maybe history
(my profession, yes, my
lifeline)
was all Humpty Dumpty
and no Kings men. and what's more, no king!
maybe the voices
we write, the Right the Wrong and mostof all the
InBetweens were really
just cogs in the clock.
and if, (on the outside, inside chance)
we can climb out of this we
might just see
the clockface.
Saturday, 20 August 2011
monsters
i will scream
you away
i will draw magic circles
and these invisible
entrenched expectations will
dissolve in sunlight
moonlight sleeplight
somehow.
no insidious expectations
or fighting from the trenches
or brinkmanship, no.
not with these stakes.
monsters i will scream you away.
and then.
then we will Grow.
you away
i will draw magic circles
and these invisible
entrenched expectations will
dissolve in sunlight
moonlight sleeplight
somehow.
no insidious expectations
or fighting from the trenches
or brinkmanship, no.
not with these stakes.
monsters i will scream you away.
and then.
then we will Grow.
i want to write
i want to write hope
but right now that word is islanded in me
i want to write help
but right now words are all i can do
i want to write futures,
PathsAndPossibles, but
right now
now is all.
cigarbreathe
i wore a gold dress that night
(my birthday one
your hand
between my legs)
and
my tears. on your cigarbreathe
(and there are no more words)
giving blood
your old smell
and saggy flesh
i watch with
fascination the drop
of your blood sink
inthe blue green liquid
eyelevel for me then.
i watched the
needle. your arm.
your thicksnakelike vein.
i sit on this bed and watch
this blood flow out of me
like a sigh.
like an umbilical cord.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Space
(first installment of a first draft of a story)
once upon a time, there was a Moon. She (moon's are Always she. Except in Exceptional circumstances, when they aren't). She was a very good Moon, and in the generally Moonlike way of things, she went about her busy ness around our small but (to us) all important planet.
She Waxed and she Waned, with both purpose and precision, taking her duty of the rise and the swell of tides seriously and pridefully. But with her work she was also a joyful, rolling round our planet bouncily, laughs that would never quite reach melting off the ozone layer.
This Moon (our moon, really) had one hobby, one weakness, one fascination. Every day, (every night) she would peer down onto our planet, and entangle our heart with things that we would find, well, really very ordinary.
You see, this Moon was enchanted by the Everydayness of humans. The small things we do in our fidgeting around on our planet that we think of as being of no consequence really. But She was watching...
Oh, there were the big things too. The things that grew or shrunk her heart, that raised or sank her Spirit (always in a controlled way, she could never go too high or low, she had to look after the Tides, remember). These big things, explosions she could taste the dust rising from, music she could feel the vibrations from... but these were not her everyday explorings.
Her everyday explorings involved things more like: peering down into a city (our city, lets say, because i can now feel her Moonlight on my face) and peering into one specific square, in one specific school. Girls in the playground. Skipping. Skipping!
Oh, she vibrated with the excitement of it! She hid their laughter tucked away in her many moonsurface craters and she longed...
Because, and this was the problem, and this is the story, our Moon was not only fascinated by our everdayness, she craved it. She longed for some of our everyday laughs and loves, our runofthemill aches and pains. Because the truth of it was, our Moon was very, very lonely.
And so she peered. And she longed. And she peered. And she longed. And before she new it the rhythm of the skipping was being absorbed into her and suddenly...
She was moving! Up and down, up and down, starshine sunshine mercury mars...Inside, outside inside ON!
On!... She bounced onto the orbit she spun around the earth and pinned it down, gleefully shedding moondust. Oh how wonderful skipping is! But....
(because of course there is a but! Our celestial bodies cannot simply behave in any manner they wish!)
she began to think of this, maybe, and peered nervously down at the earth...
Where sure enough, there were angry shouts and cries and yells. The tides! what on Earth (because we battle to get our focus off our small planet) was happening to the Tides!
The daily rise and fall by which fish and fishermen (and many beachgoers. and surfers. and lovers) lived their lives, had quickened! The tides slapped back and forth up the beach!
Inside
outside
inside
ON!
(Although none of us thought to apply the rhythm of a little girls skipping game to something as ancient and elegant as the tides. And if anyone had done, I'm sure we would all have thought them crazy.)
Sheepishly (have you ever seen a Moon looking sheepish? it is quite a ticklish sight.) she climbed off the orbit, and slowed her breathing to restore some normalcy to the worlds waters. Before she got completely back into her rhythm, she sighed deeply.
Skipping. Another thing that was thoroughly off limits for Moons.
After a few months of being on her Best Behaviour, of shining extra bright in the right spaces (when people were driving, perhaps, and only she was there to light the way) and being gentle dark in others (when people were falling asleep, perhaps, and only she could tuck them in), she began to feel the pull of her favourite pastime again.
She began peering inn windows, and under doors, licking up crumbs of our normal everdayness, absorbing them like treasures. And, she was still lonely.
She picked, this particular night, one house. (Again in our country, our city). She loved this house, because of its magical JungleGarden, and how often its magical owner was awake to keep her company at night.
This night, feeling tangylonely, she slipped into the girl (26 year old girl, 29 year old girl, 32 year old girl) 's bedroom. She found her, for once, deep asleep. Slightly disappointed Moon set about to light her dreams with silver, when she noticed something.
