woman

Wash Sin

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 10:58:54 +0200

I smell deliciously bad
Odourous in extreme.
Extremely unclean.

Comments

Growing pains

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 10:55:20 +0200

Motherhood shifts,

unfamiliar ground we are breaking

my children and I.

What do we need from each other now?

I provide an income still,

though I'm close to breaking that particular chain,

just a little while longer....

as there's only one place for the young to hide in times of ecomic crisis,

he doesn't leave home, university will settle delay on the breaking chains

she came home

and we have a dynasty to build

and I'm thinking

what sort of grandmother will I be?

Mmmmm

we're working it out and I'm trying to handle the changes

the responsibility shared is realer than ever,

who now feels less clever at giving them choices

and sharing control

everything difficult, little bits of give and take, shaking us

where are you mother

why not home

we're grown, but we need you

we're settled, where are you?

I never learned what I've taught you my children

so I'm happy you're different, better, stronger than I

its exposing

how less able I am afterall I have given

its okay though

just painful

this lesson in growing

Comments

Am I sitting comfortably?

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 10:34:52 +0200

Begin

stiff little fingers hover reluctant, shy? over the keyboard

let the passing of crap be brief, my hellish ego cries from within,

and unbridle these fingers to release the writers energy required to

report, invoice, cash cheque, move on.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now I sit by a window, newly mine, rain splatters gently
last night, there was howling, sweetly familiar, drunken cries from neighbours or passing strangers
begging forgiveness for unkown crime
forced from their breast through liquored breath

what have I done?
Just what have I done?
pleads slur from unseen lips and I'm above, removed , slightly amused at the lack of concern, the lack of threat channelling upward from the street below

what if murder or rape is comitted below?
I will not know

unless in the morning there a blue and white cordon
and I slip guiltily by
knowing
I passed metaphorically by
on the other side
from my room
in the sky.

Last night.

Well, now its the morning.
Nothing is there ,
if I hadn't been up trying to break my writing block
til past four oclock

i'd have been sleeping
peacefully sleeping
at the other side of the flat that is newly mine

and know nothing about it
either the drunkards bawling
or my own ignoring.

shame!

Comments

Fascinating Fat

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 12:23:39 +0100

I need a new blog.

Comments

silenced nights

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 09:41:46 +0100

stasis

its not that I have remained unmoved

concealed within the chest chaos and unrest

rpeated patterns of inconsoalble grief swamp out the lightness of my being
i have wllowed
beneath this blanket of silence too long
now
searching for originality

wonder why I'm still trying to impress

I must embrace freedom

before its all too late and
rocks of time dash my dreams

so much consolation

please do not let me go unhindered
fetter me with criticism or with praise

I've beeen squandering my song.

Comments

you there my lovely

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 01:10:47 +0200

Hardly morning pages,
undawned the day
as velvet night rests beyond the window
which floods my room with light

hardly been here, well here yes but not there
where are you
hold my hand and heart still

linger a little while

allow me and yourself a gentle smile

potter to your kitchen and flick your kettle switch
or turn up the gas or light the bonfire or camping gas beneath your billy can

and kick back relax

so much humanity

so much friendship declared
and love and listening
human
you and the others
here
with you and me

humankind
gentle
handsome
loving

Comments

just

Fri, 23 May 2008 08:08:35 +0200

comfort and joy

cursory acknowledgement
opportunity lost
minutes pass
forgive and forget
only you have nothing to say
reacting away from my solitary heart
time heals

joking apart
only fools are rushing
yearning and loathing are part of my clothing

i will let this pass
i will weather the storm
i will wordfully execute
my personal life rescue
nothing else better
to do?

Comments

yellow rose

Fri, 23 May 2008 07:35:10 +0200

How touched am I by the single flower

The sweet perfume of the perfect bloom

The head held high catching my eye

And I reach and pluck you to my lips

Embrace the beauty with a gentle kiss

Yes you are in your prime

When I bring you in

But you sang to my soul

You required my time

And my lips replied

Before I knew my mind

Hello Mother, I murmured as I carried you in

And now I have placed you

Where my gaze can rest

Whilst I care for my family

Ease the pain in my chest

Take the crease from my brow

And the weariness eases

The lingering love

in that one single flower

Fills my heart and my soul

With its ardent power.

