Call To Arms



Every day I read the news with growing trepidation.
It’s regression on a massive scale. The end of civilisation.
We’re not punishing those that caused this mess with lies, with greed, with ego.
But blaming folk who’ve nothing done and warring with nations we don’t know.
What year is this? Who’s in control? Where is Lady Justice?
She’s bound and gagged in a divan bed. Ransomed for the fame of her captress.
Of equal weight (or so we’re told) to celebrities, diets and twerking.
The blood on her sword is only her own so clearly, this system’s not working.
The children that need us the most,
Tragically fall through the ‘net
And children are taken when good parents seek help and hysterical healthcare objects.
Open your eyes and ignore the damned press! They have profits to make, don’t you see?
Horrors that happen go unreported and affect us – that’s you - and it’s me.
I do not believe it is really so hard to lay aside neighbourly spite
And just keep an eye out, get involved and speak up if something just doesn’t seem right.
Notice the pensioned! They are people too and their stories are going untold.
As we focus on disposable incomes of youth and deny our own growing old.
I don’t have the answers. I’m not the Messiah (or even a naughty boy),
I am just one person, sick of the nonsense and sick of acting coy.
I’m not asking for money, or a signed petition, or change in far flung lands.
I’m saying your community needs you before it ends up in God-knows-whose hands.

Get involved. Take an interest. Speak up! Go out!

Disenfranchisement is dead.

Earnestness is the future!

And without it?

Total extinction instead.


Recipe for Disaster

A handful of sugar.
A penny of salt.
A pinch for your thoughts,
your light and your faults.
A tight squeeze. A light squeeze.
Freshly squeezed orange
and you.
We squeezed into my single bed:
room enough for two.
But only room for one
in my heart and in my head.

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.

Hiding

Long sleeves. Long legs.
These lines are too telling.
I wish I could explain
how this pain helps that pain.
But language is limited.

20/03/2010 Dear Gio (but not for Gio)

Surrounded by vices as strange as sliced toast
Interacting with many half-living, half-ghost.
Some glowing brightly, some dulled by life's blade,
but everyone wants something from you, I'm afraid.
Some want your body, some want your mind
Some of them only want you to be kind.
The best are the ones who want you to be you
and the ones who just want you to smile.
The ones who will paint you with custard and glue
To away a fun little while.
Who'll help you survive, help you to say no,
teach you things about Glasgow you never would know.
Ride bikes with you, share with you, get you a job.
To share a good joke with, to share with a sob.
To drive one way round Nottingham, eight or nine times (!)
and hypnotise randoms with powers of rhyme.
A gallery cafe, a man in a dress
and all of the time at Paisley Road West.
The long walk home never seemed so long
when walking at five forty-five
And shiny posh bars never seemed so wrong.
You'd rather be seen in a dive.
And if you find these friends my boy, hold them tight.
They're rarer then wormholes, more precious than light
and all of the time that together you'd have
would be sacred, remembered, occasionally mad
but thoroughly lived - and that's the whole point.
In life's murky waters, I urge you: anoint!
Your life may transport you to a Dear Green Place
of culture, catastrophe, darkness and grace
and then, maybe then, you will make friends like these,
my long lost and ever-beloved Weegies.

Per Luciana Zapparoli - L'Anniversario D'Oro.

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.

14/10/13

I feel I am just waking up
from 10 years in Van Winkle dust.
Head is clearing, footsteps lighter.
Horizons wide and vision brighter.
Emotional ballast I've unburdened.
Old grievances I feel I've pardoned.
Not that I'll forget, of course,
But from that me I'm now divorced.

Is this me now growing up?
Or just a midlife crisis?
It's not too young, my half-full cup,
I'll probably die of bronchitis!
Those days we can't choose but to see,
when antibiotics don't work
because no company wants to fund
research with no glamorous perk.

I know what I want and how to get it.
All I need now is time.
And a canyon of work, of which I'm not afeared.
My life will be Reason from Rhyme.

