A composition, bordered by brown track, white shelter and
yellow line;

off-white, smear-windowed building (background)
                                  hexagonal floors, brutalist mandala;
triangle across the frame, a *****, polluted structure
                                  one half of a red cross logo, boarded windows
                                  - chipboard, corrugation, MDF;
and Southern Rail green is grass in the lower foreground
                                  arrows, words, people.

“What kind of life is this?”
Pradesh offers his hands in supplication.
“We should warn them there's nothing here.
My family sold land for the journey.”

Here in a back street
eager to disclose his inner space
Pradesh drags clear a square of chipboard
distressed corners shedding altered wood.

He breast-strokes through a gap
kicked into crumbled brick,
swims in against a thankless tide,

Imagines he's safe here in this place
veiled with yellowing plastic,
the stench of decayed waste crawling  brittle walls.

“Others venture here too – in their thousands.”

“We are the Nameless Treaders of Earth.
We share the same contiguous roots,
the same seed, the same flowering.
We share the same goal – survival,
even the unscrupulous....
even you my friend.

Mindful of dissolving into prickly cynicism
he slumps onto his lath-thin mattress,
draws up his knees foetus-style....

and slips into half-sleep, submerged in dreams
of a home to which he can never return.



copyright © Caroline Grace 2012

For your birthday this year
I bought you a frame
And put in it a thing
From our last holiday.

I wrote the year in the corner,
See? Just through the glass.
So you'd always remember
That moment together, the two of us.

On the back of the mount
I wrote my love declaration.
Lucid and bold,
So unlike my stifled diction.

Shocked, I replaced
The chipboard backing.
Honest words hidden,
Exhausted, mind rumbling.

And there it will stand
On your shelf quite plainly.
My confession laid bare,
For you to see, daily.

I had to get something from my office quickly while somebody waited for me. When I got there, a security screen had been lowered in front of the door. I pressed the button to roll it up. (In the dream, this is unusual, as no-one tends to use the screen. In real life there is, of course, no such device.) It had been raining, and the screen was made of chipboard. As it rolled into the mechanism, its structural integrity failed and it became a mush, covering the stairs in front of it. Traversing it was like walking in quicksand: I could not reach the door without getting stuck.

Moments later, I came across a colleague and student but I could not speak to them. My mouth was full of the chipboard mush. I opened my jaw and reached in, extracting great fistfuls, globules, like balled chewing gum, reaching down with my thumb and forefinger to extrude more from my throat, but it just kept coming and coming: gag, muzzle, choking hazard.

and nature and love....

she stretches long
a china dove
fragile songs

the one
the witch..
the one stood
behind
at the pit..

the burning voices..
i have never heard
such voices since..
some times i was afraid..

it was beautiful sound
held me spellbound
i ****
i freaked...

but looked on and
wondered
i thought what it
i would take a false
movement

i could tell the sexes
the women really
sounded
angelic
i stood and stared..

if my wellington became
stuck
and nearley
falling over..

they grew louder..
because as a child
nature is begnine..
i thought about this..
and stared...

there were quivering colours
years of lsd..later..
but i was 8
8 and ****
there was the wildest

crow like saint beelzibub..
stood behind
in that quiet quarry
lily..
after was seemed a long

time..he looked deep
in me..
this was my first
apithany..
and then he flew away..

his total me..i have never
seen like him again..
i was living..
he put something

where was only empty
he had crazy energy
but the voices..went..
slowly...
i was quite happy

and sad when they
went..but he placed
in me something i
could not place..laugh!

but he said too
you will never
tie my shoe.
i kind of agree that..

but..you might be proud
you might understand..
i went back and there were
two big police men

standing outside..the pit
was now blocked..
a narrow way
with chipboard and barbed wire..

and here began my love of the abstract..
now i stared at that instead..
and wondered
something occured
i did wonder how could such

a dangerous place..
no bird songs
the water sky face
madness wrong
evils birth..

be
so
far
from
worth..

the bad spirit lurked
or was it fact good
the voices called
if maybe should
death is love..

come on child..
the women sang
of love
and the more
i thought..

they must be beautiful!
the more beautiful
they sounded..
and a great ******..
joyful comunion..

it was wild..
i went back sometimes
the quiet
got in..

no voices..
and then
the thing
i wonder
what
happened..

i..


is n´t modern world marvelous
lily smirks..
we would have been old

and dead..she regards
her toes
and rather wistfully

now,
young,
and ******..

it could be
but
always beauty..!

and adventure
go on
for ever!

ii..

a)


i never really
enjoyed party
lily..

i had to be
taught
how to breathe..

i had a little
death fascination
caught between

water and skies
by the quarry
white lime..

in my wellingtons
time
fathomless..

the very shallow water
reflected the
sky perfectly..

and rose out that mirror
see..
and eventually..

voices
sounded
to me..

very very very
beautifully
slowly

(i would say
adagio..)
i would think

good or bad
with my neck
at 60 degrees

this loud choral
arrangement-
the air quivered..

sometimes i would
make
to advance..

then rise in love
come!
come..

(the lively
imagination
of a lonely child..

or some kind of
out of world
experience..)

wild lovely entrancing
i would return
again and again..

b)

once,
there
stood
a
man
behind
me..

i made
to run
but
he
calmed
with
his
hand..

he looked
where i had
been looking
and listening
to the band..

looked at me
in question
i thought don´t ask..

then one time
two big policemen
resisted my charging

bike and form..
something happened
by joseph heller..

the more i returned
the quieter
the sounds..

until
they´d gone
no birds sung

no gentle breeze
so he stared into
my frightened eyes..

and something occurred
i felt his knowledge
his wisdom wise..

so we stood in this
pestilent place
this blackest of crows..

imparted of his way
somehow
i am still

trying to figure
out today..
what did he say..

so then on returning
there was barbed wire
and chipboard..

i looked at it long
a blockage
called too late
perhaps..


to keep the creative juices flowing
i filled in with this very good book..
  up their with the dice man
as prose noir..
another reworking of an old
poem and older..i remember but am no wiser..
..