Mix-Tape 40 - I Knew You

It's been almost 4 years since I first started dabbling in the art of playlisting on Spotify. Inspired by the beautiful, quirky and random mixtapes folk around my age used to make when we were kids and young adults. At first we created them to record songs we liked off the radio and not have to rely on radio DJs or our own meagre record and tape collections to listen to our favourite tracks. 

Later, as we became more practised and relatively affluent, our mixtape skills focused on compiling songs that worked well together and then sharing our mixes with friends. To make a mixtape for someone was one of the most romantic or caring gestures we could make. That hand-sized plastic package of carefully chosen music with a handwritten track list and sometimes a handmade insert or cover crafted from magazine cut out collage, could seal new friendships, heal broken ones and keep us company through the many tough times of adolescence and early adulthood. 

The idea of being able to stream and buy digital copies of our favourite songs and tracks was something we could not even dream of yet. To have such a vast quantity of music available 24/7 would have been unbelievable to our younger selves. Yet here we are - unlimited streaming, vast catalogues and endless playback. 

Playlisting itself has developed into an art form of its own and despite lacking the tactility, smell or physical presence of analogue cassette tapes, digital playlists can carry a similar potency. The initial magic ingredients of taking time and thought to carefully curate a list, perfect for a certain time, a certain moment, a certain someone, remains. 

My first attempt was a little roughshod mix for a friend going through some momentous life changes. It runs over 5 hours long and includes such disparities as Pete Tong, Robert Plant, Alex The Astronaut, Billie Holiday, St. Vincent, Fleetwood Mac, Geri Halliwell, Elbow and many many more but each track is carefully selected and ordered (although back then, I naively imagined that the ultimate track order would be whatever I chose by clicking on ‘date added’, ‘album’ or ‘song title’ (ascending or descending) rather than the original order of tracks as they were added) to give an overall effect of playful curiosity and burgeoning confidence wrapped up in a soothing hug. I hope that comes across!! 

As you can see by the notes I added to the playlist description (or imaginary cassette insert if you like) there is magic in the giving of as well as the reception of a well thought out mixtape: 

This ‘mix-tape’ was put together as a musical hug for a friend. I've listened to it almost daily these past few months which have been a super challenging time for me. It has been a life buoy, comfort blanket, spirit lifter, solace, distraction + inspiration. I hope you feel moved by the music too x 

My first Spotify Mix-Tapes were considerably longer than they are now, reflecting my excitement at the seemingly endless possibilities of curating a soundtrack gift to share. They contained anywhere between 37 and 78 tracks - up to 5 ½ hours of play! Now they are limited to 27 items but are still derived from an addiction to the curating of music to share. 

In the beginning stages of writing practice back then, it seemed natural to bring that craft to the playlist too. Feeling the need for a challenge to shake up my early writing style, I gave myself the challenge of writing a piece of poetry or prose using all the track titles listed to construct a conversation, a letter, memory fragments or some other form of communication - a message in a bottle if you like. Thus the Mix-Tape Poems were born. 

Mix-Tape 1 - I Believe In Music - Jun2018 

November 2021 I began creating my fortieth Mix-Tape called I Knew You, titled after the first soul baring track by Future Islands. I'm not sure why this mix needed a full hibernation period before sprouting its wings out into the world, but this slowly emerging spring feels like the right time to unearth its gems and let it grow. Personally, I am falling in love with it, and the magic of the mixtape process, all over again. I hope you do too.. x

Mix-Tape 40 - I Knew You - Winter2021/22

Description Poem:

Always running down / this dead end street is hard / There's music in the darkness / grooves pounded into heart / sways with our emotions / Hush. Yonder door is open / bright lights beam our way / disco balls glitter, say / we've arrived.. x

Fragments:

Our last sundown fell aeons ago, way beyond our horizons yet

Was it so long-ago that you knew me babe and I knew you?

 

We were love’s refuges rolling a dark train of disappointment

Pushed underground through a tunnel snaking dark and long

 

Myriad memories meander over this aging mindscape-

That last year as surprising as the seasons confused

 

Like time runaway we were far from our true selves..

Unnaturally warm spring and it was cold in summer

 

A lonely girl in the rain and my love, I kissed someone (it wasn’t you)

Though I was thinking of you I swear, your face was all I saw..

 

They say, you’re on your way and I wonder after all this time

Will you remember me? Will you recognise these darkened eyes..

 

You came back then and I can’t believe we had another chance

Yet there on Redondo beach we claimed our own secret Paradise

 

The clouds lifted and we danced, you in your faded blue jeans

My white dress torn like my heart, a tattered shell, unshored

 

But you held my hand, said ‘I know places’ and you know how it is

When you love too much, I swear my heart was a firework - constant

 

Explosions - all senses flowing like a river to the open sea

We were in heaven, and I swear, it was just like old times..

 

At Groovata the sun swelled over the midnight ocean

In your arms I felt serene, full of grace by your side

 

I only feel cool when I’m with you and something wonderful-

Something unparalleled fell into our laps, babe, magic, I swear.

 

Our eyes fixed, you breathed ‘My Millennium Angel’, and I belonged

From that moment on, I swear I was yours. Even now, all it takes-

 

A touch of southern breeze can bring me back to you, those nights..

