"ingrid" poems
I met Joan Baez in my sleep.
She whispered her poems and
sang her songs. I fell in love
with her instantly. DIAMONDS
AND RUST she sang in my
dreams. Linda Ronstadt sang
LONG, LONG TIME to me.
I cried in her hair, so fair was
she. We made love for eternity.
Ingrid Bergman came into my
life a long time ago. I was
mesmerized by her luminescent
beauty. She walked into my
life 20 minutes into CASA-
BLANCA. I was transfixed.
But it was Audrey Hepburn
who stole my heart. Tiny and
radiant, Audrey saw and
held and fed starving
children around the globe.
She entered my heart and
kissed my soul and never
left my life. Bless you, Audrey.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 3:57 PM UTC
A large red elephant jumped on the trampoline.
Somewhere in the distance a blue eyed babe cried.
Rednecks clad in Paul Bunyan shirts inhaled the fumes of their barbecues.
Moving gracefully, a trapeze dancer tip-toed across the river.
My wife slumbered on our couch,
And wind blew a kite out of my hands.
I fed a goat nectar from my hands.
A crowd encircled the trampoline.
My family purchased a new couch,
And later that day we helplessly cried.
Our wailing could not be heard across the river,
Where rednecks continued to inhale the fumes of their barbecues.
Neighbors massed to celebrate barbecues.
I looked down at my blood stained hands,
Then joined the beautiful trapeze dancer across the river.
My red elephant broke the trampoline
And we were surrounded by infinite crying.
Nobody sat on the new couch.
Many problems arrived with the new couch;
There weren’t any more barbecues,
And my teeth crunched on granola as we cried.
Silky fabric embraced my hands.
Ingrid, my wife, dies on the trampoline.
She was buried across the river.
Some guy drank all the water from the river,
And started living on our couch.
Who would have thought I met lily on the trampoline,
And who would have thought I took up barbecues.
Now I felt warmth on the back of my hand
And I no longer cried.
Only the winter wind cried,
Howling over Ingrid’s grave across the river.
I slapped an elephant carcass with my hand,
Proceeding to cook it with salt and pepper on the couch.
I bored my wife with barbecues
So she went to jump on they trampoline.
Lily died on the trampoline; I always cried.
No longer did I host barbecues, the wind continued to howl across the river.
I gutted the couch, and killed myself with the back of my hand.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 7:43 AM UTC
Here are the names of my lovers,
The women I sleep with, whom
I use, like they use me.
Spent, they discard me, for when their pleasure needs
Satiated, they climb aboard another man.
What they do not know,
Is that in my mind, in my ears,
everywhere,
I did not let them, or you go,
We are still romping,
For I
Take them as needed.
I need them all,
For my pleasure needs, like my unshaped heart,
Addictive, endless.
If your is name is here, I do not
Apologize.
Pink
Adele
Lilly Allen
Anna Nalick
Bess Rogers
Beyonce
Brandi Carlisle
Cat Power
Colbie Callait
Duffy
Eva Cassidy
Evanescence
Alison Sudol
Fiona Apple
Florence Welch
Grace Potter
Ingrid Michaelson
You
Joni Mitchell
K.D. Lang
Kate Nash
Kate Voegele
Leona Lewis
Lizz Wright
Madeline Peyroux
Marie Digby
Mary Wells
Norah Jones
Regina Spektor
Sara Bareilles
You
Sara Haze
Taylor Swift and Tracy Chapman
Tristan Prettyman
Vanessa Carlton
So many others, used so long ago, I can't remember the faces,
Which can't be googled.
Use them hard, use them often, more than daily.
Bluntly, I tell you
Your name is on my list,
Even if I do not disclose it.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
l{one}l{I}ness
hurts like
one
e m p t y
cup of coffee while another sits
cold in the late afternoon light
full and a little bitter
like your stomach
it stings
like
too much wine -- or *****
against chapped lips
at 10:45p.m.
finding a ****** wrapper under your bed
of trapped in the corners of your sheets
or cigarette cherries falling onto fuzzy
knee
caps
while Johny Cash
sings you into drunken sleep
al{one}
at
11:30 p.m.
it throbs like heads
and unanswered text messages
and bruises on your knees
the day
after
blinking dizzily into grey-morning-afternoon-night
waking up in a single bed
when the fires have gone out
makeup is smeared
and you realize you forgot to put on socks
it feels like that look on your face
when calls go unanswered
and pretty lingerie makes your skin look
bruised
when a dress meant for a party lies
crumpled in the corner of your bed
or your bathroom
damp and wrinkled
from showers taken at
3.am.
