I feel sick
came home
picked tomatoes
half ripened
and remaining so
in October's megre
offerings of sun
Shut the french doors
flick on lights
and laptop
and I think think think
what to do
to dodge this
sinking gulp
of acidic despair
descending
upon me?
I have mod cons
a twenty
in this
siren-audible
city suburb
basement flat
But none will suffice
for all I want
is a field and a fire
and a peace of quiet
Monday 12 October 2009
Sunday 21 June 2009
Dungeness
Flat as Holland
open, sparse
bedecked with black shacks
and bizarre beautiful
structures of decay
loosely scattered.
Sky gapes wide
as an upward canyon
displaying what weatherly gifts
we might receive
for the whole night ahead
from the glorious galleons
of clouds
in hues of blues and greys
tumbling the waves
of the oncoming winds
The path of raised up wood
Edged for a mile each way
with sea cabbages
furled green, crinkly leaves
and shoots of yellow flowers
The path leads us to an abrupt end
before the shore of pebbles
and sporting fishermans' rods
Poised and waiting for the
water creatures' bite
Lighthouses two,
one old, one new
stand proud from the
stoney pan of ground
giving mere suggestion
to the nearby heights
of a formidable force looming
In pale greens and inconspicuous creams
politely present
on the edge of England's edge
A pantheon of power
Distant, silent
and ominously serene to behold.
Telling nothing of the latent potential
for disaster that sleeps within
Its placid walls
When they chose the setting
for nuclear power
station B
did they realise the
glaring contradiciton?
Nature's peaceful serenity now
scarred with industry's trechery
And yet I cannot help but see
the sheer tragic beauty
in all that is
Dungeness
open, sparse
bedecked with black shacks
and bizarre beautiful
structures of decay
loosely scattered.
Sky gapes wide
as an upward canyon
displaying what weatherly gifts
we might receive
for the whole night ahead
from the glorious galleons
of clouds
in hues of blues and greys
tumbling the waves
of the oncoming winds
The path of raised up wood
Edged for a mile each way
with sea cabbages
furled green, crinkly leaves
and shoots of yellow flowers
The path leads us to an abrupt end
before the shore of pebbles
and sporting fishermans' rods
Poised and waiting for the
water creatures' bite
Lighthouses two,
one old, one new
stand proud from the
stoney pan of ground
giving mere suggestion
to the nearby heights
of a formidable force looming
In pale greens and inconspicuous creams
politely present
on the edge of England's edge
A pantheon of power
Distant, silent
and ominously serene to behold.
Telling nothing of the latent potential
for disaster that sleeps within
Its placid walls
When they chose the setting
for nuclear power
station B
did they realise the
glaring contradiciton?
Nature's peaceful serenity now
scarred with industry's trechery
And yet I cannot help but see
the sheer tragic beauty
in all that is
Dungeness
Tuesday 9 June 2009
Wednesday 13 May 2009
Floral Glory Floored
The glory of the garden
Has fallen
Expanse of beauty, collapsed
A sheep's fleece of pink and peach
Trumpet fleshy flowers
Honey nectar
Heaven-scent
Sprawling on the floor
Dignity no more
Grovelling for help
How will I resurrect her?
Who will help restore her?
To her former realm of Majesty
She was the bee's honey-suckling paradise
Her Royal honey nectar collecting on their buzzing bodies
Carried on wing, to their honey-making hives
Honeyed glory from one Queen to another
We must keep our Honey Queens alive!
Has fallen
Expanse of beauty, collapsed
A sheep's fleece of pink and peach
Trumpet fleshy flowers
Honey nectar
Heaven-scent
Sprawling on the floor
Dignity no more
Grovelling for help
How will I resurrect her?
Who will help restore her?
To her former realm of Majesty
She was the bee's honey-suckling paradise
Her Royal honey nectar collecting on their buzzing bodies
Carried on wing, to their honey-making hives
Honeyed glory from one Queen to another
We must keep our Honey Queens alive!
