Deeper

 I've been waiting so long.

I said, I've been waiting so long.

But like every man or woman that ever has been, you're running late.

You never call, never phone or write. 

You just don't show up for our date.

No, no.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted 

Was One Good Man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love

That's deeper.

So I met a poet at the Chelsea, he said

"I'll be your Bobby, you can be my Brigitte"

So I lent him my head and he gave me a hand, baby

Get It While You Can. He

Promised me poems. I said, "Catch Me Daddy!

Go read to old ladies instead!" 

Yeah yeah. 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

One good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted Was

A love

That's deeper.

I'm just A Woman Left Lonely

Singing in this empty room.

I've gotta Try (Just A Little Bit Harder) to wait

My cigarettes burned out too soon.

So I'm out here walking in the rain

Little Girl Blue with her Ball and Chain.

What Good Can Drinking Do? Oh.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, a love a love, a love

That's deeper, yeah. 

So I found myself a new man.

He's tall and he's thin.

Not much of a looker.

His countenance is grim.

He's only got one outfit, his smile is wide.

No Mercedes Benz, just a horse to ride.

Under this Half Moon it's finally time

To stop my Misery'n. Oh! 

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was one good man.

All I ever wanted, ever wanted

Was a love, that's deeper. Yeah.

So this Summertime

I've found my love

I've got one good man!

And he's the Reaper. 

New poem, new song. 

Find it online:  Empire of - Deeper. 

Listen here: https://on.soundcloud.com/pjvTD

Download/stream everywhere now.

A New Direction

 

https://on.soundcloud.com/LR83k

Some of you may have been wondering why I have been quiet recently. 

I have been busily working on a new project, which is starting to come to fruition. 

Above is a link to the first track of my forthcoming album. Check it out and let me know what you think. 

Love always. Xx

Lucky in Cards

We wear our palms out applauding luck
as if there's any skill in such;
like raffle tickets are determined
by solid research. Candles burning
both ends until you're left the heart:
melted, burnt out, all light departed.

We falsely think that games of chance, as
all life is are as prescribed as dances.
(Foxtrot, waltzes, cha-cha-cha)
and never see how wrong we are.

Celebrate, by all means, yes
but recognise we're powerless
against the ebb and flow and flood
of the rhythms of the heart and blood.

                                                                                                                                 

I was lucky enough recently to go to the prize giving event for the Save the Children's Festival of Trees with my wonderful friends Ciara and Julie from Sweet Ginger Emporium.

( They are brilliant people and their shop is a delight. It is a goldmine for crafters of all varieties and I urge you to check out their website, or if you're on the island pop in to see them in Ramsey.)

 It was an evening I thoroughly enjoyed, as it gave me a chance to dress up, let my hair down and show off my brain all at once. I was struck by the enthusiastic applause at the raffle, how sincere people seemed to be, when it takes no effort at all to have the number that is pulled out of the hat. This poem flowed at that moment. 

Perdita

As I woke the other day

the sky broke. Big, grey

splotches on concrete.

Each one a cocktail thrown by an ex-lover in defeat.

Dressing, dreading

resigned to a day of

unabashed antagonists,

washing, waking

this disturbing state

insistently persists.

I attempted to give the half squint that hair leaving the house demands

but could barely see the mirror for Kirby grips and hair-bands.

They had spilt off the shelf and onto the floor;

some in the bin, some in the drawer

this atoll of accessories, point of origin undisclosed

 was girt by the lagoon of lost socks and outgrown favourite clothes.

Confused, I clamour for caffeine.

Stumbling through the hallway,

bare soles bruising on abandoned ephemera

as pen lids, lip balm and bouncy balls roll away

care-slow moving like a long lost Lepidoptera.

Steaming kettle further blurring sleep clouded

eyes I turn and reach wrist deep into a tower

of teaspoons.

Withdraw.

To hullabaloo calamitous, I stir.

I slurp.

I stare,

trying to work out where I am.

Such stifling clutter!

It looks like a nutter

lives here, hoarding

all things

carelessly tossed aside.

This realization drove an elbow into my gut.

I checked the doors and windows.

Sealed shut.

Jellied legs delivered me to my cobalt velvet chair,

I sipped my tea most somberly, reflecting on my despair.

I finished, then straight-backed rinsed the cup,

head up high, jaw a-jut

then set about with mop and duster

until all of the items regained their lustre.

Gave each a home, it’s proper place,

put away pairs of briefs by the case

and learned to live through windows.

On tiptoes from upstairs

I can see a sliver of ocean.

I’ve chosen to make the best of it.