to burn out the lonely that
clings
like
your hands in his when you stop
being alone
or like perfume on a
black tee-shirt that you
borrowed months ago
it is comforting like cheap coffee
and relaxed smiles
of an entire box
of off-brand reeses cocoa puffs
with almond milk
of the taste of peach cigarillos
it is sweet like sweet red and dark chocolate
on a tuesday night
when you are in your underwear
or like listening to sad music
while shaving your legs
and buying a bottle of nail polish
because of the pun in the name on its
bottom
it is also addicting like
the smell of their sweat or
seeing their car parked at the gas station
and holding your breath
to see them
or counting the *******
band stickers on their bumper
to the beats of your heart
untill the lights turn green
it is like listening to ingrid michaelson
in a cold car or sitting
in a cheap orange chair in a coffeeshop
by yourself.
it is like drinking a bottle of wine before
5 p.m.
or watching the sun rise
over naked
january trees
when you haven't slept the night before
or the night before that
or the night before
or the night
before
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Searching in the gutters
of Meadow Row
and up along by the back
of the coal wharf
Benedict picked out
and up
dog ends
or cigarette butts
as his old man
called them
and picking them up
he tore open the paper
and tipped the tobacco
into a white paper
sweet bag
how can you do that?
Ingrid said
all those people’s
spit and dribble
on them
she pulled a face
he smiled
she looked serious
germs on them
she said
she wiped her hands
on her stained
green dress
he bent down
and picked out
another cigarette ****
and opened it up
between fingers
and thumbs
and emptied it
into the bag
you’re too young
to smoke
she said
if my dad saw me smoking
he’d smack me silly
she said
he does anyway
he said
she bit her lip
and looked away
sorry
he said
didn’t mean
to be like that
he touched her hand
she stared at him
through wire
framed glasses
she liked it when
his hand touched hers
no one else
touched her tenderly
she looked
at his cowboy hat
placed to the back
of his head
the six shooter gun
stuffed in the belt
of his jeans
the borrowed blue waistcoat
(his grandfather’s given
a month or so back)
she put her other hand
on top of his
he took his hand out slowly
in case other boys
from school may see
and walked to the shelter
of a wall
of a bombed out house
and they both sat down
he took out a packet
of cigarette papers
( liberated from
his old man)
and pulled out
a paper and shoved
the packet of papers
back in the pocket
of his jeans
and taking a pinch
of tobacco from the bag
he fingered it
in a straight line
into the cigarette paper
then rolled it
as he’d seen
his old man do
then licked the end
to form a thin cigarette
Ingrid watched in silence
as his fingers moved
and his tongue licked
you’re not going to
smoke it are you?
she asked
he put the cigarette
between his lips
sure am
he said John Wayne like
but you’re only 9
she said
you’re only 9
and you’re watching
he replied
he took out a box
of Swan Vesta
(borrowed from
the cupboard at home)
and lit the cigarette
and puffed slowly
she waved a hand
as smoke came near
her face
my dad will smell that
on me
she said
and think it was me
smoking and tell me off
she said
beat you black and blue
Benedict thought
not said
he coughed and spluttered
and took out
the cigarette
and blew smoke
from his mouth
and spat out phlegm
brownish yellow
if your old man hits you again
I’ll shoot him
full of cap smoke
he said
she laughed
and hit his arm
he flicked the cigarette
onto the bombsite
with a finger
and watched
as the smoke
he’d blown out
like a pale ghost
seemed to linger.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
There's roundabouts
and bumper-cars
and a big wheel
and a coconut stall
Ingrid said
and a rifle range
I said
I won a goldfish
in a plastic bag
here once
on the rifle range
we were at the fairground
on the bomb site
by Meadow Row
bright lights
and noise
and laughter
and people shouting
and girls screaming
and music blaring
out of speakers
she was excited
to be there
her brown eyes
lit up
like fireworks
her brown hair
pinned back
at the sides
with hair grips
got to have a go
on the big wheel
she said
I want to go on
the coconut stall
I said
have you money?
yes
she said
2/-
your old man
give it to you?
no my uncle
gave it me
why's that?
I asked
as we gazed
around the fair
I do things for him
she said
as we approached
the big wheel
can't say what
it's out secret
my uncle said
I nodded grimly
and we climbed
on board
the big wheel together
and off it went
up in the evening sky
the Elephant and Castle
beneath us
our flats visible
because the Square lights
were on
the area was like
it had been bombed
over night
rather than
about 15 years
before
look at that
she said
pointing
and I followed her finger
and saw the horizon
of lights
and it was like
an explosion
of brightness
which brightened up
this best of all nights.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.