Christmas 2002

Once there were three:
The magic number-
3 witches; 3 wishes; 3 wise men.
Maiden runs away; goes to see a crone.
The witch of the East
My, my - how she's grown.
They smile and compare notes
but will scars tell the whole story?

Then there were four.
Ugly; clunky; boxed.
4 sides. 4 corners. 4 angles.
Parallels everywhere.

There are no witches in mathematics.
Only mother's apples pi.

The Mermaid and The Sloth

Come and meet some friends of mine,
we'll go to where they stay
with toasting glasses held aloft
and witty repartee.
I'm sure we'll have a lovely time -
they're very welcoming.
They are the Mermaid and the Sloth
to them ourselves we'll bring.
Please don't mind their way with words.
Their oft-referenced archaic verse
is harmless at the very worst.
With intelligence they're cursed.
The Mermaid and the Sloth.

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.

Dispensary Blues

I am sick of helping the sick
And getting nothing in return.
No sick pay, no thanks.
Just above minimum wage I earn.
I am sick of hearing how things will improve
As another friend's hours get cut or removed.
I am sick of the blame and the lawsuits I risk
Because of mis-prescribed medicines that do not exist.
The lack of support and unbearable pressure
When every day things just get worse and not better.
Vocations unvalued and talents deterred
instead of encouraged. Profits preferred.
Insomnia's nightmares curse all those that care.
Long term dispensers in this firm are rare.

Speaker Celebrity

Three years of ridding myself of my rage
left me bellaputrescent and old for my age.
I appear to you now as a mere wizened spectre;
A wrinkled and cynical regret collector.
My most squalid and heartbroken version of self.
Insurmountable walls built on negative wealth.
Don't judge me on all of my confident bluster.
The truth is so human, severely lacklustre.
The best metaphor is that I am a pearl;
A wist-wasteful woman in guise of a girl.
Layers of glamour, a heart made of sh**;
My place in this world an uncomfortable fit.
Now hollow of eye, of cheek and of heart
I fantasise daily of ways to depart
and romanticise leaving no remnant behind;
Of wiping all memories of me from all minds.
Don't get me wrong, it's not my own demise
that's driving me now - I'm no suicide.
I want retrospectively not to exist.
I would never have chosen a life such as this,
knowing now what I know. If I knew then
that my life would be guided by follies of men
so selfish and cold they can't even admit
when they've lied. Would I want it? Not in a fit!
They tell me that if I pretend long enough
-at happiness, love and all of that stuff-
that one day I'll wake up and I'll feel content
walking this finite and f***** firmament.
They tell me that life isn't really so bad,
that I am environmentally sad,
that all will improve, given hope, given time.
"It's just circumstantial. Try going outside."
So I straighten my face and strengthen my defense
And once more construct my perfected pretence -
That I'm choosing to live, I've the world on a plate.
That I'm not just a selfish and boring ingrate.
And who knows what will be in the days still to come?
Not me, if I freak, chicken out and just run.
Now I bid you good day, tip my hat, flash a smile
and invite you to wander this path for a while
and keep walking until we emerge in the sun.
For my life in the shadows is near enough done.

Surely?


17/02/08 The Unit

Hang ups fall of in The Basement.
Woven webs hang fallen girls.
Pricey silence and finite liberty.
Safety in networking.
Too tangled to drop
Politics. No peace.
Never released.
To fall is freedom. To land, death.
Drop - Stumble - Trip - Tumble
Care full of the key
Whole
A turned ankle. A twisted cheek
Bruised blush and a greying glow.
Disco damaged discs.
Ribs and wrists resist.
Curiosity provokes.
Cowardice persists.
Is there anything behind those eyes anymore?

Life as a Legal Drug Dealer

Daily I hunch as a pensive Paolo
Upon the stool of derailed dreams.
Bathing in burning garlic fumes
and the stench of chip fat
long since past its best.
Squinting at the scores on miracle cures
purporting to prolong a painful life.
Apothecary's emanuensis.
Tightrope ballerina between
The Junky
and
The Medicated.
I paddle in their suffering,
bailing out water where I can.
These dosette boats only float for so long.
When they finally drown
I step out.
And carefully dry the skin between my toes.

