Coming Home From Paris...

The constrictions of Twitter have so far proved a wonderful challenge for my usually verbose impulses and I appreciate the regular opportunity to restrain the avalanche of words that tends to pour out when I sit down to write, or, at least, to hone that avalanche into a snowball without losing too much potency. 

Coming Home From Paris On The Eurostar is one of three micropoems I wrote for a submission in September. The constraints here were a limit of 11 lines (excluding title) - more substantial than Twitter's 280 character perimeter but still far shorter than most of my work. 

Thanks to Twitter I've learned that poetic boundaries can be fun though I'm not sure I'll be attempting a haiku anytime soon!

Coming home from Paris on the Eurostar
She sleeps, lips softly pouted,
cheeks ablaze with solar kisses
finest raven feathered lashes pour from lids
heavy with travel and late summer nights.
Golden mocha skin, loose untroubled arms crossed
fingers rest quietly, sated as freshly weaned bairns.
Her father’s hands wide, roomy, safe home-making arms
hold tight her dreams against his beating chest.
Drowsy warm aroma floats across charcoal slate -
her and him entwined, sprawling nonchalance disguising
complex root combinations, no beginning, no end.

The Radio Edit

In the radio edit
we’ll make sure to leave a gap,
a poignant edge-of-the-moment
full-of-potential stop-go trap
between the chorus and the bridge,
the knowing and the liminal.
We’ll harmonise speculatively
on the incoming vertical
and wait
just enough
for one
breath.. taking.. gasp
to take us to the climax
hit us like a sudden gust
sweep us up over the waters
to the blue sky we can trust.


In the radio edit
we’ll repeat the chorus here
‘til it chimes with all our heartbeats,
becomes one with collective ear
and just when they’re feeling comfortable
singing along to the melody
we’ll cut the vocal, play just the tune
bear the weight of expectancy
as the audience falters unsure,
words slipping off their tongues
through the open lips of surprise -
will they stay or will they run?
Do you sing the words regardless
drawn towards the spot of light,
make your own mark on the record
stand tall, prepared to fight?
Or do you stop there on the spot
afraid to sing alone
the only voice resounding
mantra under desert sun?

Too late! The strings are soaring
drums beat loud, vocals return,
accustomed order is resumed -
our song will now play on.


In the radio edit
we’ll focus on the expected frame
of chorus following verse and chorus
following verse and same again
all the way up to the bridge
where keys change unsubtly,
usher them into a room beyond
ever so gently.
‘Take the step, it’s just one note’
Noting the rise in splendour,
letting them know ‘oh yes, it was good,
but now it’s even better.
Come up, up, up where the air is clear,
sweeter, breathe deep, let it in,
raise your hands if you want to go faster -
here comes the chorus again!’


In the radio edit
we’ll keep it short and sweet,
focus on the melody
highlight the lyrical beat.
We’ll give them what they expect to hear
with a little extra flourish,
a flouncing twist of pleasure -
you’ve been here before, you know this -
and they’ll return time after time
to listen to our song
but this cropped and censored version
can’t hold you for too long.


There will be no lengthy intro -
a gradual build of sounds
layering cozily over each other
in which the listener will lounge,
deep piles of sirens singing
harmonies we can’t deny;
there will be no vocal mosaic,
divided, reapportioned, reapplied.
Brightly coloured tiles
bearing glorious luscious notes,
expanding and contracting
in a universal flow.
There will be no vast extensions –
a stretching out of time,
basking in melodic rays,
float on a sea divine.
No waves to lift our heart and mind
into glorious ecstasy
where music is the food of love -
each note a chance to breathe.


The radio edit will be a joy
but it will never feel this free.
This original extended version
plays just for you and me.

Entanglement Theory

Long, long, long ago,
Beyond the scope of time,
Your shiny, spinning rock star
Collided into mine.
Left a meteoric scar
Across my cosmic heart –
A crater lying aeons deep
A lifetime’s width apart.

Far, far, far away.
Bonds that can’t be severed,
Bound my lonely heart to yours
Our orbits changed forever.
In a cold, dark, empty space
Our bodies out of time,
Knew we’d be together, love
Further down the line.

