all the songs are sung
all the dirts been dug
all our secrets neat and tidied
all the good times safe and snug.

cleanliness of breath
clarity the sigh
now tell her that you love her,
and look her in the eye.

I remember a time when he would come home.

And i remember that, you must stand at the door and welcome him home like you are happy, don't forget to be happy.
Tea was always ready and the house would be clean and tidy because it should be, you wanted it to be, and woe betide you if it wasn't.
And then, when tea was finished, he wanted his beer and the tv on
and now you mustn't talk because you shouldn't.
So the kitchen was tidied and everything was just so..
you mustn't forget to make it just so.
But you know the time is coming where the beer is all gone and the match would be lost and the anger would flare.
That's when you want to become invisible but you can't
because he needs to punch something and well..
you're as good as any door.
So after the room was cleaned up and the broken glasses and lip was put away, it was time for bed..
And you can't pretend to be asleep because that doesn't count
as a no.

Thankfully there was a little glow in the dark star on the ceiling you could look up at and wish upon it that you weren't in this room, in this bed right now. I think the people who lived there before left it behind. I knew that if i moved i would take it with me.

And the need to run was immense. But there was no where to go and nobody knew and, after all, it was the way of things, don't complain.. it could be worse.. remember that.. it could be worse.. he said.

I often dreamed of a tiny little bed all of my own with fairy lights and my own place to put my books, but that would have to wait as now is not the time to think of such a silly notion. Stupid ***** that you are.

And so each and every night, i painted the roses red.. so i didn't loose my head.

And running wasn't really an option because, contrary to popular opinion, that is harder than you think.. after all... this was normal and... this is just what happens and... this is just one of those things and... **** it up buttercup, now clean the house again you stupid ****.

And in the gaslighting, which burned very bright, you would have enough of a glow to paint the roses red.
Perfectly red, everyday they would have to be red.

And life carried on for years like this and my friend, the little glow in the dark star and i were the only ones who knew what 'behind closed doors' really meant.

Inevitably children were born into this world of mine, and you can't say no to no contraception, because the need to see his fertility bloom was the most important thing in the world.
Most important.

But i was indeed blessed with more than an armful of joy.

And so we all painted the roses red and in time, we all wondered, which one of us would loose our head.

We moved house and the years passed as they normally do with various reasons to run and threats that made us stay.
But you never run..  because now he might **** you all,
and not just you.
If it was just you, you wouldn't have minded so much...

So we moved house and the little glow in the dark star came along too. It was placed near the light fitting over the bed and i put my finger to my lips and said 'shhh' as i stuck it to the ceiling.
But we knew.

And so, for a few more years you carry the weight of the world, the little secret, and a heart full of love, and begin painting the roses red with your children.
And now you definitely can't leave and you can't run because they might loose their heads and now, now you might have to watch.. while you get to keep yours.

And then a tide turned, well, four tides turned, and damage was being done that my love could not repair.
And that is when i had to be brave and i had to do what i should have done many years before.
I was conditioned to suffer along side and this was normal.
Not that any of that is an excuse.
And although i knew it wasn't right, i knew it was normal.. for me.

A contradiction if ever there was.

But my love for my children will always be far greater, greater than my love for any one else could ever be. Even if it was their flesh and blood.
And him saying we couldn't leave now did not count as a no.
But we didn't leave.
We made him pack his things and go. We had found safety in numbers, we all stood and were counted, we exposed only what secrets needed to be told.
The rest we keep for ourselves.
He never said sorry and he left. And never came back.

So we kept some of the red paint and we added orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. And we painted all of our roses any **** colour we wanted to. Including ourselves.

And I took down the little glow in the dark star, it had seen far too much and probably needed therapy :o)  

And we will live happily forever after.

To strive, for recognition

An assembly point for thought
Triumphed within an open page

Paper evidence of unspoken verse
Retrieved from the place behind this heart

Do you mind?

Don’t look over my shoulder at my vulnerability
Private stance is mine

Do not mock as I turn the page
A personal preview of this unlocked memory

Back of my neck, prickling
Anticipating on the spot reaction

Young, ill at ease
Crying from the yard

Hiding the scars
Don’t rush away the memories, a deluge

When time was so limited
Become brave

Force open the private recess
Cobwebbed and masked by dust

Speak clearly, not from mumbling
Mouth, I need to………….. know

I am blemished

So glad to be alongside you
Reunited, forgotten, forgiven.....now ribbon tied

Can we bury?
It would seem not......but wait and remember

Deceived by the dark
Under dressed for the occasion

Battered suitcase dragged and kicked open
Essays of remembrance

Headlines screaming for discussion
Released for a while

Obeyed and tidied
Press down and close the rusty catches

My new day transcribed here
I don’t mind, lean on my shoulder

See my vulnerability
It makes me strong

We all want someone to hold whilst the music plays
but this is a delayed reaction to teenage hormones,

you're clutching to not-a-lot-of-nothings,
smart jeans and smart cologne, a stolen ring

from your step-father's collection tidied away,
deep, in a box under bed sheets in that drawer.

Your mum says the right one will come 'round
soon enough, but so far the results

of dressing differently have resulted in
women speaking like spray from under a van:

rainwater white noise and not a lot else;
though you're still searching, if not for you,

for your mother instead, elderly and re-married:
some else's burden, another husband to carry.

Carry out of the bottom of drunken wine glasses
and into clear meadows on weekly walks
where discussions take place, peace treaty
talks about holidays in the Mediterranean,

upon balcony ledges they'll embrace, learn
about fading stars, the history behind buildings

visit local bars to drink sober cocktails
conjured up in off-the-web smoothie makers

bought with the ambition to make a living
and help the community out.