Roundhouse, London, 12/07/2013

I steamed and spun one London night,
As trains did long ago.
Euphoria; experimental;
Honesty and woe.
My facial vines of eyeliner
mystified the wasted
and a one-off song from Palmer's tongue
set straight the rag-most-hated.
Unexpected overwhelm
and floodgates rattled open.
Lost and then the Bed Song
un-numbed my heart so broken.
The gift she gave - an awesome show.
An unguarded performance.
The gift I took - the strength to glow
and keep on moving forwards.

Lorrainespotting

Choose existence. Choose to talk to your firiends. Choose to get the fuck on with it, even if it means you'll have bad dreams. Choose to give affection to those who deserve it. Choose to tell the others to fuck off. Choose to ignore paranoia. Choose to dance. Choose laughter and 6AM eternal.Choose reality. Choose yourself. Choose to remember the choices you have made. Choose not to regret. Choose hope over nostalgia. Choose everything. Choose to be fabulous.

Choose Lorraine.

Return from Sonar

The signs above my head read thusly:
It is 18 degrees C.
It is 4:42 AM
It is prohibited to smoke.
I must wear a seat-belt.
To my right, Americans who are in a pissed off mood with each other.
To my left, the speedy retreat of the Spanish countryside and the lights of Barcelona.
It is now 17 degrees C.
It is now 4:44 AM.
I still can't smoke.
I've taking my seat-belt off.
I am listening to E talking and contemplating my joyful life.
My arse is getting numb.
Bloody rock hard coach seats.
And me with no padding.
My mouth is as dry as a badger and twice as furry.
It is 17 degrees C.
It is 4:47 AM
I really want a fag now.
Fiddling with seat-belt instead.

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.

He

He is a misanthropic Dr Seuss character
Fantastic and forlorn.
In his tower, viewing Camelot.
A spaceful time; timeless but for
A dinosaur. And memorabilia of a time
More fabulous than now.
Self evident truths. Pained. Personally haunted.
Exquisite facade. Visually gifted.
Betrayed by sight.
Stand alone at arms length.
Internationally adored.

Never change.

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.

work in progress...

just beyond the precipice in the corner of the sky exists a land as hard to see as huckleberry pie. The creatures there are bound by light but sageleaf liberates their forms to rise from leaden shells to fly a single night. For all they crave is this brief burst; a particle of free. But in doing so they can't go back and very quickly freeze. The atmosphere (to hold them back) is a boiling mass of cloud. The violet fetid soupy air muffles every sound. Sageleaf grows so woefully, unnurtured by the Glaikens. These lumpen gaolers trog the earth. They've no kindness to awaken.
Within this world the fungii thrive but hold a place most sacred. There are fungii wars and fungii homes and Commune-Cities gated.
We meet our hero, Roodrellac and join him in ablutions. For now he scrubs and dons his clothes for he has work to go to. But if he knew his soon to bes he'd be sure to pack a knife, too...

A Good Talking To


Heed the prophet as she comes;
bitten nails, mascara runs.
What once entranced now nauseates.
Love once inspired, now apathates.
No balls for you, young Cinder-Zappa.
Weak and cowardly. Empty wrapper.
Betrayer of your youthly self,
Now 9 to 5 and on the shelf.
Uncreative, antisocial.
So far removed it's downright woeful.
The slip so far to what you are
can only treasured memories marr.
Reclaim yourself, take back the night.
Keep your goals within your sight.
Self-sabotage and confidence lack
have stolen years you'll never get back.
Forget the times you could have made it,
before your chance and youth have faded.
Focus now on what will be
as working truly sets you free.

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.