It’s orderly now. And quiet.

Some people would kill for this solitude.

I stoically abide it.

As for all the teaspoons, I’ve made myself a crown.

I accept I’m lost, for this is where I’m found

Valentine

On this,

the day of martyred lovers

I recall a misunderstood comment.

“One day I’ll see you live”

it said.

Of course it meant live, as in music.

But the former struck a chord in me.

To live in place of existing

To BE and not to be.

There isn’t a question

that this is what we will

for those we love unconditionally.

Imagination is distilled experience.

Expression of essential natures

exhibits intimacy intensely.

Earnestness earned less rudely,

more conscientiously chosen.

The resulting constraints are the price of those decisions.

But to you I still wish the freedom

to truthfully tell how you feel

instead of fearfully throwing up shields.

One day I’ll see you live.

The Lunatic Will Always Look Like A Lunatic

I’m a loud speaker, baby.

The fun-house mirror of the world.

I amplify the signals.

I throw back at you your words.

I’m a great big natural sea sponge,

absorbing your projections.

I long to be impermeable, unreflective

to have protection

from all the barbs and badness

that others throw at me.

Instead I let them in,

magnify them, then I see

the way I’ve been affected

and what I’m giving out

isn’t really what I think at all

so what’s that all about?

Thoughts not mine come flowing forth

frothing with their falsehoods

while reason screams “you’re making scenes

from others’ opinions and bullshit!”

True people make me truly myself,

I noticed years ago

when first I learned what it meant

to honestly let go.

The worst of these adopted themes

is others’ jealousy.

I don’t know how to deal with it

it doesn’t come naturally.

Instead it makes me crazy,

thinking in ever smaller circles,

doubting those I love

eroding my hard-won self-worth.

It must be fucking awful

to have to always feel like that.

I’m glad these thoughts are not mine;

I’ve just absorbed them from that twat.

The one who fawns all over him

and then treats me like shit.

To see her act like a Mean Girl bitch

is frankly, a bit pathetic.

I’m his wife and he’s my husband

and we believe in marriage.

Perhaps you should focus on your boyfriend;

your own relationship needs to be salvaged.

You’ve no respect for us, it’s clear

and your self respect needs attention.

And as you really aren’t worth my time

This is the last time you’ll get a mention.

Magpie

All week long I saw them.

Those portents gleaming, squawking,

hopping, cocked head, taunting,

“Sorrow! Sorrow!”; giving warning.

Well dressed spectres perching trite

on ghoulish glamour of foresight

from watchful beads. Their message might

be overlooked, taken light

-ly. I mistook their solo missions

as personally guided acts of attrition

and didn’t realize what they were bringing

was the precious gift of premonition.

Now I replay my memories and lessons impart

-ed by you, my husband’s family’s matriarch.

Luminous lady now journeying in to dark

with no map or signs. No official chart.

Are those monochromatic couriers guiding

the Valkyries with whom you’re riding?

Battles corporeal you fought inspiring

-ly with bravery unretiring.

If the piebald post can pass their notes from Future into Past

Can missives slip between the cracks of the Living and the Passed?

And if only one can get through to you

out of the endless many

let it be this truth you’ve heard a million times:

“Ciao, Tesoro. Ti voglio bene”.

In memoriam of Luciana Pavia. 4th October 1940 - 20th January 2015

Indesiderata

You looked at me and the love in your eyes faded

And I realized it was this I was most afraid of.

The swapping of fluids is only an act,

A bodily function, a pastime in fact but,

Seeing you look at someone else like that –

This is what heartbreak is made of.

You looked at me and the love in your eyes faded.

It was a look until then I hadn’t noticed was missing.

I saw it the day our son was born,

Before we were married each and every morning

But yesterday I would blindly have sworn

That sparkle was there, betraying your feelings, glistening.

You looked at me and the love in your eyes faded

As if someone had put a night-cover over the sun.

At that moment I felt myself partly disintegrate

Pulverized by a blow indelicately dealt

It jarred and its impact still reverberates

Was it too late to go back to where we had begun?

You looked at me and the love in your eyes faded

As if it were I extinguishing your flame.

I would never have thought

A glance could import such

Weight of a lesson well taught

But this is the time to rebuild and not place blame.

You looked at me and the love in your eyes faded.

And I saw it had been for experience traded

The trust between us had degraded

By poverty broken, jealousy jaded

Both hard headed, couldn’t be persuaded

That through the worst we had already waded.

We spoke and we realized we’d already made it.

We looked at each other and the rest of the world

Evaporated.

2014 was a tough year. Not just for me, but for everyone around me. This year I learned the importance of good communication. 

