementine
licks violet
amidst the creatures
swimming in the
deep of the fermament

Once I lost my pen.
I chewed it and chewed it during a problem
Until it was wet and made my jaw ache
And when I paused to gaze up into the air
For one last try
My hand went limp and it fell and
Rolled away

I searched for my pen
Under my desk it should have been
Spit had gathered around the sides of my mouth
And ink had stained my tongue bluey-green
It made me feel so dumb.

On my knees, where is the drenched thing?
I'm embarrassed for I was marked with its puzzlement
I still didn't know the answer to the problem,
And now I have another one.

I am always so much trouble,
but maybe I should blame the government.

Cords of neck grows tighter
as head becomes heavier,
standing upfront, facing, pool
of black head - class.

Those eyes keeps on
staring as on naked body,
Those mouths keeps on
murmuring as a child baby.

And yet I didn’t lose to wear
a folly smile in gloomy light.

Once bluey-green foliage was
chirping in cold breeze just like
I am shrieking, internally,when
I lose my cold chord in middle.

Now, tree stand near
window, with open brown
hand under soggy blue sky.
All green gone.

Those brown hand become
stiffer in cold breeze.
Awaiting for autumn to
cherry blossom.

As I am dying for this
period to over,
where I stand frozen
under black shadow.

Shlomit sat
on the corrugated roof
of the pram sheds

gently kicking
the heels
of her battered

black shoes
against the brick wall
and she told you

her mother wore
more makeup
than usual to cover

the bruises
her father gave
but don’t tell anyone

she said
I’m not supposed
to say anything

mother said
you know
in case he hears

she mouthed off
to neighbours
you said you’d

tell no one
looking at her
beside you

her hair pinned back
with grips
her thick lens

spectacles
blowing up her eyes
her black skirt

and stained blouse
with the plastic
necklace you got her

from the fairground
around her thin neck
you’d seen her old man

crossing the Square
some nights
three sails

to the wind
singing sometimes
cursing others

and one day
you saw her mother
black of eyes

and spilt of lips
carrying shopping back
from the shops

you don’t wear make up
you said
guess he leaves you alone

her eyes looked away
her drowned kitten
perfume took

your nose
and as she moved
you saw the bluey

green skin
on her upper arm
but you knew he did

the screwball
talked with his fists
if his words failed

but Shlomit said nothing
of that she talked
of her wedding day

when she grew up
and how many kids
she’d have

and she having
a white dress
and a big house

although you knew
she thought it
even if

it wasn’t said
that her future husband
maybe like

her old man
or maybe just
a deep down dread.