The Mystery of the Moon

One crystal-aired and clear-skied day
I wandered pondering away,
To discover if the tales were true;
Is lunar rock just cheese of blue?
I asked the solemn cows so wise, but all they said was "Moo".

I had heard told the deep blue sea
Could answer any mystery,
So went and stood on windswept shore;
Begged and pleaded, screamed and swore.
The waves to calm me murmured "Shhhh", but gave no answer more.

I went to university,
The learn-ed folk and library,
But they were in a picket line
With angry looks and waving signs.
It seemed they had their own questions and wouldn't answer mine.

I scaled the Himalayas,
(The grass, the rocks and icy layers)
To see if I could see from there
If it were stilton or gruyere.
Altitude sickness got me first- I need much thicker air.

Atlas mountains on camel road,
With Bedouin tribes and desert code.
I saw the moon more clearly then
Than I ever will again.
I saw how silly I had been and found a peace-like zen.

It was obvious to me
The moon's not rock or cheese of green!
It's each unanswered mystery;
The "what' if"s, "what now"s and "what's to bes";
The gotten undreamed and the great-never-had:
That's why She glows and why She's sad.

Mindless Burblings

It's too late to leave
We're all here now
Why don't we make the best of it?
We could stay and chill, maybe take some pills.
Mutilation? I don't like the scent of it.
You saw me fall, you aren't so tall
and now we've facts to face again.
"Crush your head 'til you feel dead"
That's the motto of this nation.
Love of hate, let's make a date
for the ultimate destruction
It's over now,
well anyhow,
it's not gonna go much further
There is a word for what we sell,
I think you say it "murder"
Why do we live when we should die?
It's not the natural order
You say you hate us all - You lie!
Remember Eve? You adored her!
You laugh and smile and paint and tile,
It's an expected rejected cover
I know you've been betrayed before,
The wounds must still be bleeding
Your body's cold,
it's much too old
to deal with this feeling
Flowers and hearts and poison darts
aren't enough for space exploration
Churches and pubs and new born bubs
will be the downfall of civilisation
Italics and sporadic reasoning skills
are pointless until resurrection
Bimbos and life skills and alcohol and many pills
will be the cure for this temptation
Theology and belief are no relief for this terrible
self-deprecation

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.


Basilesque Basilisk

Oh basilesque basilisk, you've captured me again!
No golden fleece of gain to reach, just smoky sublimation.
Fossilised and randomised, enraptured and endangered.
With bloodshot eyes and twitching sighs

And an often.. rather... strange...
 head.

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

So Spoke My Lover's Ghost

Kiss me love and let me die,
No backward glance, no tearful eye
No longing or lingering last embrace
No staring blankly into space
Forget my love, my laugh, my touch,
New memories are made as such.
Recall not my lustful sighs
Find joy between new nymphet’s thighs.
Think not of how I sleeping breathe,
For lonely nights bring no reprieve
And as I sadly watch you grieve
My heart breaks. And burns. And bleeds.

No Apologies

My heart belongs to another,
My body another still.
Some things I cannot explain to you dear
And other things I never will.
My life is my life and
Your wants are your wants:
The pair will rarely agree.
So please stop trying to take me to bed,
Pure sex is just not for me.
I require a further connection of minds,
Of rhythms, of values, of life.
I’m not just another ridiculous girl,
I’m the woman all men want as wife.
How dare you think me so accessible?
I’m shrouded in love and surrounded by walls
And all your attempts with be no good at all.
I’ll gift you with nothing but memory’s recall
Of a want unfulfilled
And a woman strong willed
And beautiful, gifted and tall.