She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.
I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.
We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.
What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.
I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.
What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.
She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.
I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,
I say, he didn't care.
I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.
We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.
I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.
We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.
I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
You and Ingrid
bummed a ride
on the back
of the coal truck
the spring holiday underway
Ok
said the coal truck driver
but keep
your heads down
don't want to get
pulled over
by the rozzers
and so you both
climbed in the back
of the truck
settling down
between sacks of coal
covered over
by tarpaulin
with just a slit
for light and air
and you and she
just sitting there
she clothed
in an old green dress
and cardigan of grey
brown scuffed shoes
and grey socks
you in jeans
and blue shirt
open necked
and sleeveless
patterned jumper
never been
in the back
of a coal truck before
Ingrid said
mustn't get too *****
in case Dad finds out
and leathers me one
you watched
as she sat there
in the semi-dark
gazing out
through the slit
at the thin
aspect of sky
hands on her knees
biting her lip
been once before
with Jimmy
but then it rained
and we got drenched
you said
what did your parents say?
Ingrid asked
nothing much
you replied
Mum moaned a bit
but the old man said nothing
just stared
as he blew smoke
from his cigarette
through his nose
God my dad'd go mad
if I had done that
she said
pulling her knees
together hands
holding on the top
I'd not be able
to sit for a week
he'd beat me such
she added
moving
with the movement
of the truck
you said nothing
knowing her old man
seeing him often
walking through the Square
swaying with the *****
or seeing her mother
bruised and battered
crossing to the shops
enduring neighbours' whispers
for a while she was silent
looking through the slit
as the sky drifted by
as the truck moved
you swayed
side to side
her shoulder
against yours
her arm touching yours
the smell of wet washing
and of yesterday's dinner
captured on her clothes
seeping in your nose
now and then
she spoke
of this and that
of kids at school
of names called
of hair pulled
and how she liked it
when she saw you
enter school
and your kind words
and helpful ways
and when the driver
pulled off the tarpaulin
to get out sacks of coal
daylight blew out
your eyes
and made you smile
and cheered your hearts
you shared the sandwiches
you'd brought
and bottle of lemonade
factory made
sitting on the truck floor
she nibbling a sandwich
and drinking shyly
from the lemonade bottle
after you'd wiped
the top with the palm
of your hand
her eyes on you
her lips open for words
her knees pressing together
to keep the balance
as the truck
moved on and away
just you and she
on a bright spring day.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Ingrid sat on the brick wall
of the bomb site
her hands in her lap
her untidy hair
held in place
with wire grips
the plain grey
cardigan and dress
had food stains
here and there
you sat beside her
in jeans
and bought for you
cowboy shirt
the Saturday film
matinée
just seen
suppose I'd best be home
Ingrid said
before Dad gets back
he doesn't know
I went to the pictures
and he'll say
it's a waste of money
but it's only 6d
you said
surely he wouldn't
begrudge you that?
she said nothing
but stood up
and brushed down
her dress
best go
she said
wait a while
you said
let's buy some chips
before you leave
I've no more money
she said
I have
you replied
patting your jean's pocket
*********
the 6 shooter
toy gun
hanging
at your waist
best not
she said
if Dad sees me
he'll go off
the deep end
she stood there
half undecided
chips with salt
and vinegar
and maybe
an onion or two
you added
giving her a look
your head to one side
she bit her lip
as she fingered
her cardigan
but Mum said
not to be late
Ingrid said
sometimes
they throw in
a slice of bread
and butter
you said
especially for kids
if you give them
I'm starved look
she smiled
her hands going
into the cardigan pockets
what if he sees me
go in there?
she said
he won't
you said
he couldn't see
the end of his nose
without getting dizzy
you said
anyway he might not
be back until later
she shrugged
and then said
ok if we're quick
and so you stood up
and walked her
up Meadow Row
and across the road
to the fish and chip shop
and bought
2 bags of chips
and onions
and 2 slices
of bread and butter
because you both gave
that we're starved gaze
you walked her back
down Meadow Row
eating in silence
she eating ravenously
her fingers busy
her mouth opening
and closing
once you'd finished
and you'd stuffed
the waste chip papers
into a bin
by the grocer's shop
she said
thank you
that was scrumptious
and she kissed your cheek
and walked off
and across
Rockingham Street
towards the Square
at the top
by the entrance
with arms crossed
grim face
Ingrid's father
stood scowling
standing there.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
She was a pretty little girl with a jaded brain
and movie stars in her eyes
From a little town in northern Maine
where dreams fizzle out and die
She was looking for a Casablanca gent
to match her Ingrid Bergman looks
But all she found was me - her discontent!