If the numbers all add up
And the cosmic maths is right,
The physics that is drawing us
Won’t give up the fight.
A million miles of galaxy
Can’t keep us apart –
We bleed the same blue star dust;
Same plasma in our hearts.

A promise made so long ago
Sends us spinning through the skies
In opposite directions –
You turn left and I spin right.
Yet we are still together,
Connections running deep -
The stories and the songs we share
Will bring you back to me.

Nothing can tear our hearts apart
Without forcing a hole
In the holy matter of time and space,
In the fabric of our souls.
And so our planets circle
Around the same bright star
In spirals of galactic love
That keep us near and far.

Interstellar longing,
A message from above:
Find your inner compass -
A universal Love.

The Papered Cracks

What is this pounding in my chest?
This hollowed out container, emptied
scoop by scoop; no vanilla tones here

only bitter spices, aniseed rising,
cinnamon smothering the airways,
coating sugar with lime.

Plates and bowls crashing heavily,
cupboard doors slammed shut too tight -
tightness in my chest implodes as

kitchen noise reverberates through the skull,
landmines collapse the heart’s will to live -
undermined, undernourished, underfed.

A repetition of epic proportions -
no portion too large to share.
Colour drains from all our faces.

Time stood still whilst pain kept falling,
washing away all sense of truth
leaving nothing but fear, catastrophised

upon the table, wooden boards laid
plank to plate - a guest house where
no-one wants to stay. Alone

in corners facing inwards, the child,
unhappy seeks redemption from the walls.
The papered cracks scream for attention

and a kindness that seems so obscure,
so impossible to reach, but I can see
it disappearing around each bend

and I follow, hopeful, scared but hope
will always be my friend even when
I can no longer feel his bones, fragile

pieces of him and me and him and them
ground down by the pressure cooker
releasing steam in erratic rhythms,

puffing and screeching her requirements,
her disappointments and regrets. Still
heaping overcooked piles of veg, steaming

hot as fire to burn your tongue -
stop the words from forming, throwing
us off our game. Whose turn is it now?

Biting down on bloody lips, whispered
words of attempted comfort evaporating
in the frosty air. Knives cutting

every string of emotion, all connections
severed at the nub, just below the bud -
there will be no flowering this year again,

no seasoning on this scorched flesh, dry
almost tasteless on the tongue and
who’s got yours now? So quiet,

tiptoeing over broken milk and spilled shells,
crunching precariously between the highs
and the oh, so low lows of teatime.

Places of Poetry - Honing Time

Here is my first poem for the wonderful Places of Poetry project where you can read, rate and pin your own poems about places in England & Wales.

This piece - Honing Time was conceived just outside the St Peter & St Paul church at Honing, North Walsham in Norfolk.

Sat in the car, warm
artificial coziness embracing
life worn bones, lovelorn tones
cossetting weak flesh in sleepy summer aroma.

Outside, mini helicopters whirr,
dragonflies zipping back and forth amongst
fields of wheat, ferociously engaged
in a busy ballet, a network of greetings.

Transported through millennia
in the blink of an uncertain eye
by the rogue time machine
that is this Norfolk countryside.

Searching for clues of who I might be –
notice the field, its hand has revealed –
the five of spades caught up in the shape,
the fiery beacon of glimmering trees

alight in the shimmering heat of just gone noon
on this pleasantly barmy august day.
Green olive branches sway gracefully,
long swathes of ecstatic leaves reach

out in all directions, beckoning me
towards their haze fuelled dream.
An aura of whispered secrets glows
translucent, spectrums sing

a multicoloured halo of time
traversing tales, long ago stories
of what might have been, what was
and what may be on its way.

Hypnotised mind fills with memories,
dreams and long forgotten hopes.
In a trance, I am thinking the thoughts of another;
Do I see what she sees too?

How many others have sat in this spot;
how many others have stood in this place;
observed the same view transformed
by the passing years? How long have these trees

watched us, overheard our sighs and
wondrous gasps? How long have they danced
their magic entrancing her and him and I
through glowing portals to other times?

Ask the dragonflies, what have they seen?
They will laugh at our notion, ridiculous
of individual lifetimes. Prehistoric creatures
have seen more than we could ever hope to be.