If not now then when, your **** shouts
hiding beneath moneyed material

cut in sweat shops, washed in sweat heaps,
delivered by the sweaty mail man of the Bronx,

will women love me you'll say,
will women want a house with me, stay the night

under reclaimed, bought from thrift shop,
lights and kiss until mornings turn into weeks,

those weeks into new jobs
and before you know it, retirement plots

in allotments off Broadway?

He switched off the TV and turned to his wife;
“That's the worst news report that I've seen in my life!”
She tidied their supper away and she said,
“I’ll be dreaming of that when we’ve long gone to bed.”

“Did you see all that famine, starvation and drought?
Well it sure makes you think what this world’s all about!
Global warming and climate change melting the poles;
I just wish someone used some pollution controls.”

He nodded and sighed as he straightened the chairs;
“Can’t believe all that bloodshed caught me unawares!
It’s just seems there’s a war every place that you look;
Religion and greed?  Hell, they’ve written the book!”

With his arm round her shoulder they looked down below
as the Moon bathed the Earth in a silvery glow.
In her cute alien ear then she heard his grim mutter;
“Here we are in the stars looking down at the gutter.”

Scribbled in a pre-*** haste
of hormones and awful
music taste,
your name on the back of a receipt
is no way to treat
a one night stand
that you met at the bar;
held hands with in the street;
and subsequently left when
the night became light and neat,
tidied up in a 10am alarm clock
call.

Could’ve waited until
we were both awake,
that way the alcohol would’ve warn off
and we could take this major issue
for what it was-
excitement;
and much anticipation; and placing into
action every lesson learnt from Nick Hornby books,
or pieces of information tucked
deep within our internet bookmark lists.

At least stay until after
Desert Island Discs
next time,
because then buses shall be running
on time, and you won’t have to risk
the public transport roulette table
that spins around this town,
this great noun in the Anglia east.

Now it's the news, and the news
is you've gone.  For a moment
I slipped back into a sleepy cement,
making for rough fingers-
that last night made the ascent
up to warmer climates.

And now back to lonelier nights
and Nick Hornby books,
afternoon wake-up calls
from Mum, back home,
asking how to download
the latest Google Chrome.

Yiska wants to take Benny home with her after school and whisk him past her mother and up to her room but she knows her mother would watch her like a hawk especially if she had Benny in tow and would ask her all sorts of questions and where do you think you are going with him? but she can dream about it dream she has brought him home and as she passes her mother in the kitchen her mother in one of her dark moods preparing dinner she climbs the stairs slowly imagining Benny is behind her walking up the stairs probably watching her legs or her *** his eyes glued but she doesn't know so she imagines he is and when she gets to the top of the stairs she pauses on the landing and looks down the stairs and waits listening to the radio her mother has just turned on some classical stuff she pauses there pretending Benny has stopped her and has put his arms around her waist and has laid his hands on her *** and she believes she can feel it his hands his fingers moving but it's in the head in her imagination but no harm in pretending so she lingers there for a short duration looking along the landing wrapping her own arms about herself kissing her shoulder don't forget to change out of your school uniform her mother calls out from below stairs I won't she calls back hugging herself extra tight patting her own *** with a hand as she hoped he would do if he were there and they were standing where she is now and put your ***** blouse in the linen basket her mother calls up ok she calls back unhugging herself walking along the landing walking past her parent's room tempted to peek in wondering if she should just a quick glimpse she stops outside her parent's room and opens the door quietly and peers inside imagining she has Benny beside her and she's showing him inside at the big double bed the tallboy the dressing table where her mother has all her make up and perfumes and drugs for her depression and hairbrushes and the mirror facing her and she says to herself-and the imagined Benny- nice bed what you reckon? make a good bed to do it in? the room smells of perfume of all kinds and a scent of bodies and staleness she is tempted to go lay on the bed and feel it beneath her and makes out they are doing things him beside her touching her and she kisses him and he putting his hand along her thigh and make sure you fold up your school skirt and jumper I don't want it just thrown anywhere her mother calls up to her from downstairs she closes the door to her parent's room and says loudly down the stairs I will fold them up and walks to her own room taking Benny’s imagined hand in hers and enters her own room and closes the door behind her and looks around the room as if through his eyes her mother has been in here and tidied up put things away picked up stuff from the floor taken away the tea plate she'd left there the night before and the soiled linen she'd let drop by the bed she stands there and sighs a window is open to let in air-breath of fresh air her mother calls it-the curtains flap in the breeze sounds from neighbours in their gardens kids from down the street she goes to the window and closes it and looks out at the surrounding area making out Benny’s still behind her his arms around her waist his lips kissing her neck she closes the curtains and stares around the room focusing on her single bed with its pink flowery cover her mother bought her Teddy Bear  now ageing by her pillow not that big she says over her shoulder to the pretend Benny but we could still do it if we're careful she whispers to herself she sits on the bed and stares at her Teddy some nights he is Benny and she hugs him and kisses him and has him next to her as she settles down but Teddy's a lousy lover he does nothing and says nothing she sits the make believe Benny next to her on the bed imagines his hand is tapping the bed be ok Benny says using her voice she stands up and begins to take off her school jumper unbuttoning the green buttons and pulling off and dropping it on the bed then unties the green patterned tie and takes it off and tosses it over her shoulder she sighs closes her eyes you unbutton the blouse she tells the make believe Benny and her fingers unbutton the blouse one by one slowly and once it is unbuttoned she lets his fingers-hers really- take it off of her body and drop it onto the floor what do you think? she asks him shall l take off the skirt or you? her fingers unzip the zip and pulls it down and once loose the skirt falls to the floor and she kicks it across the room and stands there eyes closed pretending he is studying her in her small bra and ******* she waits for his words his comments what are you doing there? and why are the clothes scattered all over the place her mother says from the open door Yiska opens her eyes and stares at her mother standing sullen faced by her bedroom door day dreaming Yiska says about what? her mother asks picking up the school skirt from the floor and folding it neatly and gazing at her daughter stern eyed just day dreaming Yiska says watching her mother putting the clothes in a pile and picking the ***** blouse from the floor and holding the soiled linen in her hands this room was tidy why untidy it? her mother says sorry wasn't thinking Yiska says glad her mother couldn't read her thoughts or see the imagined Benny kissing her neck and whose right hand was fondling her right *** because if she could she'd have a fit.