Constant Companion

Let me with thoughts just silent be
And smoke this rollie; 43.
I have no urgent place to go,
I’m not alone. I have my Woe.
She dances oh-so-prettily
With outstretched arms on bended knee
But pauses often just to sigh
And if you ask she won’t say why.
She’ll just smile enigmatically
And offer you a cup of tea
In tones so sweet. She’s never sour.
Not once has she been known to glower.
To some she seem so pure and free,
But this is bonded liberty
And you can wager futures on’t;
There is a price for freedom’s font.
In her eyes you’ll seldom see
Unadulterated glee.
There’s always partial secrets too.
They must be kept from folk like you.
For Woe and I, we are a we,
That’s she and I, not you and me
And she’s observed all that I’ve squandered,
Lives I’ve bruised and lessons pondered.
I’m accustomed to her company
And other don’t see her, just me.
With blackened, widened, blinded eyes,
They’ll never see behind the lines
So let me with thoughts silent be.
I’m not alone, for Woe’s with me.

Open Skies

I’ve tried to explain this rootless of times
but all come befuddled like passions of crimes
and all I convey seems like paranoia
when all it is really is negative joy. A
simple expression of gutfelt pure feeling
seems hollow and somehow devoid of true meaning.
You see with this gift of your love and your trust
you left my iron-clad heart out to rust.
Invincible I marauded through days
giving no thought to next week, tomorrow a haze.
Entirely reckless and feckless – just living.
What happened just happened. What didn’t, just didn’t.
I hate you for all that you force me to feel.
I have to make plans now, be cautious and deal
with mundanous housework and bills and the fear
that one day I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.
I’m so terrified of the day that will come
when the imperfect duo of us will be one
broken automaton, loverless lover,
with no one to run to, to hide and take cover.
No sanctuary, haven or reason to be
the people we both urge the other to be.
Soul-image, my animus, all I adore:
you make me feel vulnerable, need I say more?
I hate that I love you. Our crazy dynamic
leaves me open to loneliness, heartbreak and panic
and yet I can’t help it. For all of my fear
I want what scares me. Does this statement seem mere
-ly a flimsical knock-off, a gesture at most,
a wine-driven-10-to-12-red-faced-man’s boast?
It’s not, I assure you. It’s all I can give.
You are my reason to wake up. To live.
And all that I have and all that I do
it’s all just a heart-unbroke tribute to you.
Your patience, your actions, your strength and just you
make me fear for the future. Question: just who
would open themselves to a lifetime of this
uncomfortable happiness, blinkerless bliss?
The me you created with that first kiss:
This misgiving Mrs from misanthrope Miss.

Blessing Buried in a Glasgow Flat

In home improvements old and new,
Think of us, we’ll think of you.
We people who were here before,
We built that wall, we laid this floor.
Such happiness beneath this roof!
This board is here if you need proof.
We wish you joy and all the best,
To never suffer loneliness.
A home’s for love and sanctuary
Against life’s varied tragedies.
It’s just a ride, it’s just a game.
Everchanging,  still – the same.
Fight for justice, liberty
And to retain your dignity.
Don’t undervalue anything
That makes your soul and spirit sing.
Learn great lessons, keep your dreams
And always live within your means.
Let yourself feel joy and hurt
Completely and with no reserves.
Believe in others and yourself,
Protect your family, friends and health.
I’m sorry to be lecturing,
But ancient wisdom I must bring.
We gift you with a sickly earth:
Ravaged, stifled, bruised and burnt
But implore you to do good,
To live as we all know we should.
To you we’re ghosts, but now we breathe
And what we can’t, you must achieve!

Bitterly Cold

How dare the Sunshine show his face,
When with illusory Autumn Summer’s replaced
And offers only cold embrace
To those who crave his warmth the most?
But cradles the cruel and wantonly idle
Whose joys are temperate and tidal;
Who never do a thing but sidle
Out of work and blithely boast.