Comments

Beautiful

Thu, 08 May 2008 14:05:11 +0200

Sun shines your warm smile and loving heart
The Ocean calls your adventurous spirit
Green fields lay the parchment for your vibrant history
I am on the train to Edinburgh
My mother, I am glad you are with me.

Anne Christine Clarke – nee Stening, lately of Manchester. Passed away peacefully at the Alexian Brothers Care home on 30th April 2008 aged 85 years and One day. Loving and much loved Mother and Grandmother.

Anne was born in Upminster in 1923. She dedicated her life to the service of God and to her family. Her work as a Christian Missionary took her across the world to China and to the Pacific. Along the way, she studied to become a Congregational Minister before marrying and adopting her 3 children. A gifted linguist, she read or spoke Chinese & Hebrew, she was also a highly respected Educationalist, specialising in Early Years Education and Residential Care.

Many people were touched by the gift of her love for God, both as a Companion of Brother Lawrence and as a Lay Preacher. She preached for several years across the Methodist churches in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire.

Anne will remain forever in our hearts.

Comments

Freedom.

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 08:21:18 +0200

who else am I
that I do not spend every waking hour of every day here
with my words and the melodies they play?

what sought of tuneless misery am I embracing
shifting meaningless from one foot to another
paying and displaying such a cursory respect
to my life
to being
A live.

exhibiting such a lack of discipline
waiting for who to say
it can begin?

as if I am only allowed to be
more than I currently am
when some-one other or something other
tells me
permits me

I have no chains
other than a shrinking mind
fearing rebuff
I seek decline.

How easily could I step and shake
this flimsy shackle of self doubt

I will try harder

I will succeed

that I know is all it takes
and thus the future
the me inside
is freed.

Comments

I do not know

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 10:39:26 +0200

and I went from the table to my son's bed. Laid myself next to him and gazed at his strength whilst he slept. and then just breifly I saw my own unravelling. If he were to die? his grandmother's eyes turned blank and grey upward beneath chalk white lids and her aged body shook and trembled on a precipice called death. She rturned to us , to help us fade that memory? Then why did it linger with me and let my imagination touch it to my my son's sweet grace. I do not know.

Comments

just ask

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 07:51:39 +0200

capacious love,
not quite extinct
but tired , so tired

endlessly waiting to give itself
and it couod be you,

just ask.

Comments

3 is the magic number

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 07:49:15 +0200

chill
creaks at my shoulders
hardening rocks either side of my throat
my poor, sore throat.

and I am laughing at my weakness.

chill creeeping
along, longing lines
towrds my elbows
rested here
beside warm breasts

and I am close to weeping

children sleep
in beds, on floors and sofas
sparked around my house
and I am covering, worrying, loving

so afterall, who is mocking me?
only me?
lonely me?

and afterall, who is mocking me?

freeze and peel my skin
suffer the silent din
prepare to take control
contradict me.

and I am waiting to die?

Comments

Suggestions PLease

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 05:05:38 +0100

ah!

I am annoyingly museless.

have been this way for so many months. Bereft. I stay away. Lost.

Stories filter into my mind via ears clogged by decades of abuse and I am so tired and I have nothing to say.

I am a solution seeker, sneak peaker, needing some purpose my 24/7. A lttle taste of heaven.

Tommorrow morning I will start anew and in ernest.

Poor Ernest!

and his handbag too

ridicluous chorus long remebered dismembering my heritage with its post dad army funk.

dunk that donut , boy, dunk.

Flunk
punk
stunk.

my child, never fear, I am here!

oh god, a muselss poet is a sad and puerile waste of the green earth good free air.

bye bye my love

despair
repair
compare

Comments

always and forever

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 13:57:59 +0100

if I write of the sunlight will I hold it here forever
light of my light, my eyes behold
and delight
if I write of sunlight can I recall it at will
blowing winter dust from my eys
and letting my desire rise

if I write of warmth anfd love
pull from my imagination
every story filled with lust
will I always and forever revel
in the must
of loving whenver and wherevr one is taken?

Comments

Lust not Caution

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 13:48:51 +0100

his company
fills me with a gentle joy
I know I am not his
not here
not now
but I will allow myself time with him
here and now
and I will allow myself
the joy I feel in his company
and I will carry
lust not caution into my nights
alone , in my bed
with him!