Monday 16 March 2009
last minute packing
It's too late in the night and I haven't yet packed
I want to take some jeans up
on my brand new singer
I want to wash my hair
and shave my legs
and pluck my eyebrows
Oh I wish I didn't care
about these things
How I wish that I could grab
a small bag
ten minutes before going out through my door
in the morning
after deep long sleep
quick shower
good breakfast
I'd stuff the small bag with just a few clothes
maybe one book
maybe just one pad, one pen
But no, not me
five books at least,
crochet wool and hooks,
clothes for every likely event
writing things- more than a few
change of shoes
slippers too
I'd take my guitar if I could
and the sewing machine, that would be good
God forbid I should get bored
whilst I'm away,
Or that I may sit
and not do
anything
Going away brings me more aware
Of my self, my discomforts inside
Going away from the familiar homescape
means I'm coming along too
for the ride
perhaps I can risk feeling present
being in the here and now
five books or none,
I can't escape
inside my bag of things,
the presence of reality will still be there
following
profound
and constant
here and now
there's always now
the present
presence
and me
I want to take some jeans up
on my brand new singer
I want to wash my hair
and shave my legs
and pluck my eyebrows
Oh I wish I didn't care
about these things
How I wish that I could grab
a small bag
ten minutes before going out through my door
in the morning
after deep long sleep
quick shower
good breakfast
I'd stuff the small bag with just a few clothes
maybe one book
maybe just one pad, one pen
But no, not me
five books at least,
crochet wool and hooks,
clothes for every likely event
writing things- more than a few
change of shoes
slippers too
I'd take my guitar if I could
and the sewing machine, that would be good
God forbid I should get bored
whilst I'm away,
Or that I may sit
and not do
anything
Going away brings me more aware
Of my self, my discomforts inside
Going away from the familiar homescape
means I'm coming along too
for the ride
perhaps I can risk feeling present
being in the here and now
five books or none,
I can't escape
inside my bag of things,
the presence of reality will still be there
following
profound
and constant
here and now
there's always now
the present
presence
and me
Wednesday 11 March 2009
This Saturday Night City - a poem
Pink piles of jumble
Half finished things
Came home from the making of clothes
And all I want to do now
Is sit here and sing
I'm going out to dance tonight
With a random collection of souls
And I'm going to try not to drink a drop of booze-
Just get high from the shaking of my bits and my bones
If only I didn't care what they thought
I'd run around the club like a child
Wearing pyjamas and wellies and glitter
Being young and old and me and free and wild
But I know I'll have a couple, or more
And try to mould in to the norm
Talking and smiling the empty chat,
And avoiding depth. To conform.
We won't dance until we're pissed enough
And in case you should think we're genuinely
Letting ourselves go,
Risking the freedom-flow of authenticity,
We'll take the piss out of our own dance
Or pretend we're really cool and edgy on the floor
Cos, "look at me, I'm fuckin' 'it'"
"I'm the life and soul"
"I'm hardcore!"
The same pattern repeated throughout the whole city
Total drought of authenticity
Across the pubs and clubs and bars
This UK Saturday night
And though it bores me to crying sometimes,
Alone in the toilets,
I find myself conforming still-
Like an inwardly terrified teen
Norming myself in,
Squashing my truth out
'Til we're well and truly out-of-it!
So that then, at least,
I've got my excuse
For being wild and free
(And a little bit like
The real me)
Through the rowdy Wayhay! crowds,
I overhear a nearby bloke, who says it all:
"It's not really me mate, it's not me,
It's only the booze,
You see?"
Half finished things
Came home from the making of clothes
And all I want to do now
Is sit here and sing
I'm going out to dance tonight
With a random collection of souls
And I'm going to try not to drink a drop of booze-
Just get high from the shaking of my bits and my bones
If only I didn't care what they thought
I'd run around the club like a child
Wearing pyjamas and wellies and glitter
Being young and old and me and free and wild
But I know I'll have a couple, or more
And try to mould in to the norm
Talking and smiling the empty chat,
And avoiding depth. To conform.
We won't dance until we're pissed enough
And in case you should think we're genuinely
Letting ourselves go,
Risking the freedom-flow of authenticity,
We'll take the piss out of our own dance
Or pretend we're really cool and edgy on the floor
Cos, "look at me, I'm fuckin' 'it'"
"I'm the life and soul"
"I'm hardcore!"
The same pattern repeated throughout the whole city
Total drought of authenticity
Across the pubs and clubs and bars
This UK Saturday night
And though it bores me to crying sometimes,
Alone in the toilets,
I find myself conforming still-
Like an inwardly terrified teen
Norming myself in,
Squashing my truth out
'Til we're well and truly out-of-it!
So that then, at least,
I've got my excuse
For being wild and free
(And a little bit like
The real me)
Through the rowdy Wayhay! crowds,
I overhear a nearby bloke, who says it all:
"It's not really me mate, it's not me,
It's only the booze,
You see?"
Tuesday 17 February 2009
Reoccurring dream theme!
One of the themes that keeps reoccurring again and again, is my school - which I haven't been to since I was 17, which was over 11 years ago now! - and I've been having school themed dreams since then! The dreams are usually pretty unpleasant.