Round this girl, sleeping on her, through her were her Pets. FoxDog, BearDog and her giant black cat. Their breathing, together, making a protective pocket for this Girl to fall asleep into. Leaving no space for loneliness.
Pets! thought the moon. Pets pets PETS! And she rushed out of the room leaving a dark, thick black, to go and see what kind of Pet would be most appropriate for a young and boisterous, (but very responsible) celestial body...
(to be continued. First draft, courtesy of Insomnia, curtailed by lack of battery power)
once upon a time, there was a Moon. She (moon's are Always she. Except in Exceptional circumstances, when they aren't). She was a very good Moon, and in the generally Moonlike way of things, she went about her busy ness around our small but (to us) all important planet.
She Waxed and she Waned, with both purpose and precision, taking her duty of the rise and the swell of tides seriously and pridefully. But with her work she was also a joyful, rolling round our planet bouncily, laughs that would never quite reach melting off the ozone layer.
This Moon (our moon, really) had one hobby, one weakness, one fascination. Every day, (every night) she would peer down onto our planet, and entangle our heart with things that we would find, well, really very ordinary.
You see, this Moon was enchanted by the Everydayness of humans. The small things we do in our fidgeting around on our planet that we think of as being of no consequence really. But She was watching...
Oh, there were the big things too. The things that grew or shrunk her heart, that raised or sank her Spirit (always in a controlled way, she could never go too high or low, she had to look after the Tides, remember). These big things, explosions she could taste the dust rising from, music she could feel the vibrations from... but these were not her everyday explorings.
Her everyday explorings involved things more like: peering down into a city (our city, lets say, because i can now feel her Moonlight on my face) and peering into one specific square, in one specific school. Girls in the playground. Skipping. Skipping!
Oh, she vibrated with the excitement of it! She hid their laughter tucked away in her many moonsurface craters and she longed...
Because, and this was the problem, and this is the story, our Moon was not only fascinated by our everdayness, she craved it. She longed for some of our everyday laughs and loves, our runofthemill aches and pains. Because the truth of it was, our Moon was very, very lonely.
And so she peered. And she longed. And she peered. And she longed. And before she new it the rhythm of the skipping was being absorbed into her and suddenly...
She was moving! Up and down, up and down, starshine sunshine mercury mars...Inside, outside inside ON!
On!... She bounced onto the orbit she spun around the earth and pinned it down, gleefully shedding moondust. Oh how wonderful skipping is! But....
(because of course there is a but! Our celestial bodies cannot simply behave in any manner they wish!)
she began to think of this, maybe, and peered nervously down at the earth...
Where sure enough, there were angry shouts and cries and yells. The tides! what on Earth (because we battle to get our focus off our small planet) was happening to the Tides!
The daily rise and fall by which fish and fishermen (and many beachgoers. and surfers. and lovers) lived their lives, had quickened! The tides slapped back and forth up the beach!
Inside
outside
inside
ON!
(Although none of us thought to apply the rhythm of a little girls skipping game to something as ancient and elegant as the tides. And if anyone had done, I'm sure we would all have thought them crazy.)
Sheepishly (have you ever seen a Moon looking sheepish? it is quite a ticklish sight.) she climbed off the orbit, and slowed her breathing to restore some normalcy to the worlds waters. Before she got completely back into her rhythm, she sighed deeply.
Skipping. Another thing that was thoroughly off limits for Moons.
After a few months of being on her Best Behaviour, of shining extra bright in the right spaces (when people were driving, perhaps, and only she was there to light the way) and being gentle dark in others (when people were falling asleep, perhaps, and only she could tuck them in), she began to feel the pull of her favourite pastime again.
She began peering inn windows, and under doors, licking up crumbs of our normal everdayness, absorbing them like treasures. And, she was still lonely.
She picked, this particular night, one house. (Again in our country, our city). She loved this house, because of its magical JungleGarden, and how often its magical owner was awake to keep her company at night.
This night, feeling tangylonely, she slipped into the girl (26 year old girl, 29 year old girl, 32 year old girl) 's bedroom. She found her, for once, deep asleep. Slightly disappointed Moon set about to light her dreams with silver, when she noticed something.
Round this girl, sleeping on her, through her were her Pets. FoxDog, BearDog and her giant black cat. Their breathing, together, making a protective pocket for this Girl to fall asleep into. Leaving no space for loneliness.
Pets! thought the moon. Pets pets PETS! And she rushed out of the room leaving a dark, thick black, to go and see what kind of Pet would be most appropriate for a young and boisterous, (but very responsible) celestial body...
(to be continued. First draft, courtesy of Insomnia, curtailed by lack of battery power)
ghost spaces
ghost spaces unsettled
in me, filled
tightwith curledtight
streamers
shifting uncomfortable
with eachnew
(new, now, not you)
turn i make
in me, filled
tightwith curledtight
streamers
shifting uncomfortable
with eachnew
(new, now, not you)
turn i make
Tuesday, 2 August 2011
I began having
Sex, before
I knew
Anything about it.
I posed. Grotesque
My tongue
Doing something to
My lips
I thought it should
My body stiff
Something needing
To be dissembled
Rather than melted
Into.
(Caught in a picture
My stiffness
Is hardened over years.)
I can claim my grotesque
Now.
Fear of not the unknown
But the will
Of my own soles
And joy even in that
(but know, for you
I tried. And you could
Have been kinder
With my attempts)
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