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet

I’ve taken some time to consider and deliberate the pros and cons of re-entering the dangerous world of ‘social media’ after a deliciously long hiatus and the blessed relief of being back on the sturdy ground of communication by email, SMS, good old-fashioned letter writing and even some, dare I say it, face-to-face (*gasp*) interaction! 

After too many years contributing to what I’ve found to be essentially an unfettered distraction from real life, a time-wasting, self-absorbed system, with serious detrimental effects on our mental health and wellbeing, I developed a grim disdain for Facebook’s blatant manipulation of our innate need for connection and the wilful distortion of our perceptions of self and others. Having also endured a painful battle to break free from the endless scrolling addiction which seems to dominate and tarnish this so-called sophisticated and civilised era in human evolution, I was not keen to enter the circus ring again. 

In the end however, after a gloriously productive year or more of concentrating on writing without social media distraction, I have decided that the benefits of the system - being able to share my slowly expanding body of work with others, gain relevant feedback and gather inspiration from available sources - is a vital part of my creative process. Whether or not I can use the system without falling prey to its hollow side remains to be seen. 

It seems as though Twitter (which I’ve not used before mainly because short posts are not my forte - long meandering paths of words and stretches of ideas with a liberal splattering of parenthesis contained asides are much more my field, as you, dear reader, may have noticed!), linked to this blog on which I etch heartfelt words and multi-layered dreamscapes, could be the best medium to enable the necessary creative functions without too much collateral damage. So, here I am. Hello! *gulp* ...

The Storm

The sky was angry last night.
She huffed and puffed and found her way in.
I didn't see it but I imagine the grey
Rolling into black as she lost it.
Feverish rattling of bones turned into
A feverish heart beat then a thud thud thud
On the doors of our hearts. Thunder
Came crashing in around our ears.
We pulled the blanket tighter but kept
One eye open to view the damage -
The blazing flashes of vicious light
Seeping round the blinds, crept
From behind the curtains, warning
'Here it comes, here it comes
'Ready or not, I'm coming for you.'

She rolled her eyes at my audacity
Rolled her tongue around the cruellest words
Spat them out at me, at us.
She railed and rallied on and on,
'Stop talking, stop talking! Be quiet!
'You will be silent and hear me roar,
'Hear what I have to say - what I think
'Of you, down here, down there
'Little person, tiny, insignificant.
'You mean so little and I mean more!'
She was so mean. What did it mean?
Was I so incomprehensibly offensive?
So outrageously vile and incompetent
To provoke this rage? A disappointment?

No point in trying now; what's the use.
I'll never be enough. Never good enough.
So I sigh quietly to myself, mutter
Nothings under my breath so she will not hear
And I will not be here anymore.
I'll sink into the darkness, the gloom
Gathered all around me. The soft arms
Of Forgetting and Pretending
Will hold me tight. Their arms
Are the only ones who can hold me now.
I give up trying to be me. I give in
To the oblivion that remains.

I'll close my ears so I don't have to hear
Her voice demanding something
I can never give; criticising my every word.
No deed good enough. No, indeed.
I'll close my eyes so I don't have to see
The disappointment, bitterness and rage
On her angry face displayed.
In the silence, in the dark I'll stay.
I'll stay here, quietly until it's all over.
It will be over, won't it? One day?
Please don't let it be long, not too long.

I close my heart so she can't find it,
Can't snatch it away from me,
Can't crush it in her punishing hands.
I'll hide it here, deep in the shadows
Where no one can see it. Nor me.
I'll close my mouth so I cannot say
The things that offend her,
The words that enrage and defy her.
Her precious will, will not be done.
No one could ever achieve it,
Least of all I, a small person
No bigger than a mustard seed.

I'll lay on the ground here in the dark,
Close my ears and eyes and mouth.
I'll close my heart and my self. Away.
Away from view. Out of sight.
If they can't see me I cannot bother them.
I'll be someone else. The someone
They want me to be. I'll die here.
Send a proxy to take my place -
Let her deal with the thunder,
The lightening, the pressing rain
Falling in torrents, like my tears.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

The sky was angry last night -
She poured her rage down on me
And I drowned. In cold waters.
Deep. Fathomless. Falling, falling
Ever in motion. Still as the Earth.
Quiet. Oh, so quiet.