Ironically, that's all I want to say about that.

Rum Goings On

Once upon a rum soaked night
The boy with scars external
Met the girl with scars internal.
Her asbestos heart was set alight.
The scars began to fade.

They shared a quiet privacy
Public personas shed like skins
Intimate darkness lets light begin
A moment stolen in the dawn
Her tarnished soul was saved.

The first in years to know her past.
Midnight black and blue regrets
With all the memories he forgets
The die of loss is long since cast.
With sorrow this road's paved.

Once upon some rum soaked laughter
The girl with scars internal
loved the boy with scars external.
They shared a happy ever after
Brief but pure and sweetly grave.

Freshers Love

You tongue your way to my pleasure.

Fist claws cotton.

Breath escapes.

The film plays on -

Unwatched.

Sunlight plays on your spine.

Life continues below.

Our world is now.

If only I could remember your name.

Clown.

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Such a public mockery.
You are a tool in his all-consuming self-love.
Unwilling to face the one way, blackhole nature of it all.
You stand in painted smile.
The audience watch clutching breath
for him to pull out the chair.
The ringmaster owns your eyes and time.
Are you so blinded by footlights
that you can truly call this
astounding self-degradation
love?

Just one more clown in his circus you are.
Watch the pretty girls lead the horses away.
The spectacle is leaving town.

Lazy Dreveries

I blow chains of momentary beauty
But they cannot capture the moments with you.
Watching the world hurry past
I saunter through thoughts idle and unworried.
I know that you will still be as imperfect
as the day you lent me your coat in the rain.
The old dog smell of wet leather
still warm from your body.
In death our flaws are in perfect perspective.
Who cares that you were always late?
now that you are.
 

06/04/04

As a teardrop I fall for you.
Melancholic. Mesmerised.
So far, so fast, so frail I fall.
Shattered before I crushed.
A stolen heartless kiss -
That thoughtless thief of trust.

Pools of blue that overflow.
Tissue peppered cheeks.
The condiments of grief.
I smile through gritted teeth.
And love love as my foe.

Per Luciana Zapparoli - L'Anniversario D'Oro.

This

I drew this for my mother-in-law on the occasion of my in-laws' 50th wedding anniversary.

It is an image of her on her wedding day.

The "50 anni" on the top right is a dream, not even imagined to her on her wedding day.

All the things listed on the top left are the things that came to pass in their life together - the things she could have forseen: Children, love, problems, work, happiness, hard times, tears, grandchildren, friends, dreams.

The road she is walking is moving her from the past to the future.

The roots under her feet are the roots of their strong relationship, the things that have made their relationship work: Love; Family; Strength; Experience; Luck; Hope; Patience; Determination; Sacrifice; Humour; Morality; the Church; Propriety; Life Education; Faith (and faithfulness - the word is the same in Italian)

I know my sketching skills leave a lot to be desired, but hey. The idea was there, just not the technical ability. Perhaps with practice this is something I can work on.

He Says, She Says

He says I'm not the me I was,
That I have changed irreparably.
He says we argue all the time.
Ironically, I disagree.
He says he looks at others now
And admits it's hungrily.
He says that there is nothing wrong,
then dredges fights long-dead to me.
He says he wants his favourite food;
My single staple kedgeree.

I says he spends no time with me.
I've substituted him because
we spend our evenings silently.
He is not moved by beat or rhyme
or language - aural gold to me.
I know I've changed, but badly? How?
It's all improvements I can see.
Does someone always end up wrong?
Or is it plainly sad to see
That Jude is our saint-patronly.

Five - Six - Thirteen

After a glorious production the sun
bows graciously behind the trees on my right
to rapturous vesperturnal applause.
To my left the bats fight their nightly battle
against the ravenous grasp of mortality.
Pheasants overrule the avian debate
ahead of me in the comfort of sakura silhouettes.
I see the detritus of a summer holiday
strewn on uncut grass. Cars. Watering cans.
The bag of wet swimming things I meant to unpack.
Tea steams in the cool air.
Behind me the warmth of love coaxes, calls, caresses my name.

I close the door to outer beauty
and open my heart.

Affirmation

Even in the midst of night
the distant wail of T-Rex's cousins
reach me.
And even when I am not right
and fall and fail I let the lessons
teach me.
And in the hours I feel alone
I remind myself of the myriad network
around me.
And all the things as yet unknown;
Concerns of health and joy that lurk
astound me.                            [impound me]                           (glass is half...)

I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget who I am.
I refuse to forget.

Baby Weight

If love is love as love should be,

then why does it enslave, not free?