Comments

Posted by proud mum

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 19:34:36 +0100

The lovely lad right at the end is my darling son aged just 13yrs! he turns 18 in a couple of weeks and is currently 6' 2". Bless! I am so proud.

Schools protest war in Iraq!

Comments

Some things I wrote whilst I was not here

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 02:16:36 +0100

Come on

Come on, don’t take my words so seriously
I am born to play
And am askin
Asking
Asking you to come

Muddy up
Fingers dance on keyboard a ticking rythmn
Listen carefully
Are you sitting comfortably?

Shall I begin?

Babies born in conch shells

Drifted far from the home shores

Lifted from the bullrush but never ever home

Babies soft hair curling round
Mothers gentile fingers

Baby brown and baby brown and baby found

Shocking really

Skip that bit

Feel sunshine where we play

Miraculous survival

All of we

Play dead

No –one will hurt you.

But the soft thud to belly baby brown , don’t cry now, run , run

You should not have mocked

Baby run now gripped up in street, fist straight up to fight him, her, him , babay aba

Home
Babies born like kittens in ovens

Called them cake?
Cupcake for my babies sake

Rake
Across an ungreased scalp and don’t cry baby born baby don’t

I never cried.

Secret kept and never wept

Don’t tell.

Passing or Heaven

When you pass, mother,

If blues skies please you,

Then,
Let there be an azure ocean above your head

If green fields please you,

Then,
Let there be an emerald blanket beneath your feet

If a warm sun pleases you,

Then,
Let a golden globe rain kisses upon your skin

If sweet music pleases you,

Then,
Let the richest righteous rhythms soothe your ears

And

If all this does not bring you all the joy and happiness you deserve

Then, stay
Return to me, and
Let your spirit haunt me for ever more.

Love with me

Electric storms
Far away in a sky
Above another
As like me as myself
Yet not known to me.

Winter winds
Blow across a headland
Beside another
As like me as myself
Yet not yet known to me

Blazing skies of Rubied fire
Freeze and burn
About another
Not known to me
Yet as like me as I am myself

Each of me, I am
Each of me, I love
Each of me, I bless

You and your families and your lives, your lands and your God

My Sistren across the universe, as like me as I am
Known yet unknown to me
Come hear me
Sing with me
Love with me.

Run, run,run, Run away ( you have to sing it to get it)

I can hear my love for him in the softness of his speech
He and I bind this
A wondrous thing

I can see my love for him in the tenderness of his gaze,
He and I do not own this
Remarkable.

I can feel my love for him in the rhythm of his walk
Can he feel my eyes upon him as he walks a way?

Then

Who is he who held me last
Filled me last
A happy loving warm embrace

Asking nothing
Demanding nothing
Neither adding to my burden
Or draining my energy

And why oh why
Is it not his love I can hear, or see or feel

A fool in unrequited love
Always looking the other way

And running away

From his love.

and more running

The bitterness cranked up bile and tears burning her throat and forcing sighs between her clenched teeth. They were going to get away with it. Every time they got away with it . Her inadequacy was squashing back into her brain and her heart as if she should have never have tried to leave it .

She could not bear to hear herself cry “ This is so unfair!”. It was always going to be unfair.

For the first time in 3 decades she felt the gnawing of futility, not desperation but an aching tiredness. Was this merely lonliness?

Writing it, she stared at the words on the screen, Read them, read them out loud. How small was her pain when she did this. How small and insignificant.

I need an ocean , she thought to herself and sunshine and the company of some-one who might understand.

Her passport had run out, but that would merely take a car ride and £100.

Where should she go?

And was she about to run away?

Comments

My world of Lovers

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 14:05:29 +0100

an angel's whisper in the dark,

softly speaking of friendship and love,

pooling at the points of convergence

the pearl of the diamond in the tear and the dew

here we come together at the emergence

the artist, the writer, the seeker , the sower

the mother, the father, the asker, the knower

inspiration from

my world of lovers

knowing me here, like very few others

Comments

Mistletoe and Grime

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 11:23:00 +0100

Just a quick shout out for all the yout dem in Manchester's Contact Young Actors Company who's Xmas show is a hoot! Excellent performances my young lovelies! Tickest availble ( possibly) from 0161 274 0600.