Her face was like an open book
I paused to read and
she proceeded
to tell me that we had no chance
Before her mouth could shut
I jumped onto her tongue
and asked her if she'd like to dance
We waltzed into a secret fantasy
like our dreams were intertwined
She was blowing pink bubbles with her chewing gum
and it just about blew my mind
It wasn't long and we were lying on the floor
My shirt had come undone
For a workaday girl from a quiet town
she sure knew how to have her fun
Before I buttoned up
she handed me a cup
I drank and I asked for more
My head was swimming
like a salmon when
I watched her walking out my door
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC
I take pleasure in the simple things
And I know a lot of people say that
But I think a lot of people get carried away
With the idea of getting carried away
They watch movies for the special effects
Go to baseball games for the big names
And watch trains go by for the wrecks
But I take pleasure in the simple things
The other day I paced in the rain
It was summer so the warm water
Reminded me of growing up in Shanghai
Where the chemical rain would burn when it touched you
And that's a happy memory for me
I watch movies for the kisses
The Humphrey Bogart
Reach out and kiss the crap out of them kisses
The Ingrid Bergman sly, seductive kisses
The Audrey Hepburn innocent, eyes closed kisses
I go to baseball games to smell the air
Little league games, high school games,
Minor league games, professional games
It doesn't matter they all smell like dirt and leather
I like to walk by freshly mowed lawns
Because it reminds me of when I was younger
And played soccer every Saturday morning
On just cut grass
I love, love, love to watch little kids run in circles
For absolutely no reason at all
I take pleasure in the simple things
I think too often people
Try to measure the was of each day
Against the could be of every dream
Forgetting that we don't ask our dreams
To accomplish themselves between 9-5
Some people get caught up in
Trying to live their life
Like it was a scene from a dream
They drempt while they slept last night
And though sometimes life can seem like a movie
We are not producers or directors
Merely actors following our lines
Trying to feel out someone else's vision
So I find pleasure in the simple things
The parts no producer could control
The lines that aren't in the script
The prettiest rose on my bike ride home
Warm Rain
Dirt
Leather
Cut grass, little kids, and puppy dogs
Because if we limit the pleasure we find
To the greatest moments in our lives
We're never going to believe it's happening when it is
Always dreaming there could be more to our life then there is
And when we do finally believe
The only chance we'll have to smile
Will be at a memory
And we'll miss all the beauty and pleasure
The world and life
Has put in front of you and me
Aug 25, 2009
Aug 25, 2009 at 7:40 PM UTC
And the ice cream van drew off
and you held on
to the side
by your finger tips
until the van picked up
a mild speed
when you jumped off
and tried to remain
on your feet
without falling
and only by sheer luck
or balance
did you manage it
and the other kids
clapped hands
and cheered
but Ingrid said
thought you'd hurt yourself
don't your mother
care about you doing that?
she doesn't know
you said
you don't tell her
what you do?
she said
of course not
you replied
she has enough
to worry about
without me
giving her more worry
Ingrid frowned
but why do it?
holding on to the van
I mean?
because it's there
a challenge
like climbing Mount Everest
I guess
you said
she played
with her fingers nervously
as if knitting
an invisible sock
I worry about you
she said
I guess that's what girls do
you replied
walking through the Square
she by your side
her food stained dress
having yellow flowers
her grey socks
her hair pinned
by steel grips
not all girls
she said
least not about you
you smiled
I hope not
you said
girls **** you dry
always on
about soft things
or about dolls
or babies
or such matters
I don't
she said
I think of you
and you being safe
I'm safe
you said
you patted
your six shooter toy gun
wedged in your holster
and you're safe too
you added
wish I was
she said softly
well apart
from your old man
you said
but apart
from filling him
full of cap smoke
or hitting him
on the bonce
with my six shooter ****
isn't much
I can do about him
you said
she looked at you
smiling weakly
maybe one day
we could run off together
she said
and live in one
of those houses
in the Wild West
you nodded
yes good idea
and I can ride
a real horse
and keep cattle
she nodded
and I can keep house
and have babies
sure
you said
and if your old man
comes worrying you
I can plugged him
full of lead.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:02 AM UTC
I was on the bomb site
off Arch Street
collecting pieces of wood
and newspaper
******* in a ball-
and small pieces of coal
liberated from the coal wharf
near by
plus a few Swan Vestas
borrowed from
my old man's box at home
I lit a fire
near the railway arch
and Ingrid said
are you allowed
to do that?