Milka wanted Benedict
to take her across
old Tom Dubbin’s bed,
(the old boy was down stairs

in the lounge
waiting for death);
she’d put aside
her mop and bucket,

unbuttoned
her light blue
overalls,
but Benedict

had refused,
said it wasn’t
the time or place.  
But still she lay,

her blouse undone,
her skirt hitched up,
pouting her lips.
They won’t miss you

for a short while,
she said, besides
who will know?
Benedict tidied

the sink, washed
away the spit
from the old boy’s mug,
straightened the towels.

I could always scream
and say you wanted
to take me here,
she said.

He pulled back
the yellow curtains,
opened up
the windows.

For everything
there’s a season,
he said,
this is not it.

What if I say
you pushed me
on the bed?
she said.

They know you,
Benedict said,
they think you’re a
***** anyway;

they know me,
know what I’m like
and will say, no way.
Milka got off the bed,

pulled down
her skirt
and buttoned up
her blouse,

tidied her
blonde hair.
One day you will,
she said,

one day.
Maybe, he said,
one day, yet in
his mind or in sleep

at night, he often had,
taken her,
as she called it,
across some

old boy’s bed,
but so far not
for real, just inside
his young man’s head.

Milka sat on the grass outside the farmhouse. It was a warm day and insects buzzed the air. Benny had just gone off on his bike; she hadn't wanted him to go, but he had  to be some place else and he had ridden off. Her mother had arrived and was carrying bags of shopping from the boot of the car into the house. She gave Milka a look as if to say: You could help, but said nothing, hoping that a look would indicate the need, but Milka looked back at the road hoping Benny would return to her. Although they'd had *** in her bed-while her mother was out shopping- she felt she needed him still, as if the *** had not been enough, as if her appetite was bottomless. The mother disappeared inside the house, then came out again to the car for more bags. You could help rather than sit there looking into space, her mother said. Milka got up from the grass and made her way over to the boot of the car and picked out two of the lighter bags and carried them behind her mother into the house and placed them on the kitchen table. Anything else? Milka said. Her mother looked at her and saw the stance of her daughter and how reluctant she seemed to be of any real use and shook her head. No, wouldn't want to put you out in anyway, the mother said. I can help if you want me to, Milka said. Make me a drink of tea, then, her mother said. Milka filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove and lit up the stove with a match, then put three spoonfuls of tea into the teapot. She took two cups and saucers from the cupboard and laid them on the top. Her mother put away the groceries and then sat down at the table and  watched her daughter going about the task of tea making. What have you been doing while I’ve been shopping? Her mother asked, you were in bed when I left. Milka looked at her mother. The kettle began to boil. She said, got up and washed and dressed and ate breakfast. Her mother's eyes scanned her. That all? Her mother said. Had she seen Benny along the road? Had she passed him? She gazed at her mother for any clues or maybe a hint as if her mother was testing her. Benny came for a while, Milka said, he's just gone. I know, I saw him along the road riding his bike, her mother said, he waved. The two females looked at each other for a few moments in silence. What did you do? Her mother asked. Questions and questions. As if she suspected. She looked at her mother's face. Took in the eyes. I showed him the baby piglets, Milka said, he thinks they're cute. She had shown him the piglets just before he'd left. After the ***. After the *** and while she was still damp and yet still hungry for it. He's a good boy, her mother said, I like him. I know you do. If only you were younger. Milka nodded and looked at the kettle boiling and whistling away on the stove. She put the hot water in the teapot and stirred the tea-leaves around with a spoon. He'd make a good farm helper, her mother said, shame he's otherwise engaged in that nursery work. Milka poured two cup of tea and added milk and sugar. She took both cups in saucers to the table and sat down. He has worked on a farm he told me, Milka said, when he was thirteen helping out after school. Her mother smiled. And sipped her tea. It'd be good if he worked here, her mother said, on the farm. Yes, you'd like that wouldn't you, having him about the place so you could fuss over him, wishing you were younger, wishing you were a girl again. Ask him, Milka said, knowing he wouldn't, knowing he was happy where he was. I will next time I see him, her mother said. Milka sipped the tea. She still felt damp and sticky. She'd go up and wash down later. She watched her mother sipping tea, looking at the table, thinking. If only you knew what we did earlier, you'd not think him so good. She moved her bottom on the chair, to get comfortable. The image of Benny in her bed was still stuck there in her head. Her arms around his waist. He entering her. She sighed. Her mother looked up at her. What’s up with you? She asked, studying her daughter closely. Stomach pains, Milka said, the first thing that came up in her head. Her mother studied her. Can't believe you're that age, her mother said, don't seem long ago you were pushing a dolls pram around the place. I'm fifteen and have the week coming up, Milka said, pulling a face. When I was your age I’d started work, her mother said. I will when I leave school in July, Milka said, secretly rubbing herself below. Time flies, her mother said, draining her cup of tea, must get on with the housework. She stared at Milka. You can help by tidying your bed and your room, she said. The bed. She had tidied it a bit after the ****** acts, but it may need proper seeing to. Yes, I'll do it when I've drunk my tea, she said, hoping her mother wouldn't venture in her room before her, hoping she'd not see any signs. Make sure you do. I've never seen such an untidy room, her mother said. If she'd seen it earlier it was a right mess. Seen us. At it.  She blushed. Her mother had gone. She felt herself redden in the face. What if she had returned early? What if she had opened the door? Her heart missed a beat. It seemed too surreal to think about. Where was Benny now? Seventeen and at work for two years and she wants him here working? If she knew. She went to the window and peered out. It was warm out and the sky was a brighter blue.

sweetly swimming
in the colder tides of
emptiness—
tidier than the backseat and
your umbrellas; tidier
than the rolling crests of
suburbia;
tidied by the frayed smoothness
of sea.