Comments

MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 22:40:32 +0100

How quickly everything changes
breasts blossom and round
skin smooths and glows
eyes sparkle and glimmer with hope

one day, old ages has crept a chaste lock against my sex
and now

I have been truly reawakened!

Comments

loaded

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 02:07:23 +0100

Mmmm lovely brown letters

I want to speak of corners , crazy dirty corners

do you have them ?

closing in or disapperaing into distances

cobwebbed or clear

wrenching bitternesses or testing tensions

sharply against each wall

stand ten feet tall

and press against the corners, god
bless
them all

pink words
like tongues and labia
tinged with a sad pinkness

so sensual and revealing

here my lover
comes kneeling

lips and licking
smacking
against sagging thighs
and closed eyes
waiting for the time and the coming

green words
recycled and renewed

volumes of eternities captured and renewed

vehicles of dissonace
agianst the consuming greed

green words like green politics are sometimes sick inside

blue words
sometime sad
or bigger and brighter than any sky
sigh my desire with blue wirds and blues
music tumbling
beating a thunderous rapture into my love making

the sky is high and bright and speaks to me today

and then let silence blanket further thought,
sleep pillow comfort and ease
tonight.
xx

Comments

heavy hearts

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 11:31:13 +0100

I was writing something miserable.

then I looked at this lovely font and wanted more for it and from it.

beautiful words deserve beautiful stories.
lively characters full of love and hope and integrity.

I am going to take some time out.

Gather myself and find somewhere to learn to take my self and my desires more seriously.

I long for the San Diego desert, maybe?

Max stretched his long fingers, rubbing the knuckles , letting the crack take away the stiffness of the long drive North.

Looking down at the dust embellishing his loafers in ever deepening layers of rich ochre, he took a moment with his feet.

No-one was around so he treated himself to a long slow stretch, letting his toes reach against his shoe leather, resisting the urge still to go barefoot. Not that native yet he chuckled to himself before moving to take in the awareness of the ache in the arch and and the tenderness at the ankle. His calves protested at the attention, however gentle, his anglophile love of the gear shift had left a toll, some-one should really introduce him to cruise control. His knees did not creak, he blocked out the sound and gently massaged them , briefly. His buttocks and lower back called him away and he focussed on the letting go. letting the tension bubble through, up his spine , expanding across his shoulders.

he used his diaphragm to strengthen his breathing and core stability, and eased a series of yoga movements through his shoulders and neck.

He wanted to take the shirt from his back, but his city skin would rebel under the desert sky.

he removed his shades for a second to wipe the dew of perspiration from his face.

Shook some movement inot his hair and sighed.

Reaching into the car,he took water and the map. Drank deeply finishing the 7th bottle.
He had less than 12 miles to go.

He wanted to be naked.

Letting the desire ripple gently at his ribcage, he loosened the shirt from where it made a sticky contact with his flesh and closed his eyes for a moment , leaning back against the car.

He sat back down and swung his weary legs back inot the well, his feet found the snug across clutch, brake and accelerator and he settled his back into the drivers seat.

He had made good time, but he allowed himself no more than this 10 minute ritual interlude to refresh, before he pushed his Toyota's sheek and shiny silver nose back onto the road.

he had seen no more than 4 other vehicles since leaving the interstate and not one of them had been built in the same century as his!

He shifted effortlessly through the gears and reaching 50 in less than 10, leaving the last of something of himself in the slipstream.

Comments

Gathering Myself

Mon, 29 Oct 2007 11:47:04 +0100

I am nolonger nomadic
have put down roots
that enjoy a place, a space
a routine

now look

you who have so long been fancy free
carrying her children on her back
had been caught in the trap

and its doesn't fit,
unsnug

shackled voluntarily to the yoke of others foundations
I have a spade and I will dig
here present I my grave and you
present I your jig

no?
No rythmn in your feet?

I am the drummer
you have shaken your beat.

aha

tensions siting on me where it sits on you
YOur condition is as uncomfortable

i think you should shudder
take note of your step and track,
can you retrace your footfall should you ever wish to turn back

and the clock ticks relentlessly

forward forward forward.

i am uncloaked

fear me.