Pig Ignorant


Once upon a Summertime there lived a golden prince
In a palace built from beans that grew from kitchen sinks.
He went outside when midday came and in the midday sun,
For he knew nothing of the tales of dogs nor Englishmen.
He lived to sip his smoke divine upon a throne of stars
And fed his harem apple wine but kept their souls in jars.
This winsome whimsical young Prince ruled with a fist of floss,
With his subjects it was rare if he was ever cross.
And while this prince felt so well loved, he had a fatal flaw;
His face and form were perfect but he was a perfect bore
And all across his kingdom as far the eye could see
Existed none honest or curt with whom he could take tea.
For the prince preferred such topics as his hair, his skin, his bones
And ignored the joys that could be found in ancient dusty tomes.
Not for him were stories, myths or poetry,
Nor were facts, heroic deeds or relativity.
He turned away the callers who tried to feed his mind
But kept the ones obsequious and two faced and unkind.
He never seemed to realise that all his friends were foes
But trusted them implicitly – naivety I suppose.
The ignorant prince was much abused by those reputed wise,
Invisible their evil deeds, before his open eyes.
And then one night The Lady came, (as she is wont to do,
She is never on the guest list of the most discourteous fools),
Arriving lone entombed in night
She was sodden, foreign sight
She carried a world in a ring on her hand, enigma in her eyes
Nary a smile nor giggle nor grin, just th’illegible lines of the wise.
When the courtiers brought her in they all seemed quite unwell,
Mesmerised and stupefied they were under some kind of a spell.
The Prince was most surprised at this; his footmen knew the rules;
His other guests had written in, to say they liked his shoes.
“This isn’t fair, this isn’t right, you can’t just waltz in here,
And interrupt the grave debate of ‘Which is my better ear?’”
The Lady did not answer him but gazed from ‘neath her hood,
She radiated something that was neither bad nor good,
The first plumes of her power had tickled her nose; the Prince tried a different tack
“We will welcome you madam, we’ve plenty to share. Is there something you need that you lack?”
The Lady just stood there, rain dripped from her wrists
As in smouldering silence she dared to persist.
The Prince was intrigued now, his charm on high beam,
This Lady was like no one else that he’d seen.
He clapped his hands, “Assist our guest! I will not have it said
The someone in my house was cold and wet and underfed!”
The courtiers stepped forth as one to help remove her cloak
But as she drew it from her face out billowed turquoise smoke.
She raised her hands entrancing all, “Enough of gentile games!
I’ve come here on a mission. I have far nobler aims!”
The Prince submitted to her power
(It was by far his humblest hour)
The courtiers couldn’t help but cower
The ladies were inspired.
The Lady’s eyes in violet glowed
And all at once Prince was bestowed
With information overload;
Too much at once acquired
Light beamed from the Prince’s agape skyward mouth,
Lightning bolts shot from his ears
As all in one moment he experienced facts
And the wisdom one gains over years.
It filled him with horror, with hope and with fright
It made his a cynic, a poet, a knight.
The Lady was shining, had narrowed her eyes
Had forgotten all of her flimsy disguise
The mutually breathless admirers spectated, no one was stopping for wine.
They knew what they witnessed would carry them years, on this they could endlessly dine.
The lightning bolts flickered and faded to rain
The Prince closed his mouth, his composure regained
And once more the Lady controlled his attention
Eyeing him sagely, He was under inspection.
Said she;
“Weary Prince I bestow thee
With a somewhat questionable gift
I do hope it will find pleasure from thee,
But if not, let it cause not a rift
For this is an offer, you might not accept
And all I have given you yet is the concept.
The problem you see, is it’s like a tattoo,
And therefore once done is the devil to undo.
I know that for some this would just tantalise
I’d be run over by them in their rush to subscribe
But for you, feckless prince, it may be the other
You’d amble off home, say, ‘It’s too much like bother”
And what if you changed your mind half way through?
What if you realised it’s just not for you?
This taster you’ve had will fade when you sleep
But if you want more you will have it for keeps”
The courtiers exchanged some looks, most unprofessionally,