Unintended circumstances brought me back
Where the wild things are. Or were.
Youthful images reemerge as I traverse my old home.
A senseless vagabond roaming former lands
With bittersweet observations and nothing short of good intentions.
Old landmarks remain, others disappeared as I did.
My room remains open and lonely with tidied sheets
And outdated athletic apparel scattered throughout.
A sign that my presence here is obsolete.
I've been dreading this day for some time now.
Not due to my father's underwhelming support
Or my mother's overbearing nature.
I've been dreading this day because of the monsters under my bed.
They don't exist anymore.
I'm not afraid anymore.
My biggest childhood worry vanished the minute
I stepped foot out of the house for good.
So when I stepped foot back into my room to fall asleep
I gave one last look where my nightmares once resided.
Just in case I had fooled myself into becoming one of
The vast majority of adults too mature for childhood villains.
And then it happened- my innocence evaporated from my body.
My sophisticated eyes were no match for my former foes.
I had confirmed the last traces of my youth had been eliminated
From my very existence- migrating under mattresses around the block.
So all I can do now is lie here and reminisce about
Where the wild things are now.

Twas the last day of school
before a long winter break
Not a student was learning,
they were all munching on cake

The children had tidied,
supplies all snug in their places
With candy cane smiles
lighting up their sweet faces

The artwork was stowed
in their backpacks with care
In the hope that they'd bring
holiday cheer home to share

When outside the portable
there arose such a clatter
Ms. G sprang from the party
to see what was the matter

The class followed her out,
filling up the whole porch
And right out in front of them,
near as a bright as a torch

Rudolph, nose blazing red
through the dark Vancouver rain,
Behind him the reindeer
pulling Santa’s sleigh like a train

Santa jumped out spritely,
red hat bouncing with glee
He waved at the group and
boomed out, "Hello there Ms. G,"

“And Division 14,
all of you good girls and boys.
We’re rehearsing our run
to practice delivering toys”

The reindeer pranced all round,
putting on a fine show
Santa offered his hand and said,
“Come on Ms. G, let’s go,”

“We’ll drop you in Mexico
before we head back,”
Ms. G happily agreed, asking
“do you have time for a snack?”

The class joyfully welcomed
the jolly crew to the party
They delighted in the games
and the food, eating hearty

Too soon it was time
for the guests of honour to go
Santa sprang to his sleigh and
exclaimed, “**, **, **,”

"Now, Rudoph and Dasher!
Dancer, Prancer and *****!
Now, Comet! on, Cupid!
On, Donner on Blitzen!

“To the top of the portable
then over the school
To Mexico we go,
to Ms. G’s holiday by the pool.”

And off the sleigh flew
with Ms. G safely strapped in,
Her pink toque a-bobbing,
her face all a-grin

They heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Holidays to all,
and to all a good night!"

In the shed down the garden, beneath the bench,
By the ladders and paint and the old monkey wrench;
There’s a tea-chest that’s full of all sorts of scrap,
Bolts, nuts and screws, and an old water-tap.
In the house up the garden, sat by the fire
There is an old-man who was once a live-wire.
He’d chase all the ladies and dance the nights through
But now at his age he finds little to do.
So it wasn’t so strange that one day he decided
That it had been far too long since the shed had been tidied.
He put on his cap and his old working-clothes
And he marched down the garden where everything grows.
He was armed to the teeth with his broom, bags and bucket
To save further journeys what he needed he took it.
In earnest he started to raise lots of dust
Then he threw out the things that were covered in rust.
A Smithy by trade, he had a feeling for metal
For years he had cut it and worked to fine fettle.
So he got out his tools, then he thought for a while
And then began crafting from the bits in the pile.
With all that was useful, out of all that he’d got
With skill, slow and surely he produced a Robot.
It was four-feet in height; on two-legs there it stood,
He observed it with pleasure and thought he’d done good.
But it was just life-less; no movement, no speech,
The legs could not walk and the arms did not reach.
He sat there and fretted, he pondered and thought
Until it was dark, but his thinking brought nought.
Sadly, defeated, and through lack of light
He reluctantly said, ‘that’s enough for tonight.’
So he gathered up his tools and patted Robot’s head
And he went up the garden and retired to his bed.
Tired from his grafting he soon snored in deep-sleep;
Whilst down in the shed only wood-lice did creep.
The Robot stood there lit up by moon’s-rays
Void of a heart and without human-ways.
It was then when the rain started to drop
In cats and dogs, well it just wouldn’t stop.
Then came the banging big base-drum like
And shortly there followed a bright lightening-strike.
It flashed through the trees and right through the shed
There it struck Robot on the top of his head.
Smoke came from his ears and his eye started to roll,
His arms lifted-up and his legs took a stroll.
He walked up and down, then through the shed-door,
Then out in the garden where the rain still did pour.
He got to the house, where he knocked on a pane,
When the man awoke he thought he’d gone insane.
The Robot then shouted, ‘look here my good-fella,
Is there possibly a chance I could loan an umbrella?’
He rushed down the stairs, turned the key in the lock
He was all of a shake; still suffering from shock.
But from that day forth he was a man with great pleasure;
Enjoying the Robot he’d constructed in leisure.
Never was a man so happy with his lot
From the friendship he forged with the home-made Robot.