Of course I have more to say.

however not everything can be published

therer are legal proceedings

I promise though

I will not neglect to share the juicy bits

Comments

new times

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 20:08:30 +0200

let me rest

let my fingers rest
upon the keyboard
waiting

new tunes
and new words
play through my head
deciphered by some
and listening
some will tilt heads and turn

towards the spiralling up and the spiralling down
all form is here and all form is lost

my own sweet desire to commuincate

sounds trite

all of us typing a yearning to be understood across the night

am I right?

something ticks
sticks its fingers down my throat so I can vomit across the pages of your spaces

goddess gives me aces
sometimes
and the joker
in my hand

have been away , growing older every day

where is the fairy kingdom
call me, let me play

but even as I step back
crack
age halts the dancing at my back
whack
heavy

are you ready

lift feet from the clay and
play with me

set ourselves free

being you? being me

wordless and noisily slurping up the best blurb and the best bits in between
false advertising and falser tits
not bitterness twists my lip

curl into me

then dusting down and shrugging

somebodies soul is ringing, wringing?

Comments

fateful

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 19:57:47 +0200

My fate awaits
my breath abates
aaaaah soon sweet friend
I will be back
i feel it in my waters!

Comments

timeless

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 12:21:47 +0200

Could there ever be less time?

time to think or not to think
time to smile but not to laugh
time to speak but not to hear
time to wash and dress and never any time to be undressed

no more woes
well not for a wee bit any way!

Comments

going

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 18:11:29 +0200

they

tell me I am unwilling to listen?

They have ripped out my tongue and shattered my eardrums with thier fists and still I try to listen.

they tell me

I don't respect them?

I dont.

Comments

wasted

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 18:08:57 +0200

I'm slipping

against a surface of impenetrable unconcern,

that has soul shattering jagged edges

my reality bounces off.

I'm keening,
howled at the moon last night and
I am asking myself
is this my miserable life?

I wont buy into the trap
its a lie and i will let it ride
I am in the wings of a storm

blow it with me friends Blow hard

fill my sails and let me slide again , ride again
to stiller waters sent by god to bath me and caress me.

My reality settles.

I am so tired, unchartered waters and unmapped terrains.

Home is not near.
My heart is so lonely.
My body stopped aching and filled with a cramping agony.
I must be touched soon
or my sanity
is at risk.

Comments

what tells a stranger that your lover has passed closely by?

Tue, 11 Sep 2007 18:38:46 +0200

Closing her eyes to let the daydream come.The airconditioning unit blew its unrelenting melody in the far corner of her office and the traffic on the Alfreton Road competed with its irregular bass and the occassional timphany of clatter, a trailer maybe.

A luxurious moment of waiting for something imagined to float inside her and reel in her senses with the bait of her desire.

Everything would melt and shift.

She couldn't, shouldn't stay here. In this office where her leadership skills were being sorely tested on a daily basis. So that the softness of her soul had edges like a neglected custard, crusted and cracked and orange.

Where and who would she be? Where would he find her and fearlessly lay his heart into her outstretched hands and whisper a kiss of love in a tingling caress?

Who was he? that he didn't know her already.

She ached with her own and his dafteness and the strain of hiding her feelings in order to take care of his.

Some sigh breathed across an ulcer she could feel forming at her gut and she felt the loneliness prick at her again. Unfathomable. Sad old woman.

Beautiful sad old woman.

When a sigh deepens your breath in readiness for sorrow, its time to stop, unwallow and realign the senses. This she did and the seam between her two selves, one desolate and exhausted , the other focussed and confident, merged, imperceptible.

Yet

dreaming does not leave so easily. Head held high. her eyes closed briefly once again and her lips swelled , lifted, tilted and received his imaginary kiss. Bliss.

Just one second, leaving that slight part on her lips, that tells a stranger that a lover has passed closely by.

There are other edges around her now. Litterings of her life. A mobile phone. Diary, Other peoples business cards, a money off voucher for an expensive spa retreat, keys, keys, a box of tissues. her life has become the generation game and its litter a conveyer belt of things, stuff, edges.

and there are words, notepads, text from old exhibtions, a dairy, business cards, a money off voucher, catalogues, information packs, a white board propped against the desk where hastily scribbled upside down words in green and red and purple and blue hide and protect her from the filing cabinets beyond.

and one drooping very young yucca, dying, always.

Comments