Cat fur and itchy crumbs,
The soft and milky
Spell of films and laughter,
Salty tears the blanket took,
Stretchy holes and threads
Pulled loose by happy claws –
The ecstasy of dribbling jaws –
Bobbly bits I want to pull
(Pigtails on the girl in front)
And dingy bits from god knows what –
Old friends –
Do not wash my yellow blanket.
Strut
Dig your heels in
Do that hip swing thing
Hold your head high and
Let the rhythm make your tail spin
Plug your best sounds in
Hear the sound waves sing
Don’t walk to work
Take a twerk and have a swing fling
Highlight of my day
Making my way
With a private sashay
Every time I press play
In the sounds my hips turn
And silky joints slip mindlessly,
Pulled by a point inside.
Lost in the flow and jerk
Sweet unthinking velvet of dance,
Colours stream bended air.
Soft stroke of the breeze
On shoulders heavy from yesterday;
Should have stretched.
Now the wind kisses tired
Muscles better; bugs crawl on dry skin,
Tickling me
Back into perspective,
And the ache of bigger things is lost
In nature’s rocking arms.
In the hum, alert and tired,
A mind swims. Morrison
Sha-la-las from tinny old
Pub speakers. Heavy-ringed
Hands rest on scratched leather arms.
Crumbs nestle into cracks in age-
Faded upholstery. Once
Proud Patterns, too tired to try,
Sag and fray under the long
Weight of time. And in the low
Buzz, wired and slow, a mind swims.
I would like to hide today:
Put my adult self away.
Find a place that’s still and dark:
Crouch on mulch and crunchy bark,
Underneath a veil of leaves,
Watching insects, chewing sleeves.
I just want to hide today:
Find my own safe space to play.
Here, where no grown-up could stand,
I would build my own wild land:
Among the dappled spots of light,
Nature’s toys would talk and fight.
Star-crossed stones would say their vows,
Pine cone friends have angry rows.
Leafy dragons, breathing flames,
Pick their prey and play their games.
Spider baddies lurk in caves;
Ants take orders as their slaves.
Earthworm spies would tell the queen
All the mischief they have seen.
In the midst of all this strife
I’d be happy with my life.
Ladybirds would climb my arms and
Flustered birds sound shrill alarms.
I’d lose track of time and space
In my damp and cosy place.
So I close my eyes and go.
No one else will ever know.
Scuffed and tightly-filled, keeling
Over, heels propped up to support
Bags on knees, screens, tapping fingers
Nails bitten to white jagged cliffs
Or long and smooth: rendered strange
And cold by time and money.
Sandals play glass slippers: cracked,
Betrayed by earthy brown between
Caked, painted gold. And, in thick air, the
Hiss and click of headphones plays a
Nuanced soundtrack like an itch.
Urban heat: dark rounded veins shout
Angry calls and foreheads weep.
Holding sticky rails, old friends have
Happy rows and, with sweet noise, earn
Bitter gazes from the tired. Foot
Squeezed rucksacks, grin like thirsty
Dogs and jostle handbags: over-friendly.
Rocking to and fro, stumbling,
Graceless in our work-creased day clothes,
We are held together: jumbled
Bits and pieces in old drawers. But,
Like keys and crayons muddled:
Each, when found, will open doors.
Slowly building mute frustration:
Will it ever flow again?
Sometimes words come swift and giddy;
Sometimes no ink in my pen.
Hours that turn to days, unanswered
Questions from my twitching hands.
Over time, wild space reserved for
Writing falls to life’s demands.
Nestled in warm breeze and scratchy
Grass, I sit and feel the page.
Now, on mud-cracked basin, flows a
Stream released from my mind’s cage.
Like the fractious cry that soars from
Tiny lungs first tasting air,
Words, cascading, flood me with
Relief from hope’s expectant stare.
Coloured noisy shirts
That jostle brightly:
Sugar strands
On wet icing,
Trace the long stemmed field
In well-worn wheels of
Summer sports.
In every hard-pressed heart
A different song is sung:
One that moves
Light feet or knows
The beat of mournful drum.
Young ankles turn on
Dried footprints.
But just for now, from
Far off, their sunny
Sport brings smiles
To tired faces:
Pale and lined from endless
Office hours. Their gaze
Rose-tinted.
For some, this light will
Blow out here, but not
For all. A
Bold white spark is
Thrown on restless kindling;
Nervous legs will come
Again soon.
Feet, unused to trainers,
Will regain their bounce
And eyes that
Lost their starry
Faith will glow once more.
Happy memories
Open doors.
Tea and a cat
What could be better than that?
Watering can, little shoes,
April sun, baby blues,
Wet socks, soggy flowers,
Tired eyes, long hours.
Chubby cheeks, half-formed words,
Drone of cars, songs of birds,
Deepest love, smothered rage,
Silent protest, mother’s cage,
Eager eyes, sticky hugs,
New to nature, eating bugs,
Scraped knees, mummy kiss it,
‘When it’s gone,’ they say, ‘you’ll miss it.’
In fresh air, short of breath,
Should he nap? What if: cot death?
Filled nappy, teatime tears,
Guilt, resentment, shameful fears.
Fences, hedges, walls divide
So many of us trapped inside,
Feeling we are not enough,
Scared to say we find it tough.
I find it hard. How do you find it?
Do you ever wish you could unwind it?
Do you cry on cold baked beans
And plug your babies into screens?
Join the club. Come and share.
There’s others like us everywhere.
When we hide our fear and pain,
Depression smugly smiles again.
To burst through the blank:
It’s harder now.
Quick full days that laugh
At slower life
And suck the spark,
In thrall to life’s quick call.
To find the thought space:
Long moment where
Noise fades and my eyes,
To finger point,
Find their click in
Dream haze of writing ways.
On hot London tube,
With resting heads,
And all the world in
Smells of spice, dry
Smoke, leather and
Old flat seats. My mind, at
Last, can nestle in.
It’s sweeter now:
For long empty wait.
I write the old
Inkwell of tears
And heart spring joy of art.
In the stale car, it’s hot
And smells of crisps.
The tinny sound of old
Cartoons through headphones
Mixes with the birdsong.
ThinkingInk 