Matt... get up

Not in an angry tone, but in that slightly disappointed tone that your mum uses. The tone I use to myself at times like this.

Get up.

But how shall I "get up"?
Do I simply climb off this sofa and clean up that Lego my kids left?
Seems so... basic...
Or is this something else?
Does "get up" mean I need to "get" something that's missing from me? And what is this "up" anyway?
Up is higher, better, stronger, more positive, more productive, more useful, more, just ... more... more than I am.
Scary thought being more than i am. Not because I have to do more than I am doing. Just because I haven't done it already. That I already wasted so much time when I could have been doing more. When I could have tidied up the Lego and be using this very time reflecting on a job well done. But the Lego is still sitting there.

"It's not going to pick itself up."
There it is again

As I watch this Lego, still not picking itself up, I reflect on the lessons you learn from Lego.
One brick at a time.
Think outside the blocks.
Create something great from small beginnings.
Or, in the words of Clutch Powers "we build on each other".
Valuable lessons, if I get up.

Up. The opposite of down. The opposite of where I am on this sofa. Unless you consider my position relative to the ground. I'm not rock bottom. There are people starving in the world you know? No. I'm on a sofa. Looking at some Lego bricks.

Which still haven't picked themselves up.
Get up.
Get UP.
Up
UP
down?
No up.
Ugh
Ok
I'm up.

At last! Now get dressed.

Its a Sunday morning when the world works to a different pattern
housework claws in and takes control
of the daily tasks
last weeks work looks at me with doleful eyes
and a feather duster tickles my fancy.

Soon the clutter will unclutter itself
the vacuum cleaner will **** out the symphony
of dust and dirt and unhidden memories
and my desk will be tidied up and paper
towels will do their job.I spend time
re-arranging ******* in a more distinct pattern
" Ah, so there's that telephone number I scribbled last week!"

I return after an hours homework
and settle at my desk.
" Now where did I leave that phone number again?"

I survey the scene on AP
and skim through the comments
"God, he did not like my last poem,
She said :Keep it real
He said: What does this mean?"

and and and
The Green Eyes are forever smiling

Its a worthwhile Sunday

I better take up Chapter 36 of my book
but open Mathematical Universe instead.

Those eyes are haunting!
Its a beautiful Sunday.

Cloud gazing, and yet head hung low
Duct workers maintain their pumps
Assumptions of the first red curtain show
Will the Black Lady come up trumps?

Defending she does of a savage blow
Boundaries pass, still have that lump
Fear dissipates fast, you just know
Wet fish slap, touch down bump

Mission seamed so clear at this fresh start
No predictions of a brain confuddulation
Hike, zigzag, spin to the coldest part
Lump no longer lonely, face mutation

Back to back days of kart
Winning is a fictitious temptation
Easy(ish)-flow braced up for the heart
No longer now is there frustration

Excitement and passion, give me a smack
‘Give a ****’ overtakes fear in a split
Dee Bath bound, spells **** good craic
‘cos you know darlin’, you are fit!

Anticipations of caressing your back
I’ve even tidied up my flat of a pit!
Panic not of spending a whack
Fly when cheapest, I’ll see you in a bit…

The little vacuum was happy as could be, he was
Being treated to a trip where he had never been.

It was out side where the light was real, to feel the
Air on his hose, would it be sunny, cold, blustery.
Excitement was growing his cord extended with
Help of a friend the extension cord Barry.

So the door opened eager to see what could be seen,
Was the outside world all he had heard sites, sounds,
Smells, now he was cleaned regularly he could take
In the smells and sites he was about to see.

They stepped out side it was all he had dreamed no
Longer in the box time to play to be happy, there was
Big Garry the family car gave me a wink with the
Indicator when he saw me.

Time for a clean was spoken, As like me  not tidied up
Much, but now was his turn to smell fresh and clean,
Garry was big but not much older than me. Beep, beep
Went the horn, was that the neighbour couldn't be my
Car as I'm  not in the seat.

So we started to vacuum the mess was not the best but
Clean Garry would soon be, Then left alone as the phone
Rang, alone with Garry, then out of the corner I saw you.

Approached we were, I didn't like the look of this  person,
Specially as they had waited till we were alone. my Daddy
Told me never talk to those you don't know, as a stranger
Can be dangerous, not friendly.

He spoke saying hello who left you out here all  alone,
I hovered but could not be heard by my family, he was
Trying to take me where I wished  not to go, but I was
Not alone, I had my friend Garry.

Garry did honk his horn his alarm startled the stranger,
Running out, to what could be seen, saw  what was
Happening and came to protect me.

The police were called, flashing lights did I  see, told was
He never to leave alone things that are part of the family,
As strangers are danger don't you see, Gary was lucky
As no keys did he have on he.

So stranger danger we both learnt that day, never to be left
Alone for any time, as it only takes a moment to be lost to
Be taken by those that are not family.



*--This was the story of how a stranger should
Never be spoken to, or go with no matter what they
Promise to give. The only people to talk to are family
And the polite police men and woman who will get you
Back if left alone or lost away from family--

The North Wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,

And what will poor Robin do then,
Poor thing…



The house that poor young Robin bought,
You’d scarcely call it a house,
A single room on a farmer’s farm
You’d not swing even a mouse.
But he moved on in, and tidied it up
And asked Rosemary to stay,
She sat in silence, her knees clamped tight,
And her first response, ‘No way!’