not that I know
I said
what if a policeman
comes?
she asked
I'll just say
it was alight
when I came
and I was
keeping warm
I replied
but that's lying
she said
stretching the truth
a little
I said
she frowned at me
her bruised eye
was on the mend
and was just a slight
memory now
-her old man's
handiwork-
what if you get burnt?
she said
risk of the game
I said
I shouldn't be here
if my dad saw me here
I'd be for it
she said
you're always for it
I said
you've only got to look
at your old man
and he whacks you
I replied
not always
she said
looking away
he slippered you
the other week
for dropping
that bottle of milk
she said nothing
but looked across
the bomb site
at the passing buses
on the New Kent Road
I got out a small tin
and opened it
want a cigarette?
she peered at me
then at the tin
where'd you get those?
she said
I made them
I said
made them?
yes out of dog-ends
I picked up
from the gutters
and borrowing
cigarette papers
from an uncle
I made them up
she pulled a face
but they must have
other people's
spit on them
she said
but the papers
are fresh
I said
and besides
the burning tobacco
gets rid of that
she looked at me
and said
yuk
I put the tin away
and we watched
the fire burning
a Rozzer stopped me
on here the other week
and said to me
did I see you smoking?
I said
no I've not been smoking
I'd flicked the **** end
onto the bomb site
behind me
and he looked
at me suspiciously
and said
better not let me
catch you sonny boy
and he walked off
I'd have wet myself
she said
if a policeman
stopped me
we watched the fire burning
for a few more minutes
then we went across
the bomb site
to the chip-shop
to buy 6d of chips
and stood outside
and shared them
watching the small bomb fire
burning across the way
on that cold
November day.
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
Dennis watched
as Miss Richie
slapped your face
and then stormed off
what was that for?
Dennis said
you rubbed your cheek
fire hot
I guess she didn't like
what I said
you replied
what did you say?
he asked
I asked her
if it was her face
or was she breaking it in
for an ape
you said
Dennis laughed
his green/blue eyes lit up
like pinball lights
what made you say that?
he said
because she would me up
and said I had a discarded look
you said
maybe you have
he said
maybe I have
but that's my face
not hers
you said
the bell rang
for morning break
and so you went down
the back stairs with him
and into the playground
and took out
your football player cards
and set down
by the far wall
and joined in the game
of flicking cards
nearest the wall
but Derek won
the first lot
and you lost
your favourite
and watched
as he handed them
into his winning pack
over in the other corner
plump Miss Richie was standing
arms folded
glaring at you
any more
for any more?
Derek said
count me in
you said
taking more cards
out of your jacket pocket
and along with Dennis
and Derek and Richard
you flicked your cards
and the game
was in play once more
Dennis's card won
and he collected the cards
on the ground
by the wall
that's me out of cards
you said
and wandered off
to where Ingrid
sat alone
by the playground steps
hair pinned back
with metal grips
her grey skirt stained
her cardigan holey
with missing buttons
her eyes brightened
when she saw you
saw you lost cards
she said
yes not my day
you said
not mine either
she said
what's up?
you said
I lost my dinner money
she said
and dad will **** me
when he finds out
where'd you lose it?
you said
don't know
I went to get it
from my bag
and it was gone
she said tearfully
you put your hand
in your trouser pocket
and took out a 2/6d coin
here have mine
you said
I can't
she said
what will you do
about your dinners?
I'll tell my mum
I lost it
you said
but she'll get angry
with you
Ingrid said
yes but she'll not **** me
or harm me
unlike your old man
you said
she took the coin
and put it
in her cardigan pocket
thank you
she said
no other boy
would do that for me
they don't like me
and call me names
she said
I like you
you said
and walked up
the stairs
to the boys' toilets
wondering how to tell
your mother
you'd lost your coin
on that Monday morning
on your way to school
as you opened the door
and entered the stall.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Two sets of pram wheels
a plank(some kid's dad
brought that)
a wooden cross beam
a nut and bolt
to hold
the cross beam
in place
a piece of rope
(Ingrid gave that
an old skipping rope)
an orange box
and the go-cart
was ready
by the bike shed
and Jimmy said
I best drive it first
as I'm the eldest
ok
you said
Ingrid said nothing
she looked at Jimmy
hands in her
cardigan pockets
biting her lip
Ingrid supplied the rope
you said
she deserves
a ride too
sure sure
Jimmy said
climbing
into the orange box
and taking up the ropes
into his hands
right you push
he said
I brought
my mum's prop stick
Ingrid said
you can push with that
she pointed
to a long pole
by the shed door
yes ok
Jimmy said
so you took up
the pole and placed it
in the back
of the plank
and began to push it
through the Square
Ingrid stood watching
as you pushed
the go-cart
at running speed
on on
Jimmy said
and he steered
the go-cart
around the Square
as you ran faster
then let go
and the go-cart
went at its own volition
and you walked
and stood by Ingrid
will he let me ride it?