Love is a power - nay, a force

that rivals all but gravity

and as said best by Spiderman:

"Power is responsibility".

You, the product of our love;

that spiralling arcing meteor.

Those fireworks, rockets, sleepless nights

that bred into a lifetime more.

And slavery was none more false

for waged I am by your sweet smile;

to relive that first one again

I'd crawl on cliche a million miles.

The perfume of your morning hair

outweighs the months of colicked hell.

To watch you grow and learn and love

I'd give again my childless self.

The birth of you one snowy day

shackled me with steely bonds.

But witnessing your joyful play

is all the freedom I could want.

Assorted Notable Texts

Hey Gorgeous! How's it going? I had a word with Pepe Le Pious this eve as he was up to his usual tricks. needless to say he took it like the petulant little tit he is. Do I care? Ha! Do I fuck! X
Ed. 24/8/07

I've had an idea: let's go to Japan by train. London to Cologne is the easy part, sleeper carriage, but Cologne to Moscow is different, difficult. Travelling via Belarus will always be difficult, esp. after the MinskMag expose. Moscow to Vladivostock, the main event is easy! 7 days of North Asian tundra and wilderness and rattling rails! The ferry from the East Russian coast to Japan will be a jape too - chai, seafood, Scrabble. You busy next week?

Robbie. 25/1/07

If the party is finished by then I'll be:
a) Surprised
b) Unhappy and
c) Arrested.
Seumas 27/8/07

I'm happy! My hands are dirty again, my nails with the black inside and I smell badly! Yahoo!

Claudio. 11/02/08

I've typed and then discarded at least 3 variations on the frustrated, emotional, lonely, bored theme & for all the fancy word play and poetic license not one conveyed exactly what I wanted to say, which is, for fuck's sake, someone kidnap me with care and dump me in the unpredictable so my day can start.

Robbie. 14/4/07

So why am I telling you all this? Cause you remind me of Dave. And it fucking scares the fucking shit out of me. And I want you to know that if you just want a joke and a laugh, or a shoulder to cry on, or someone to go dancing with, I'm always here, and you're never alone. I really hope you're laughing at me 'cause I sound like a drunken fool. see you soon.

Dan. 21/01/07

The situation: I'm sitting in an end-up shopping trolley @ a flat party above the Halt Bar, Woodlands Road. 60-70 people thru the door. New LPO organised seated dancing to Manu Chao. Guth, Matt, Louise, been & gone. Stranded, sea of steamers. now simply just in that trolley.
Robbie. 18/2/7

AQA estimates that you could live for around 6 months if all you had was an infinite supply of bluebottles. You'd need to eat a lot of them, though.

AQA (63336) 10/08/07

Glasgow... Saturday morning... people walking to nowhere with proper mind deep in other million places but not here. Glasgow Saturday morning people walking wasted looking for reality. Glasgow Saturday morning... I'm fucking tired.

Claudio. 15/03/08

Did you get a birthing pool? you desreved a short labour. I'm out tonight but you can totally phone me tomorrow, anytime. Glad there were no stiches. Please use birth control for now on. Seriously. my love to you all. Pervert.

Lorraine. 07/03/09

The point being, of course, that the beautiful messages that mean so much to us in these times are only as memorable as the life of your mobile. We don't send cards, love letters, telegrams even. It's such a tragedy.

To all of the above contributors: I love you all.

Love: All

To err is human, to forgive divine

What course of action will be thine?

Heroic vengeance, stoic acceptance.

How sincere if any repentance?

A tree does not know it is wretched

But wretched is all that I am.

For I know I know nothing and inside that nothing

is the knowledge that all that he was was a sham.

And the fear of losing my unknowing had

Who was there when I called on my way to being mad.

The only one I called when it all went to shit

Who knew of my tears and my chemical habit.

The others passed 7 long years in the dark

As I wandered wasted our common-themed park.

Now this new attraction, so shiny and slick!

But is it honey or venom that drips from each click?

"I've seen love from both sides now" and other songs like such

And honestly for me the emotion gets too much.

I always retreat to the space in my head which opens to stardust and perceptional shift.

Not induced by drugs or anything more than a headache as felt by young Alice.

but I'm losing the point now; my reason is this:

I'm teetering on a lfe precipice

And it's not up to me on which way I will slide.

All engines are dead now, I nothing but glide.

How heady this high blood pressure!

How heavy the weight of the world!

In this humidity, no wonder my hair is starting to curl.

And I can do nothing but pass back and forth

Like a tennis ball, final, Wimbeldon court

And it's Love: All