Mix-Tape 10 - The Long Way Round - Apr2019

Words to accompany my latest Spotify mix-tape The Long Way Round Apr2019

I’m Heading Home again. My mind is full of you. You, shining bright in all your True Colours, surpassing the glorious Starlight blazed across these expansive skies as I Drive slowly, pushing wearily against The Road at 4500m, tyres crawling over the surface, soft and sticky like Glue. Embracing, like your love.

The Lights from distant towns glimmer on the horizon whilst I listen to your voice playing over and over in my mind. You always know what to say to pull me out of my self-centred stupor and Push Me to My Limits. I need your voice now as I float across these Roads. Without you, it feels as though I might be foolishly Walking Away from Love, heading in the wrong direction to I Don’t Know Where. Back to you?

I’m taking the long way ‘round, of course, but I could Ride All Night along these grey, dark paths, pedalling endless cycles and it won’t change the fact that I Adore You, that I would gladly spend all my days and all my nights finding my way back to you. Back to you and I. You and I in our Private Universe, where the Algorithms are always spot on, feeding and holding our rhythms in perfect time as we live and love many Lifetimes together, weaving in and out of life’s never-ending web.

Thoughts spiral backwards (or was it forwards?) to that Easter in the city where we bathed in the Half-Light of early spring evenings, surrounded by the regal glow of hyacinths, fragrant as the new life blossoming all around our eager souls.

I’m often startled by how easily memory can Roll Back the moth-eaten blanket of Insecurities that have weighed heavy on my heart since 1976. But that day, lying Beneath You under the magnificent magnolia whose petals fell sweetly down upon us like kisses from an oceanic sky, drowning out all sound of distant Street Life, we gave ourselves up to the Purple Sun, confident that Everyone Should Have Their Day and this was ours. Ours for the taking. Ours for the keeping, alongside the myriad other jewels stored securely in our treasure chests, heart strings tightening with every remembrance.

Back on the road, the Okolona River Bottom Band sings loud from the stereo. Lilting voices harmonising thoughts into a dream-like reverie and I find myself and lose my self in a Labyrinth of recollections. Looking upward to the sky, Wide Open, blue as childhood summers, I fall to my knees as though Love in Itself were bearing down on my shoulders, pushing me to the ground through vivid vivacious sunbeams.

I awake to find myself alone and lost again. This time, at the centre of the puzzle caught up in an Inner Tale of half-truths, secrets and dilemma, bound by mythic string and you, Red Dressed floating toward me in Detached Motion. Here one moment, faded the next. Like all our too short days.

As the sun sets, we are reunited and lose ourselves in Love for Days - magical days that stretch on and on. Though each moment is delicious in many ways, my heart yearns to Take You Home but as we try to leave, our legs, heavy with love, seem to be drawn like magnets to the welcoming earth and we struggle to stop ourselves Falling Down. I start to worry, feeling confused but you are laughing in Turkish Delight as you take my hand and pull me from our dream back to the road.

The music has long since stopped playing and only your voice remains, resounding at Perfect Magnitude through the persistent drum beat of my heart, seeping into my bones, vibrating at comforting frequencies, forming a Bridge between our worlds as I keep on driving Until The morning.

Mix-Tape 7 - Let's Talk.. - Feb2019

Words to accompany my latest Spotify mix-tape Let's Talk... Feb2019

Let’s talk about these days 

Of the downtown lights and 

Motion sickness as we drive 

Anywhere through this winter valley.

Purple like the summer rain, 

Ultraviolet Northern Lights dance 

Across the moon river, reveal 

My disposition and light up 

The moments I’m missing.

Waking up at 4am 

From REM visions 

Of you and I running in the night. 

Are you near or far? 

I feel lost without you. 

I know it’s stupid 

And I want to let you love me 

But what’s love got to do with it? 

Somebody special is on my mind, 

Wide open.

Nostalgia for ’93 has me
Welling up. Ooh Lordy! 

I don’t want to change your mind, 

But we’ve already started out 

So, can you stay awhile? 

We can breathe and listen 

To the sound of liminal spaces.

Keep breathin’ cos it’s Friday, 

I’m in love and love’s in need of love today.

I can speak Spanish so 

Use your superpower 

My deadly valentine 

And we’ll head on down to 

Bobbi’s Second World to 

Meet the Moonchild and his MAH…