she asked
he will
you said
or I'll not
push him again
you watched
as the go-cart
slowed down
and Jimmy drove it up
to the bike shed
where it came
to a stop
why'd you stop pushing?
he asked
couldn't push any faster
you said
it needs constant pushing
he said
I'm not a machine
you said
he sat looking
at Ingrid
she can push
he said
she's a girl
you said
I can push
she said
and she took the pole
and shoved it
at the back
of the plank
and began to push it
off as best she could
with Jimmy steering
along by the sheds
and off once more
into the Square
and you watched
her push
her hands tight
around the pole
her legs running
as fast as she could
and there
as she ran
and her skirt rose
you saw red marks
on her thigh
her old man's work
you said with a sigh
then it was gone
as she ran down
the slope
and out of sight
with the sound of Jimmy
cheering her on.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
My feelings are
Nipping at the heels of
My thoughts, which are
Nipping at the
Heels of my actions
And
I've never felt
So
Strange
In a race
Only with
Myself,
It's dragging on
Forever
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,
she 's known it
all 9 years
of her life.
Her mother's
indifference,
her father's
strict and cruel
attention,
the beatings,
the cold stares,
the loud shouts,
the harsh threats,
promises
of spankings.
There is just
the one love:
Benedict
from along
the narrow
balcony
of the flats,
9 years old,
brave of heart,
with his sword
painted blue
(his old man
had made it),
false silver
6 shooter,
cap firing
toy hand gun,
gun holster,
leather belt,
with wide grin,
hazel eyes,
with talk of
cowboy films,
Robin Hood,
Ivanhoe,
and she his
pretty Maid
Marian,
so he says
or cowgirl
borrowing
his rifle,
to shoot down
bad cowboys
or Injuns.
He takes her
to his haunts:
the bomb sites,
the bombed out
old buildings,
the play parks,
cinemas
to watch films
in the dark,
feeling safe
beside him.
He has seen
her bruises,
her medals
of beatings,
the red welts
on her skin;
understands
the reasons,
who did it,
but not why;
giving her
cruel father
the cold eye
or hard sneer
when he sees
her father
in the Square
or passing
on the stair,
*********
two digits
(up you pal)
gesturing
behind her
father's back.
Ingrid knows
the absence
of real love,
she known it
all 9 years
of her life;
except for
Benedict,
her young knight
with blue sword,
and one day,
when they're grown
and left home,
she'll be his
pretty Maid
Marian
love and wife,
so she dreams
in her bed
in the night
of her sad
childhood life.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
You walked home
from school
with Sutcliffe
(O’Brien was off
with dysentery
which Eddie thought
was a load of ****
along the New Kent Road
by the shop from which
you bought
a stamp album
and the silver looking
6 shooter gun
and holster
with the belt
with pretend bullets
all around
in little holders
and Eddie said
his big sister
was beginning to spend
too much time
in the washroom
getting herself
all geared up
for her boyfriend
and that his dad
banged on the door
wanting to get in
for his shave
( she’d used all
the hot water
her mother had boiled
in the copper
for the family bath
that night
and his sister
had bellowed back
I’ve got to look my best
I can’t go out
smelling
like a dead rat
and Eddie laughed
(his buck teeth showing)
and Dad told her
she’d feel his hand
across her backside
if she got
too mouthy with him
so she shut her noise
and came out
all dolled up you
her hair all piled high
her lipstick bright red
her tight skirt
and Dad said
if you think you’re going out
dressed like that
you can think again
but she did
and that was it
and Mum said to him
she's only young once
but he just shaved
and moaned
and I could hear him
muttering to himself
and so Eddie went on
(O’Brien would have
baited him about his sister
would have riled him bad
but he was away
and Eddie was glad)
and so you got
to the corner
of Deacon Way
where Sutcliffe lived
and so you walked
across the road
to Meadow Row
and he waved
and you watched
his blonde cropped hair
and black uniform
disappear from sight
and walked towards home
hands in pockets
satchel on your back
scuffed shoes
kicking stones
onto the bombsite
home to tea
of bread and jam
then out with Ingrid
on the balcony
looking down
over the ledge
at the people passing
or kids playing
making a din
until her father
called her
with his rough voice
and she went back in.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
He pumps away,
only his heavy breathing and dripping sweat
confirming that I'm not doing all this
to myself.
