Like a cassette
Rewinding.
Go back.
Pause.
Play.
Go back.
Pause.
Play.
Looking for the place.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Hovering
Low level anxiety
Like a bumble bee trapped in a nearby room.
Just on the edge of awareness.
I want to forget.
I want to turn away from your face.
I want to send a postcard saying,
Saying just
No.
No.
No more.
Not any longer.
No.
Instead I wait here
In this place which feels like nothing,
Like beech effect tables,
Like filing cabinets,
And linoleum.
With a bumble bee in a nearby room.
Like a bumble bee trapped in a nearby room.
Just on the edge of awareness.
I want to forget.
I want to turn away from your face.
I want to send a postcard saying,
Saying just
No.
No.
No more.
Not any longer.
No.
Instead I wait here
In this place which feels like nothing,
Like beech effect tables,
Like filing cabinets,
And linoleum.
With a bumble bee in a nearby room.
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Another Man's Compost
One person looks at egg shells
Tea bags
Potato peelings
Bread crumbs
Bits of leek, tomato, carrot
Dead flowers, stiff,
Onion skins
And sees rubbish.
Scraps for seagulls to squawk over from spilled bin bags,
Streets smeared,
Summer stink
To high heaven.
But.
Not.
The.
Potential.
Given time.
Heat.
Protection.
A little bit of rummaging.
The promise of rich, crumbling, darkly-latent life.
Ready.
Just
Waiting
To be seen.
Tea bags
Potato peelings
Bread crumbs
Bits of leek, tomato, carrot
Dead flowers, stiff,
Onion skins
And sees rubbish.
Scraps for seagulls to squawk over from spilled bin bags,
Streets smeared,
Summer stink
To high heaven.
But.
Not.
The.
Potential.
Given time.
Heat.
Protection.
A little bit of rummaging.
The promise of rich, crumbling, darkly-latent life.
Ready.
Just
Waiting
To be seen.
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Stupid Hissing
It’s not even the start
And I can already feel the cold hand of the past
On my shoulder.
Whispering in my ear
A voice which is all hissy
And persuasive
And stupid.
I like your hands.
I don’t want them to be on anyone else’s neck
Or thigh.
Or your lips
To be pressed deliciously
Anywhere
But on my skin and lips.
“Hissy-hiss-other-women”,
The voice blathers on.
I suppose that’s what they mean by
Baggage.
And I can already feel the cold hand of the past
On my shoulder.
Whispering in my ear
A voice which is all hissy
And persuasive
And stupid.
I like your hands.
I don’t want them to be on anyone else’s neck
Or thigh.
Or your lips
To be pressed deliciously
Anywhere
But on my skin and lips.
“Hissy-hiss-other-women”,
The voice blathers on.
I suppose that’s what they mean by
Baggage.
Separation
Fewer planks of wood in the lounge.
Parma ham.
More confident with spiders.
More sex.
Better sex.
Friends.
Time.
Space.
Flowers.
Expansion.
Louder.
Bigger.
Thinner.
More fluid.
Less certain.
Increased capacity for peace.
New jokes.
Thought.
Yes,
With some crying.
Sometimes.
Parma ham.
More confident with spiders.
More sex.
Better sex.
Friends.
Time.
Space.
Flowers.
Expansion.
Louder.
Bigger.
Thinner.
More fluid.
Less certain.
Increased capacity for peace.
New jokes.
Thought.
Yes,
With some crying.
Sometimes.
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
The Heroic Embrace
Dark. Then lighter, a cream-coloured dawning. Rising warmth.
Cool and greenly bubbling, the water sways. The morning brushes the top of the reeds. The clouds stretch, dissolving into the background of the sky.
The frog stirs. Life is waking in his belly. He blinks, tracing the minute shivers and ripples inside him. He flicks out his tongue; tastes. The sour ripeness of Spring reaches him. He blinks again.
Through the gloom, a gleam fades in and out. His eyes focus. A faint shimmering slenderly slips through the water, among the murk and the slime. A chink of light, a slip of something beautiful. The frog moves.
And something moves in him; rumbling, the urge of frogs past, the drive for future frogs, ancestors and offspring, conspiring to steer him on, forward, towards.
He kicks his legs. He is curious now, awoken by the return of impulses long-since unfelt. But remembered. His eyes widen. A longing burns. He kicks harder.
The weed drifts beneath him, tickling his belly as his swims. Ahead, the glimmer brightens, flickers, leading him closer. The sudden impression of scaly skin beneath his fizzes through him.
A moment. A shaft of sunlight catches a golden tail. The frog is frozen, caught in his yearning. She is perfect. He is hers.
Propelled by desire, by craving, he kicks again, swimming, reaching, grasping; his froggy limbs seize her with the power of all of his will, all of his wish and all of his hope.
He clings.
Her eyes blink.
She wriggles. She squirms. She flails. But he holds her tightly. He is certain.
The light starts to fade behind her eyes. She remembers the feel of water passing her by, a gulp of air, cold. It is all growing dimmer. She gently shudders. And then she is still.
He clings. He has found her. He will not let her go. He clings.
Cool and greenly bubbling, the water sways. The morning brushes the top of the reeds. The clouds stretch, dissolving into the background of the sky.
The frog stirs. Life is waking in his belly. He blinks, tracing the minute shivers and ripples inside him. He flicks out his tongue; tastes. The sour ripeness of Spring reaches him. He blinks again.
Through the gloom, a gleam fades in and out. His eyes focus. A faint shimmering slenderly slips through the water, among the murk and the slime. A chink of light, a slip of something beautiful. The frog moves.