They realised their lives could swerve away from milk and honey.
The vizier removed his hat and squeegeed off his head.
The silken cloche was soaked in sweat, his eyes were filled with dread
The ladies’ fans were all aflutter – was this the longed-for day?
To stop feigning stupidity and the end of all things fey?
Prince raised one hand in punctuation
“Dear Lady you fill me with much consternation
You have given me the fruity brambly bit,
But before I reached cedar you forced me to spit
And now you inform me of your heavy game
A choice between different or more of the same,
Between fear and vanity, humility and bliss,
Creed and hedonism and so forth like this.
I require contemplation, a pool to reflect
Without others’ input to urge or reject
And so we will gather here one hour hence
And I shall dismount from this perilous fence.”
He nodded quite stiffly and smiled with a grim
Little glint in his eye and a granite hard chin.
No more just the narcissist, so fauxly coy
No more just the whimsical “why not?” boy.
This was now a man with courage, strength and gravity
But heavy shoulders burdened with responsibility.
The next 60 minutes performed, as they must
With Time’s cruellest trick and they stretched into dust.
The chairs in the hall disarrayed to a skelter
As the guests hurried off to the smoking shelter.
The Lady said nothing but sat on the floor
Surrounded by trifle, potatoes and more:
Platters of sweetmeats and slices of tongue
Some with delicate perfume and some with true pong.
All went untouched as the Lady just waited
For she had a hunger that could not be sated
By titbits or tasters or flavours galore.
Her eyes were now glowing the purest azure
She shuddered and shimmered, then froze statuesque.
The Vizier fancied himself basilisk
Then slumped rather glumly to consider his fate
And whether it was wise for him to await
The Prince’s decision. If Princey awoke
To the fact that His leadership was a joke
The first thing He’d say would be “Off with your head!”
Quite right after all of the lies He’d been fed.
With this echo in mind the Vizier resolved
To empty the treasure pod of all of its gold
Before the Princely announcement was made.
That way his streaky old bacon he’d save.
He slithered away inside a breath
A mucilaginous sweat trail was all that he left.
Oblivious he to Her observation,
She would find time to reward this shrewd auto-salvation.
With five minutes left the crowd reassembled,
Refilled their glasses, excitedly trembled
Their singular focus was a scarlet curtain
Behind which their future was being made certain.
The courtiers, the ladies, the laymen all gasped
As their Prince re-emerged seeming breathing his last
His golden hair ashen, his skin was the same
He huffled and shunched his once elegant frame
And finding his throne gripped its arms for support
A little bit more than for his age he ought.
Called the Lady most firmly, “Well then, we’re all waiting.
What did you learn from your deep cogitating?
Have you made a decision? If not flip a coin,
I have other appointments and gifts to deploy.”
The Prince stroked the space where his beard should be
And let loose a sigh to the power of three.
“Officious visitor, what have you done?
You have made me aware of my own bumbledom.
Now self-aware sociopath, unfulfilled hero
Without a believable stroke of the ego.
And my court! Such sycophants! Self serving subjects!
Not one word of truth or kindness or respect.
How did this happen? And yet, this I know.
Apolaustic life. Avoidance of woe.
Omphaloskepsis and self aggrandising
Were pastimes delightful and quite hypnotising.
My blinkers of nescience now ripped from my face
And the bright lights of truth burn my eyes in their place.
Do none of you care what the future will be?
Or do you delight in epicaricacy?
Flippertigibbets advice I have heeded
But responsible leadership was what was needed.
This gift of enlightenment is wrongly named
For it burdens my soul and my conscience with shame.
A mockery of this land’s honour and grace
Kakistocracy with it my deeds did replace.
How can I ever recover from this?
Will I ever again experience bliss?
Ever consumed by improvement’s endeavour,
So many poisonous drip-feeds to sever.”
The Lady now tutted and tossed back her hair:
Pretty interruption with much practised flair:
“Come come, now! Indulgence of speeches aside
Have you chosen knowledge or the boetian side?”
“I was coming to that, will you please have some patience?
I need to explain my hour long machinations.
Now where was I? Oh yes. It’s coming back now.