I try my best to enjoy it all and
let him know
and feel proud in the fact.
he is a sweet boy
i don't want to hurt his feelings
but deep down i know
he isn't here with me.
i am the tool easily accessible to fit the job.
and to a certain extent,
he is too.
although the part of me that linked *** and love died out long ago...
it echos sometimes.
like a phantom limb that itches.
or a tumor that makes you smell burnt toast.
sometimes i imagine deep, romantic passions
filmed in rose colored light.
those sweaty
tightly filmed scenes
of two people doing something
vastly different
from ******* or
******** or
getting one off.
something that jane austin would write about.
something ingrid bergman would star in.
something waterhouse would paint.
but this place where i am,
these things i do,
are far from such beauty.
i remember being a young girl in love,
barely a teen taking her first steps out
of being a little girl.
ribbons and dolls discarded
and replaced by
secret diaries and lipstick stolen from my big sister.
it all seems so foolish now.
such a waste. and even though
such thoughts have
lingering pains attached to them,
i know they are true.
i know what the chemical con job called love really is.
i know the true face of man and woman
face to face
in these days.
i know what such ideas have become,
in the world i live in.
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
*There’s a kind of beauty that’s purified and distilled
To fit squarely in the most rarefied
Of circles, given form and molded
Into an image of awe worth being storied.
Fleshed out, pieced delicately
Sculpted exquisitely and a sunny
Complexion mixed with a chocolaty
Hue splashed, oozing acute aristocracy.
Ingrid embodies this angelic likeness
That’s pure and unblemished, spotless
Inspiring reverence and a tendency to impress.
Demure she is her heart ensconced in a fortress.
Her smile lights the heavens aglow
Her demeanor barely spotting a flaw.*
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 7:46 AM UTC
**** Morecraft said
about joining the Scouts
who used
the church hall
good venture
he said
we do things
tie knots
and learn
about nature
how to start a fire
with two bits of wood
and sing songs
around campfires
and so on he went
walking home from school
you wanting to join the scouts
like you wanted diarrhoea
listening half heartedly
thinking of what
was for tea
or what to do
after school
and where to go
and we learn how
to put up tents
**** added
the last straw
ok
you said
I’ll think about it
see you around
and so off he went
along Newington Butts
and you went down
the subway and along
whistling
hands in pockets
when you saw Ingrid
up ahead with bent shoulders
and lowered head
what’s up? you said
and she showed you
a tear
in her school dress
a rip in the side
showing
her white vest
my dad’ll **** me
(not quite you knew
but he’d beat her
black and blue)
what do I do?
she said crying
wiping her eyes
don’t go home
just yet
you said
my mum’ll sew it up
like new
we’ll go to
my place first
that’s what we’ll do
so you walked
up and out the subway
and across the bomb site
and up Meadow Row
(her mother or father
needn’t know)
and up the concrete stairs
to your flat and in
and you explained
to your mother
what was wrong
and she said she’d fix it
with needle and thread
and so Ingrid
took off the dress
and gave it
to your mother to sew
and sat there
in the sitting room
in her vest and underwear
fiddling with her fingers
looking around
the room shyly
arms and legs
carrying badges
of black and blue
go get Ingrid
a glass of Tizer
and biscuit
your mother said
and don’t gawk so
and so you went
to the kitchen
and poured
a glass of Tizer
and got a biscuit
from a tin
and took them in
Ingrid wide eyed said
thank you
and took the biscuit
and glass
and nibbled
and sipped
and you told her
about the scouts
and what
Morecraft said
about tents
and tying knots
and lighting fires
with sticks
and such
(not caring much)
and all the time
eyeing the bruises
and welts on legs
and arms
and your mother said
don’t stare so
at Ingrid in her
white( near grey)vest
and underwear
so you changed
the subject
to the cinema
about some cowboy film
where the good guy
twirls his gun
and goes pop pop pop
you said
and gets the baddies
dead
just like that
and how after
the boring bit
where he kisses a girl
he twirls
his gun again
(you need
to practice that)
and she listened
as she sipped her drink
and nibbled the biscuit
sitting there
with her badges
of blue and black
in her underwear
and a red line
across
her skinny back.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Ingrid climbed over
the metal fence
by Banks House
and onto the grass