And something moves in him; rumbling, the urge of frogs past, the drive for future frogs, ancestors and offspring, conspiring to steer him on, forward, towards.
He kicks his legs. He is curious now, awoken by the return of impulses long-since unfelt. But remembered. His eyes widen. A longing burns. He kicks harder.
The weed drifts beneath him, tickling his belly as his swims. Ahead, the glimmer brightens, flickers, leading him closer. The sudden impression of scaly skin beneath his fizzes through him.
A moment. A shaft of sunlight catches a golden tail. The frog is frozen, caught in his yearning. She is perfect. He is hers.
Propelled by desire, by craving, he kicks again, swimming, reaching, grasping; his froggy limbs seize her with the power of all of his will, all of his wish and all of his hope.
He clings.
Her eyes blink.
She wriggles. She squirms. She flails. But he holds her tightly. He is certain.
The light starts to fade behind her eyes. She remembers the feel of water passing her by, a gulp of air, cold. It is all growing dimmer. She gently shudders. And then she is still.
He clings. He has found her. He will not let her go. He clings.
Friday, 13 May 2011
Half Eaten
Sometimes
It’s like a mouse
Sleeping,
Harmlessly curled up
In some warm bodily nook.
Sometimes
It’s like a snake;
Slowly sinking fangs into flesh,
Indulgent,
Poison seeping up thighs,
Veins treacling,
Heart slowly thickening,
Consciousness
Limping.
Other times
It’s like a dinosaur
Has stomped right up to me,
Glared,
And chomped,
Casual,
Direct,
My torso.
Leaving me
Like two thirds of a piece of toast.
It’s like a mouse
Sleeping,
Harmlessly curled up
In some warm bodily nook.
Sometimes
It’s like a snake;
Slowly sinking fangs into flesh,
Indulgent,
Poison seeping up thighs,
Veins treacling,
Heart slowly thickening,
Consciousness
Limping.
Other times
It’s like a dinosaur
Has stomped right up to me,
Glared,
And chomped,
Casual,
Direct,
My torso.
Leaving me
Like two thirds of a piece of toast.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
The Story
Four months ago my marriage broke up. I say "broke up", it would be more accurate to say my now-estranged husband broke up. His brain, I like to think, just slowed down, shuddered and stopped. So one Thursday, while I was visiting my parents, he decided that his marriage was over, gathered his stuff together and left.
He left me a note. Oh, don't think he didn't mention it to me. He did. There was a whole side of A4.
I was in shock. I think. Numb. With some weeping. Oh alright, numb with a lot of weeping. Debenhams, TK Maxx, Sainsbury's: I wept in them all.
A month later he decided that he might have made a mistake. We did a little bit of talking, a few weeks' worth, and then he slept with the woman he left me for again. (Oh yes, there was another woman. Have I not mentioned that? Remiss of me.)
Then this week, I lost my job.
Life has gone from this known and knowable thing, to something which surprises me at every turn. To begin with that felt unbearable, and now it feels a bit wonderful.
I don't want to give you the wrong impression, sometimes it's still hard. Choke in the throat hard (that sounds rude).
But by god there have been some just *lovely* things too. Times, people, thoughts, feelings, dreams, plans. I feel a bit like I have woken up, and to everything; beautiful and terrible, opportunity and crisis.
It's all happening. All of it.
He left me a note. Oh, don't think he didn't mention it to me. He did. There was a whole side of A4.
I was in shock. I think. Numb. With some weeping. Oh alright, numb with a lot of weeping. Debenhams, TK Maxx, Sainsbury's: I wept in them all.
A month later he decided that he might have made a mistake. We did a little bit of talking, a few weeks' worth, and then he slept with the woman he left me for again. (Oh yes, there was another woman. Have I not mentioned that? Remiss of me.)
Then this week, I lost my job.
Life has gone from this known and knowable thing, to something which surprises me at every turn. To begin with that felt unbearable, and now it feels a bit wonderful.
I don't want to give you the wrong impression, sometimes it's still hard. Choke in the throat hard (that sounds rude).
But by god there have been some just *lovely* things too. Times, people, thoughts, feelings, dreams, plans. I feel a bit like I have woken up, and to everything; beautiful and terrible, opportunity and crisis.
It's all happening. All of it.
Friday, 6 May 2011
Y'know light switches.
Y’know light switches.
There they are. On a wall.
There’s probably one on the wall of the room you’re in.
Right now.
It’s sitting there.
Quiet.
Square.
Contained.
That light switch
Is minding its own business.
Until
Someone
Comes along
And puts their sticky little mitt all over it.
Fingers
Pressing.
BOOM!
Says the light switch.
HA!
Says the light switch.
SEE MY POWER!
The connections
The electricity
The fizz and tension and wires
Sizzling towards
Illumination.
Now look at that bloody light switch again.
There they are. On a wall.
There’s probably one on the wall of the room you’re in.
Right now.
It’s sitting there.
Quiet.
Square.
Contained.
That light switch
Is minding its own business.
Until
Someone
Comes along
And puts their sticky little mitt all over it.
Fingers
Pressing.
BOOM!
Says the light switch.
HA!
Says the light switch.
SEE MY POWER!
The connections
The electricity
The fizz and tension and wires
Sizzling towards
Illumination.
Now look at that bloody light switch again.
Thursday, 5 May 2011
The point.
Life has changed.
Some days I wake up and feel utterly confused. But mostly I just get up, feed the cat, make some porridge and some tea, potter about. There is barely any crying nowadays. And a lot of laughing.
But I find myself, and have found myself, doing a shit load of writing. And it has nowhere to go.
So I thought I'd go all 2006 and start a blog.
Is it just for me?
Maybe.
I guess we will see.
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