The question of what I would give up and how.
To know what I was and the work it will take
To restore some dignity, corruption to break
Is most overwhelming and a life long campaign.
From parties and pleasure I’d have to refrain.
Get my hands dirty, permit age’s wrinkles
To sully this face. Tired eyes do not twinkle.
I would have to confront and debate and condemn
Set an example, be a man amongst men.
I would lose all my gusto and vivacity
With no time for laughing or cakes and cream tea.
I wouldn’t have people to tell me I’m gorgeous
Or be woken by the “We Love You” chorus.
No hours ruminating on trousers or shoes
At board games I might even once or twice lose.
And replacing these joys, what‘s the exchange?
Effortful living and stress induced mange.
I would miss all the costumes and much of the mirth
I ask you; is knowledge truly of this worth?”
“Answering me is your deep-set conceit
You‘re an unchanged poltroon, Princey my sweet.”
Her eyes were glittering, but the Prince took no notice,
So absorbed was he in atrabilious morosis.
“My answer is this: take it all away.
Nay. I say. Nay - I say. Once again, nay!
I can’t face dealing with each cockalorum
Or policy debates or learning decorum.
I don’t want to know about poverty or pain,
I would prefer each day of my life was the same;
A sweet carousel of earthly pleasures,
Time consumed with chores of leisure.
I fail my people for my people failed me.
If this is so bad, install democracy!
Puppet Prince I was and choose to always be.
This narcissistic life is warm. Wisdom is lonely.
I hope you understand, my dears. I hope you do not mind.
I just want to forget all this and return to being blind.
Lady, your instructions included nepenthe sleep.
This is my one salvation and so, to it I weep.”
He turned away, eyes to the floor
The Lady grinned most undemure
She reached her feet, he reached the door
No subject said one word.
Crackling light from fingertips,
Vowelless sound from bloodless lips,
The Prince was lifted from the hips
Etiquette seemed absurd.
A cloud of violet shimmering lights
Surrounded the gyrating Prince in the heights
The Lady seemed larger and slightly demonic
The ladies had run out of gin for their tonic.
This bringer of wisdom cackled and turned
Each one of the laymen her eyes rightly burned.
Her voice had changed from reasonable to ringing with disdain
“Now face what you have made, you fools, and what you must maintain.
For reign he must and in the manner that you all have chosen,
In a form befitting character this choice has outright proven
And now you shall receive the present that you all deserve:
This is my gift to your kingdom, perfidious herd.”
The sleeping prince amongst the clouds let out a little sigh
As ghostly fingers played on him and measured up his size
His outline seemed to stretch and twist, his tresses all fell out
His clothes dissolved, his achingly beautiful face became a snout
His arms foreshortened, legs the same and fingers now hooves cloven.
The court were certain that for a Prince this form was unbehoven.
Then with a little popping sound denoting the final detail
His new figure was completed with a tufted curly tail.
Like Rodda’s swine force 10 he soared - a most majestic sight.
Missing only earthbound string he could be a Flyodian kite.
Smiling now, his eyes awake he drifted slowly floorward.
And landing with a little grunt his first steps seemed quite awkward.
After two or three missteps he seemed to find his trotters
And spontaneous applause spilled from the half closed kitchen shutters.
The Lady took a half step back to assess her handiwork
It seemed to be acceptable - she wore a little smirk.
“He will not know how things have changed, or of the choice he made.
He still thinks he is human. You will uphold this sweet charade.
When you had a choice you chose the path unscrupulous
To set a good example this imbalance I redress.
The country now will worship him, this Prince in Piggyform
And he will live 100 years. Your duty is foresworn.
All this world will know of you and all of you they’ll mock.
With all the disrespect you’ve shown this shouldn’t be a shock.
My mission done, I’m leaving you to deal with your new lives.
Killing me will do no good, so put away your knives.
Oh yes, there was one more little thing…”
She opened her mouth as if to sing
But instead loudly vomited a purple thing.
It was a slimy toad.
She laid it on the Prince’s back
The courtiers spied its tiny silk hat
“and that’ the Lady said, “is that.
It’s time to hit the road.”