‘There isn’t a cupboard to keep a broom,
The kitchen’s there by the wall,
We couldn’t live in this tiny room
To even think, I’m appalled.’
But Robin said, ‘It’s just for a start,
I’m going to build on a wing,
I’m making the bricks from mud and straw
It will all be done by the Spring.’

So Rosemary had unpacked her case,
And hung her clothes on a hook,
Then looked in vain for a tiny shelf,
There wasn’t even a book.
But Robin slaved, out in the yard,
Making his bricks from straw,
The walls went up and the roof went on,
And he laid the wood for the floor.

At first they slept on the floor inside,
And Rosemary kept it clean,
She said, ‘Don’t touch, till I am a bride,’
And pillows went in between.
He put his love all into his wing,
All carpeted now, and swish,
And set it up as a bedroom then,
‘Are you coming to bed?’ ‘You wish!’

She only ever kissed with a peck,
She never opened her lips,
He wanted more, but couldn’t be sure,
As he nibbled her fingertips.
Then one day, down came the winter rain
And the wind it was blowing cold,
Rosemary lay there shivering so
She allowed him just one hold.

His hand had strayed, down where it would
You’ll admit we’d do the same,
But he found down there, in that neighbourhood
Something that changed the game.
He leapt on up, and he washed his hands,
Said, ‘You’re not even a girl!’
‘Didn’t you guess,’ said Rosemary,
‘It’s not the end of the world.’

She chased him all around in that room,
‘I thought you wanted to play,’
While Robin stood, his back to the wall,
While holding her off, ‘No way!’
He fled into his favourite wing,
And hammered and bolted the door,
His bricks were melting out in the rain
And mud flowed over the floor.

She went on back to the troupe ‘Les Girls’,
While Robin stayed on the farm,
You’ll not see him venturing out these days
He lives in a state of alarm.
With just the sight of a petticoat
He’s a shuddering, gibbering wreck,
And ask him if he will leave his wing,
The answer comes back, ‘Like heck!’


He’ll flee to his farm,

To keep him from harm,

And hide his head under his wing,

Poor thing!

David Lewis Paget

Farewell my bike blue
I know the day would come to say goodbye
as it goes with any loved one
My eyes still searching like a hungry creature
every point on the street every blue is you
a hope of light but I know you are gone

I mourn today and share it with the world I live in
the blues that my heart sadly sings is for the departure
of the synesthetic joy we exchanged
during the star-years of change

I received the learning of each and every moment
by seeing you again amongst many others
standing there humbly
waiting for me
as if one of the others

We always knew a secret to shine for each other
You as the blue of the morning sky to release
the heaviness coming from the mind to deliver
a shine of hope in less than a moment of recognition

so way I convert to a light to alight light
and fully become one with you again

we come from a world of soul
you and I
not different in the essence of awareness
definitions separate us just
In our world all things are alive

I knew this would happen soon
three days long I received signs from the universe
that you will be gone
could not /did not want to believe
I did my best to keep the key in my heart
and until today
when a moment of courage was lost
when you were out of sight
and I lost

learning my new body unsupported
collecting  my new mind like
laundry spread on a field
a field where I wish to  kick a ball only
they say you become normal finally
like us you can cry
like us you can feel tired
like our period wish for chocolate
and halt and stop and accept that you cannot swing from a star
why not add a bag of chips to it and a TV screen
I politely refuse each time
I say then I have my bike blue waitin for me sorry I gotta go now

They try  and I try
to understand what they say
Do they mean they can learn things without becoming things?
but do they -those who assign normal -
not know that I have not enough intelligence to do that?
they also see I fail each time I try
as I failed today and also yesterday and also the day before
I don’t believe in normality definitions
no  we cannot be normalized as such or domesticated
but love
because love

Today when I got blurred he showed up
as predicted
at the side of a shadowy street
he gave me a slight sight look just
In the suit of Mr. Passerby
one of the innocent silhouettes doing as if he is not meant to be a silhouette  i said
not suspecting the angel of separation
they always take an appearance of someone
it is for a reason I know and I shall not cry
but I even cried

the reason let me prepare you well at least
for your go last night
It was a sign of a bird
so I cleaned your seat
changed your cover
emptied your bag
tidied your reserves
adjusted your saddle
on my return you were gone
with the key

I sang My Bike Blue written for you all night
still feel you under that star
and I know
I will never see you again
but the song brings us back
to salute us on your moves forward
let they be blessed on their journey
then I am happy - peaceful
each time a joy felt
I am touching your spirit again

I realised too late
That I should not have
Tidied us into separate picture frames
When we could
Perhaps
Have shared one between us
Like those other lovers
Who sit together on swings
And giddy themselves
And that I should not have
Scribbled over every thought
And possibility
And guess
I should not have hemmed back
The inch of romance
I once set aside for you
Because the only thing that stopped me
Was fear
You remain my one love story
The sole great un-requited affair
The unspoken words
Between each conversation line
The coffee stains on the pages of my novel
That will forever anticipate a you that is past
And you remain my one love story
You are the love story that I told myself
Was not love
And we were never anything other than silence
And holes in the conversation
Like dropped stitches
When we were twelve
You asked me out via someone else
And I stamped ******* your offered palm
Never stopping to learn
Whether you meant it
And I hope now that you did
Because then it is not so foolish to call you a love affair
And I still do not quite believe that I love you
Only
I saw you today
And my chest
Ceased to be that glacier it chooses to be
Pinned under the lining of every coat
I own
And you said
Hey!
And I hoped I wasn't imaging it
That you were pleased to see me
Because I know that the
Global Warming
Of my world had to be worth something to you
And I have always been something of an
Introvert
And you have always been something of a skateboarder
But you are immortal
In my
Sort-of
Maybe-not
Half-way
Down-trodden
Hold-back
Confused melting
As I paint the pavement
With the contents of my
Ribcage.

She crosses fields to find him,
passing cows, over low fences,
along dust tracks. He's probably
at the farm, his mother said, he

works there after school some
days and at week ends if he has
time to spare, so she goes there,
her bike parked by the cottage

wall, on foot, treading her way,
warm morning, Saturday. He
sees her coming through the farm,
dressed in jeans, blouse and boots,

her red hair tied in a bunch, hands
in her pockets, mouth chewing gum.
Farm hands view her a she passes,
their eyes feeding on her swaying

behind, her tiny ****, not knowing
13 years had scarcely gone, then
turn away, back to their work of
milking cows or weighing milk

or cleaning cow sheds of **** and
straw. Your mother said I'd find
you here, Lizbeth says, eyeing
him, his face and eyes and the

way he stands. He views her,
sensing her non-countryside ways,
a towny, others'd say. Just doing
a bit, he says, got hay bales to

stack, tidy and lay. Can I help?
she says, I’ve nothing much to do?
If you like, he says, and walks
along to the barn and she follows,

swaying her hips, holding her
head to one side. He shows her
the hay bales, where they need
to be and how to stack. It smells

in here, she says, heat of hay,
he says, gets stuffy. She runs a hand
over the nearest bales. Soft enough,
she says, looking at him, her eyes

focusing, sniffing the air. Soft enough
for what? He says. To lay on, cuddle
on, she say softly. Best not, he says,
others may come. Not up there, she

says, pointing to a higher place above
their heads, there we'd not been seen.
Best not, he says, they want me for
work not to laze or shirk. She pouts

her lips, walks about the barn, touching
with her fingers, running palms over
the bales. Just a little while, she says,
unbuttoning her blouse, needn't be long,

fingers slowly working the buttons.
There's mice and rats about, he says,
could be anywhere in here. She pauses,
her fingers still, her eyes enlarging.

Here? she asks. He nods, seen them
about, a few hours ago. She buttons
up her blouse, gazing around. Shame,
she says, wanted to, you know, here

in the quiet, us alone. He stands and
gazes, takes in her slim frame, her eyes,
her hands holding each other and
squeezing. Another time maybe, she

says, some other place, somewhere
that's quiet, where we'd not be disturbed.
He nods, viewing her small *******
tidied away, at least for the day, like

small babes put to bed, and tucked
up safe and sound. She kisses his cheek,
touches his arm, see you, she says softly,
see you around, and she walks way,

her swaying behind, tight in her jeans,
walking through dust and hay, see you,
she says, blowing a kiss, another day.

Elaine walked home with her sister after getting off the school bus she had looked up as the bus drove off and stared to see if John was looking and he was and she smiled or she is sure she did smile then after the bus had gone she wondered if she had smiled or not or whether she had imagined she had done so her sister walked on chatting about her day Elaine just listened as much as she thought she ought but deep down she was not interested in her sisters day she was more concerned about John and how he had talked to her and named her after a butterfly but now she had forgotten the name of the butterfly was it Peacock or whatever she couldnt recall and did it matter? no it didnt stay in her mind the name so it couldnt have been important  at all she thought looking past her sister at the trees and the hedgerow which they walked past when they entered the house her mother was in the kitchen preparing the dinner her sister talked to her mother about her day but apart from saying hello and yes she was all right Elaine walked up the stairs to her room and shut the door and put her school bag on the floor and walked to the window and stared out at the garden and the trees and birds in the air and she thought of John and his talk of birds and how he sought out their nests not to invade or destroy but to study and see what nest it was and how many eggs and what was the name of the butterfly he said she was? she couldnt recall and looked back at her bed at the neatness of it after her mother had made and tidied up and her favourite doll lay next to her pillow she lay down on the bed and crossed her legs at her ankles and put her hands over stomach and stared at the ceiling white but with a spider black and plump settled in the corner by the window she hated spiders hated the way they settled there as if waiting for the lights to go out at night then creep along above her bed and then silently lower themselves down into her bed or head or on her pillow she thought of john how he had talked to her even though she had stormed off a while ago after the kiss he gave her and it had unsettled her but now she wondered if he would kiss her again and if he did how she would feel next time she sighed and looked at her feet at the shoes black and slightly scuffed and she knew her mother would tell her off for having her shoes on while laying on the bed she stared at the shoes then eased them off with one foot after the other the shoes falling to the floor and her feet just having the white socks on and she wiggled her toes and sighed and closed her eyes and wondered what John was doing now and if he was at home now and what he was thinking and was he thinking of her as she was thinking of him she mused trying to imagine him in her minds eye wondering if he would kiss her kiss her the Frump as the other kids called her at school he had once kissed her she embraced herself her hands on her shoulders crossed over her ******* imagining that maybe he would embrace her like that and hold her close to him and if he did how would she react and why did he blush so easily as she had when he seemed to take note of her she wanted to pretend he was there beside her now here in her room where she felt safe and here on her bed so she could hold him and he hold her but what then? kissing? and how would her body react to that? She didn't understand her body it seemed to act on its own like it did that time when he kissed her and her body acted almost independently of her heart plump faster and her pulse raced that day and O God she had thought sh'd wet herself  but she hadnt it was just a thing about him how he could affect so even if she didnt think her did he did she pulled the pillow from behind her head and held it close to her feeling it with her fingers with eyes still closed she imagined it was he there his body she was holding soft not firm she sniffed it it smelt of herself her shampoo her sweat her not him she held it against her ******* kissed the top pretending it was he whom her lips touched but it wasn't like him when he kissed her that day it seemed so soft like a feather touching but it was him his lips touched her so softly yet stirred her so much she hugged the pillow tighter yet hugging it made her feel uneasy what if it was him she was hugging where did things go from there she wondered what happened next when he had kissed her that day his hands had touched her back one hand moving over bottom and yet she wasnt so aware at the time of the effect it was afterwards after he had gone that she realized that he had touched her there or the maybe it was like a palm print there at least she imagined so was that what happened? was it touching too? where touching? O she pushed the pillow away from her and opened her eyes and stared at the pillow laying there white and soft and lifeless an aunt had said to her a while ago beware of boys Elaine they only want to get into your ******* and yet her aunt had never said why or what the boys were after and she hated being fourteen at times she wanted to be nine or ten again when thing seemed simple and her body did what it was told but now it seemed to do what it wanted and not what she thought it should she sighed and put the pillow under head again and lay on her side and stared at the wall her hands tucked between her thighs her mind full of what ifs and sad sighs.

near the marches.

it is my brother’s birthday
soon, , stopped
in the village to shop.

it is a good store, post
office at the back, steaming
gently, brown paper, calculating.

the candles are dear, just one pack left,
perhaps a power cut come lately?

anadin, i tidied, whilst i waited gently.

outside she wondered at the ivy
outside to inside the place.

some one moved gently
behind her.

i could not sleep with all
that wondering.

the wandering through
the marches.

sbm.

My springtime's never ending suns
I carry sunglow from window to bed,
planning, when the next day has come,
just as soon as the pets are fed,
and I've tidied up my empty head,
walked the dog, give cat the cream,
to run and jump and skip and play
not laze around and sleep and dream...
Too late! my pet's wet chomping jaws
send my dreams to damp moist earthy days
of screaming pterodactyls & dinosaurs...

My summer sun's they always shone
so brightly that they hurt my eyes,
and I hid and wished it, Begone!
with my false exasperated sighs...
I lazed around and fantasied,
conjured darkness for my needs,
and willed self toy for troglodytes
so dreamily these beasts use my hands on me
on dark cave floor's breed in me, such dreams...
Of Hekate's hounds entering... in my mind
behind the private door's of my eyes.

Now my Autumn comes crashing down
there's earlier settings of darker suns,
troglodytes and hell's hounds keep me bound
on stiff stalking legs ***** one-eyed proud
as creeping winters begin to run...
My pale face mirrored as I count my sum,
of my omniverse to find it finally means,
of my dreams this whole world wide,
dream leads to this... Whereof? I cannot dream...

An apple a day keeps the doctor away
The number thirteen is unlucky, they say
But what do they know as they kneel, as they pray?
Very little, or so I suspect.

To know one does not is to follow a path
Down which Socrates travelled through Plato's remarks
In a dialogue 'twixt many men playing parts
In a drama we cannot reject.

The orchid expresses a *******'s tresses
He yields to a woman's flosculous caresses
Her petals wilt down as the flower undresses
With a perfume unbottled, unkempt.

The covers they rise and the muscles they twist
The lovers meet under a treacherous tryst
Yet nothing prepared for the moment they kissed
And their eyes met with love heaven-sent.

"Loco! Loco!" they bray, wanting neatness to stay
Tidied rooms, closing doors as they're lost by the way
Through which others have carried us day after day
And they're bowing, conforming to norms.

For it's hard when you're scarred to not simply be harmed
By the things that they show you when you are unarmed
By the people you see being not formed but farmed,
Staring blankly with evident scorn.

the memory starts clearly aged ten. kept in the fitted cabinet, second drawer down, mother’s scissors. i guess they were around before in a more muzzy state in  mind.

she may have kept my fringe tidy  when i was not taken off to the barber in the village. he used a plank across the arms of the chair to seat me. i was small then.



she said that hers were special, hairdressers’ scissors. we were never to cut paper with them, yet we did. once i saw her cutting greaseproof; different rules apply.



we  had only one pair. just one pair that i remember. i felt that mum gave them great importance, transfered this feeling.

i wish i had kept them, even with the damage.  the incident was one afternoon .



a lamp needed moving,  plug removing and my brother put it off for various reasons. we heard the noise, the bang , we saw the feathers.

those days many people had budgies, ours was blue usually. i think green was a different price?

so mum cut the electric wire with her special scissors to remove the plug, still plugged in. a hole then  in the blade. mother put to bed, we probably took her tea. the budgerigar tidied and settled we all moved forward with experience.



i wonder still if this is why i collect scissors here.



sbm.

maybe is the colours, red and white,
that appeal, the patterns, or the
retro items in the cupboard. he

gasped, and proclaimed the beauty
as the door was opened. so
yesterday, all was tidied, categorised,
more paper laid, for his, and my
delight.

he is home from holday.

sbm

She was already there
I think she was waiting for us
She started saying she still loved us
Then the story unfolds
She needed us....again

When my sister spoke
She was quick to anger
Just as fast she would recover
her calm
She needed us....again

"I was held at gun point!"
"I just didn't believe you loved me!"
"Your mother made me this way!"
"I loved dad! You just don't know what I've been through!"
     "I"
          "I"
               "I"

So many sad tales
She always plays the victim
Living in a world full of villains
She cut ties with us but....
She needed us....again

This time I didn't pull my punches
This time we told her how we felt
This time the dam just broke
This time nothing was held back
This time....we had nothing to lose

"Where were you when dad needed you?!
"Why did you tell him all those lies?"
"You hurt him more than you'll ever know!"
"Why did you cut ties, what did we ever do to you?"
     "Why?"
               "Why?"
                          "Why?"

Finally the veil came down
Her act melted away
Venom was in her eyes
Hatred etched on her face
She walked away flipping us off as things didn't go her way.

We stayed and tried to calm down
We tidied things up around us
Finally sister watered the grass
It all needed to be said
Just sorry it was at your grave...and that it was on Father's Day.