The last dream that I can remember about school was a few nights ago so my memories of it are a bit vague now. Sofa-pscho-analysists get ready to dissect my subconsciousness.... because this dream was about me not completing my education! And, yes, this is nearly always what these school dreams are about. In this particular dream, I was due to go into an exam along with the rest of the people in my class but I hadn't been to hardly any of the lessons, this was because I'd been ill for a few years. Most of my class mates didn't even bother questioning me anymore on why I hadn't finished pieces of work, or hadn't turned up for projects or why I'd barely been in any of the lessons - basically they'd given up on me and had seen me as a lost cause ( I guess this is kind of how I felt at school towards the end because I was ill, and not myself at all, and I was doing my GCSE's like this).
Anyway back to the actual dream, it was as though the fact that I was ill was irrelevant and no-one saw this as a legitimate reason why I couldn't do 'well', in fact everyone just saw me as a cop-out and a failure, as weak and pathetic and full of poor excuses. I was just about to go into some kind of French exam and I didn't want to admit to the others in my class that I was totally unprepared for this in any way (because I hadn't been able to go to many of the lessons). I felt really ashamed and inadequate. I rushed ahead of everyone else so that I could speak to the teacher and explain to her that I wasn't ready for this exam, and I started to sob. It was Mrs Hawes (one of the lovliest teachers I've ever had), and she was quite understanding as I cried and told her that I'd been unwell and that it wasn't my fault. I don't remember the rest of the dream.
This was quite powerful just writing about this and it's really helped me to see that there's still a lot of things floating about in my mind about the crazyily high unrealistic and unfair expectations that I was under in school and at home, and how even when I was ill there was no compassion or support, but instead only blame and people writing me off as inadequate intead of recognising what I was having to deal with - from all sides.
Anyway, this is already beyond what I'm comfortable airing online, and I may remove some of it at a later time. And I think it really shows me (and in response to Joe's previous comment too) why it's quite challenging to voice some of the more 'negative' dreams on a blog - it feels like what they reveal to me (which is in itself very useful) is so personal that I'm not sure if a blog site is an appropriate place to delve into them. But then again, maybe I need to loosen up a bit and just go for it. There's no point in me editing them down to a boring, shallow overview, without any personal thoughts or feelings as I go - because that is just not me! And also I know that I find it a wonderful relief when I see others being brave and opening up by expressing their inner truths, and I feel a lot of respect for people who can do this. So I'll see how my feelings develop around this in the near future.... watch this space! Bye for now, sweet dreams! Xx
The last dream that I can remember about school was a few nights ago so my memories of it are a bit vague now. Sofa-pscho-analysists get ready to dissect my subconsciousness.... because this dream was about me not completing my education! And, yes, this is nearly always what these school dreams are about. In this particular dream, I was due to go into an exam along with the rest of the people in my class but I hadn't been to hardly any of the lessons, this was because I'd been ill for a few years. Most of my class mates didn't even bother questioning me anymore on why I hadn't finished pieces of work, or hadn't turned up for projects or why I'd barely been in any of the lessons - basically they'd given up on me and had seen me as a lost cause ( I guess this is kind of how I felt at school towards the end because I was ill, and not myself at all, and I was doing my GCSE's like this).
Anyway back to the actual dream, it was as though the fact that I was ill was irrelevant and no-one saw this as a legitimate reason why I couldn't do 'well', in fact everyone just saw me as a cop-out and a failure, as weak and pathetic and full of poor excuses. I was just about to go into some kind of French exam and I didn't want to admit to the others in my class that I was totally unprepared for this in any way (because I hadn't been able to go to many of the lessons). I felt really ashamed and inadequate. I rushed ahead of everyone else so that I could speak to the teacher and explain to her that I wasn't ready for this exam, and I started to sob. It was Mrs Hawes (one of the lovliest teachers I've ever had), and she was quite understanding as I cried and told her that I'd been unwell and that it wasn't my fault. I don't remember the rest of the dream.
This was quite powerful just writing about this and it's really helped me to see that there's still a lot of things floating about in my mind about the crazyily high unrealistic and unfair expectations that I was under in school and at home, and how even when I was ill there was no compassion or support, but instead only blame and people writing me off as inadequate intead of recognising what I was having to deal with - from all sides.
Anyway, this is already beyond what I'm comfortable airing online, and I may remove some of it at a later time. And I think it really shows me (and in response to Joe's previous comment too) why it's quite challenging to voice some of the more 'negative' dreams on a blog - it feels like what they reveal to me (which is in itself very useful) is so personal that I'm not sure if a blog site is an appropriate place to delve into them. But then again, maybe I need to loosen up a bit and just go for it. There's no point in me editing them down to a boring, shallow overview, without any personal thoughts or feelings as I go - because that is just not me! And also I know that I find it a wonderful relief when I see others being brave and opening up by expressing their inner truths, and I feel a lot of respect for people who can do this. So I'll see how my feelings develop around this in the near future.... watch this space! Bye for now, sweet dreams! Xx
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