her mother's shouting
in her ears
her father's hand
fresh upon the flesh
of her thigh stinging
the early morning sun
came over
the flats nearby
the grey clouds
promising rain
she climbed over
another metal fence
and crossed over
into Jail park
to ride the swings
or slide
or just sit
by the sandpit
and muse
and wait
Benedict would come soon
or so he said
the night before
as he walked her
to her door
hearing her parents
rowing
the park was almost deserted
a few kids
in the sandpit
one on the slide
she sat on one
of the swings
and pushed off
from the ground
her thigh stinging
as she moved away
reaching for the sky
her feet in the air
trying to get there
she leaned forward
then back
to get herself higher
pushing herself
up and up
feeling the air
in her face
in her hair
thinking of how
her sister got away
with things but she
did not
she was punished
for little things
while she could stay
out late
or come home drunk
and back chat and lie
but she had only
to make a mistake
or say a wrong word
or look the wrong way
and it was slap
or whack as it
was today
her feet reached up
her black battered shoes
seemingly touching
the sky
she looked around
on the ground
at the trees
or kids
feeling free
to think
and breathe
and be
but still no Benedict
in sight
no sign of him
since last night
she missed him
and needed him today
someone to listen
to what had happened
to her today
she slowed down
the swing
put her feet
as brakes
to come to a halt
and sit and stare
then she heard
his voice
Benedict had come
cowboy hat
and jeans
and 6 shooter gun
and that broad smile
and he sat on a swing
beside her
and she told him
about the morning
and the slap
and thump
and whack
he listened
and saddened
and took her hand
and said
let's go find our horses
and ride to the place
that cowboys go
in that far away land
and she nodded
and said
we can have a cabin
with curtains
and a wooden bed
and table and chairs
and land to have
as far as the eye
could see
sure
he said
where ever we are
your parents
won't be.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 4:47 AM UTC
Drove 75 miles each way
To see Colbie Callait,
Somewhere in Connecticut,
That was back
In 2009,
Maybe 2010,
Maybe 2011.
Enjoyed it immensely,
Other than
The only thing
Older than me
At the concert
Was the building
It was held in.
And everybody at work made fun of me.
Took my woman
Downtown to the
High Line Ballroom
A few years back,
Edwin McCain,
He sang
I'll Be.
It was fine,
Other than
I was the tallest person
Standing on line.
Last year
Danced on a conga line
Led by Pink Martini,
At Carnegie Hall.
Ain't embarrassed to admit,
They dragged me from my front row seat,
Kicking n' screaming,
Hope nobody was videotaping!
At the Beacon on Broadway,
Saw Paul Simon and
Straight No Chaser,
And I would do it again in a
A Capella second.
This year,
High up at Lincoln Center,
Overlooking Central Park and
My city sparkling,
Saw Ingrid Michaelson singing,
It's OK.
She was giggling,
Cause it was so fun, for her,
To act so grown up.
Her parents and sisters
Even came to see her.
Sometime ago saw Marc Cohn, singing,
Don't remember when, don't recall,
Walking in Memphis,
Even tho both of us were at
City Center on West Forty Third Street.
At the City Winery,
In NoHo
Don Felder did Hotel California,
Went to the backstage partee
Cause I was around when
he first penned it,
When he was still part of the Eagles.
For an old geezer,
Born in 1901,
I'm pretty cool,
Despite the occasional mistake.
But I know better than to go to see
Justin Bieber,
Way too cool for that,
So those ticket to
Taylor Swift,
Ripped,
Having never seen
the light of day,
I think I even pretended to
Throw them away...
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
Ingrid hears
her mother's
cries and moans
in the night
flesh slamming
against flesh
she cringes
wondering
if she'll be
next in line
she is torn
by her fear
should she stay
just in case
her father
doesn't come
or should she
go and see
if her mum
is ok?
her room's dark
a slither
of light comes
from the moon
through curtains
a steam train
goes over
the steel bridge
just over
the roadway
she listens
for more moans
flesh on flesh
thump thump slap
she sits up
on the edge
of her bed
there are sounds
whimpering
then footsteps
in the hall
her father
shouting out
she cringes
she wishes
Benedict
was there now
she wishes
he could be
her young knight
in shining
armour on
his snow white
horse charger
but he's not
he's asleep
in a flat
down the stairs
she hears her
mother's moans
a door slams
then silence
she creeps back
into bed
carrying
Benedict
her young knight
in armour
in her head.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC