Things we love as a child
A little brown bear with mismatched button eyes
With a flat snout from being hugged, given as a surprise
Born from my dad’s attempt to sew in hospital years ago
The only connection with an absent father I did not know
Another comfort was a one blue blanky
Dragged about as a well-loved hanky
So grim that when washed it fell apart
A new one was made but with no heart.
Guess who has a fantastic miracle worker who restored her website to her last night? Bless all Brians.
Anyways I wanted to upload this peom. It’s been burning at me for months with the all consuming grief that has afflicted my world. And its probably petty and not the best way to reintroduce myself but I still feel this way a year later.
Hatred
A palliative nurse, cold and corrupt
Told my terminally ill friend that her time was up
Ellie asked “Is there something that will help? I’m terribly sore’
The nurse said ‘There’s no point, you’re halfway out the door
Ellie lost immediate hope and died later
And I swore that nurse Stacey – I will always hate her
A creature that heats and burns
Barely contained by human arrogance
Simmering for an opportunity
To brand the skin forever
Always be cautious
For Fire is a chancer.
Flames whisper and hiss in the air
Lighting vast emptiness
Crawling rapidly with flare
A firewall of suffocation
The Earth shudders
Flexing forgotten muscles
Stretching plates screeching against each other
Resting in the black underground
Spiralling raw energy vents
Power in streams of wind
Crashing against other elements
Demanding attention
Slowly meandering through
Cutting an easy flow
Unassuming yet vital to you
Cover our world.
Listening
Small noises shuffle in the morning
The tap drips and the house creaks
Giving way to the days first movement
Shifting the environment into play
He speaks flat without rising peaks
But I would rather listen to the world
The demands of the day reveal
And I want to curl in the silence
Colour ignites; painting a new canvas
And I move through it treading water
As the walls come into focus
I feel trapped listening to the room
Outside i can breath as sure as birds sing
And I wander over crispy leaves
Once more nature flare
And I listen with keen ears
Patience
Quivering on a knife’s bending edge
Waiting for the clock to chime in agreement
Hoping despite sweat crawling down spine
Snapping and growling for Tomorrow
Productive shocks rally against time
The world barely turning like an upsidedown snail
And muttered prayers drift through the red fog
As finally the day – Ends
You would be forgiven for reading my twitter feed and assuming that I am writing a comedy. I’m not. But the characters… (we’re onto Book 2 now) have banter and I grew up reading/watching Joss Whedon – it’s starting to show.
Near a planet made of hats
And around its outer rings
Spin purple inverted gravity cats
And other weird outer-spacey things
My Neighbour is Not a Whore – Short Story
I hopped into the Taxi dragging a massive cat carrier that was really a small dog carrier. It contained my injured pet, a large ginger cat (called Sherlock which was ironic because he was an idiot).
“I need to go the vets” I rushed out, struggling with overexerted breathing.
“Oh what did e’ do then?” the driver started the car up and pulled away.
“He thought he was Batman and threw himself in the general direction of a wardrobe and missed ” I peered down at my unhappy furry friend.
“I know your mums man” the driver announced.
I was distracted “Which one?”
“John” the driver paused, “You know, John”.
“I hadn’t realised she’d reached the letter ‘J’ yet” I mulled whilst putting my seatbelt on “are you sure?”
“Yeah I met him when you were both in Glasgow” Driver said.
“A,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,J” I counted “It’s certainly possible”
“Is John not your dad?” Driver asked.
“I’m not sure I know any Johns” I fumbled about my memories only fixating on one John (not one I liked and the Taxi driver seemed to be too nice to be friends with an abusive monster from Hell)
“Are you sure it’s John?” I queried.
“Definitely – Did my brothers garden up”
“Hm” I considered “It’s possible. I stopped keeping track when it hit the low hundreds. Not that I’m bothered too much – If she wasn’t a bit whore-y then I wouldn’t have been born. Difficult to be judgemental when you’re the result of bad judgement”.
“You sure we’re talking about the same person?” Driver asked “I’m sure John’s wife was OK”.
My cat meowed melodramatically.
“Do you have any more info I could work with?” I asked and looked at the guy for the first time. He did seem familiar and because there was no filter between my thoughts and mouth “You do seem familiar”.
“He does outdoor work and his wife makes great soup”.
“Oh my g……” realisation flooded in “That’s my neighbour and his wife is NOT a Whore. She can’t be – she’s catholic and irish!”
The driver laughed as I winced at my massive blunder into the land of stereotypes “How’s the hole you’re digging?”
“Oh its reached suitable depth. But she is not a whore and John’s my neighbour – not my dad…at least as far as I know”.
I did enter my first ever competition and I was proud of myself for ‘turning up’. I had read it a thousand times perpetually distracted looking for spelling errors and grammar issues. Then, feeling fairly ok with it, I submitted it.
Then about three days later I went back and read it… And I’d repeated two words twice and that had damaged the flow of the poem. And, of course, then I noticed some idiosyncrasies with it. Then I realised that it contained fatal flaws and that there was no hope in hell of it even being taken remotely seriously. So! Rather than wait to be told it was either shit or ineffective – I’ve corrected what I could and posted it as I would have wanted it to vaguely be.
Armed with Paper
Strong prisons can have paper bars
Creating books with empty memoirs
And blackout ceilings of Latin Decrees
Where only the poor are cut off at the knees
Exempting only inmates of bloodied Titles
Conversations translated with bias subtitles
On a malleable foundation of benefit hate
Privilege redefining the disabled sick fate
Knowledge is power so they increase the security
Plunging Internet light into controlled dark obscurity
Foreshadowed by brandings breathing in an enclosure
Ninety Nine will fall when One controls the exposure