You remember how the edges bled and we lived in soft filter babe

 

Polaroid kisses, even the whale song called out to our wildness

The sound fills me with heartbreak now, time and time again

 

Sunset’s arms still stretch wide though there’s only me now

But you’re coming back, and I swear babe, if this ain’t love

 

I don’t know what is. This summer will be my last here so

Whatever the weather, find me babe, come give me love.. xx

Spring

A small poem on not wanting to engage in the expansive nature of spring, wishing to remain in hibernation rather than face the onslaught of feelings and emotions that spring ushers forth..

If you prefer to listen, check out my reading on Soundcloud here.

For more words, pictures and sounds follow me on Twitter and Instagram. 

More readings to follow on Soundcloud soon.. x 

Some recent poems..

Edge Of Evening

I find myself kneeling

at the edge of evening

watching the light sink deeper

into night time’s heavy weight parchment.

A blot of sun’s fading

song remains here and there

pushing through unexpectedly

at decreasing intervals until eventually

they are all subsumed

by indigo’s depth and only

a smattering trail of silver stars

remain upon the sky. I dip my brush carefully

into the gold and red,

paint Jupiter and Saturn

colliding underneath a sliver

of old moon. She is chasing the sun

but will never catch him.

If you listen carefully

you can hear her plaintive call -

the voice of the perpetually heartbroken.

#vsspoem

Image by Wild0ne at Pixabay 

Snow

It doesn’t snow here very often
but when it does it’s bitterly cold
the kind of cold that blows up your jumper
and won’t leave no matter how many layers you pile on,
the kind of cold that whistles deep into your ear drums
and lays a fearsome frost on all your extremities.
 
A cold that constantly whips around your exposed forehead
chattering noisily though you can never make out
a cognizant sound never mind a word. So much chatter
but nothing to go on, nothing to ease the chilling pains.
A distant cold that will never explain itself clearly
but will insist on mustering on dolefully
 
muttering between incoherent grumps and groans
making you feel as though you were to blame
for all this damn coldness freezing your fingertips
scorching your tongue on the too hot hot chocolate he gave you.
The kind of cold that watches your tears roll
and has nothing to say to them..

The kind of cold that leaves without due courtesy
leaving you wondering if you truly exist
or are just a fragment of the cold’s imagination,
or your own - and who are you anyway, with or without the cold?
It starts of as just a few falling flecks
that you could easily dismiss as rain -
 
unpleasant but to be expected, then, before you know it
the ground is covered in slippery gloom and white fear settles
on the roof of your heart, your mind’s pavements
turn invisible underneath the grey slush,
and in the sorry light of a streetlamp
a torrent of frosty flakes tumbles senselessly
 
around the corners of this wretched afternoon.
You turn indoors, turn away, tear your mind from ice
to less overwhelming matter, wipe away
remaining tears, find a tissue to mop up the snuffles,
blow out the whole day, inhale a breath of silence
and feel grateful that it doesn’t snow here very often.

I Do Not Accept Drinks From Disapproving Men (A Hymn)

You got me when I was not looking, charged along the track without a warning

With unintended force you crashed into my calm

Pushed me to the very edge, I know you meant no harm

And I trust your well-meaning, your kindness-filled desire

To oil the machinations of us, to lift us ever higher

To clarify and reinstate our stations, yet I fell at every word you mentioned.

His words hit like a bowling ball - a strike for him, nothing for me at all

Knocked down with a clean fast sweep, tangled mess, feelings in a heap.

Winded, empty, helpless, confused, his meagre message left me bruised

Faux kindness ripped my soul to shreds, insides exposed, aching, raw and red

And no-one wants to see that - who wants to see that?

The entrails of despair and pain, pieces of gut chewed over and again

Till only sad acrid bile remains, semi-liquid, half-baked frame

Unfulfilled body collapses in again, spark kicked out; fuse blown again.

The force of each blow radiates through brittle bone

Teased, torn and tingled, every sinew, muscle, tendon

Tender parts provoked to rage, tissue flutters in wild daze

With saddened shudder veins vibrate, each artery impaled with desperate ache

Sorrowful shivers sent to every atom, naked cells quake suspiciously

This deadly sense of poisoned void trips me, tips me, closer to insanity. 

You disapprove because you feel that I have taken your love for granted

But this is not true, I value you and the trust we both have planted.

He disapproves because, well, I don’t know, but the disapproval itself is clear

Amidst these howling winds it’s bitter taste is all I hear.

Your words made me feel I was a failure; his words make me feel I’m a fool

Either way I am undone and on this unworthy cold spring night

I know that loneliness has won.

All signs of renewal have been suppressed like the hyacinth, forget-me-nots and starflower

She picked from the garden to comfort me with stems cut too short for water

Slow sacrifice to the drowning maid, instead, with attentive care we laid

White here, yellow, blue and purple there, petals pressed firm on to the page

Faces peer up as pages come down - crushed the life out of their colourful ways

Pushed and pressed to preserve past beauty, to keep them safe, these sorry souvenirs

Of what once was. Forget me not, but I know you will. And he will too I fear

(and would it have been worth it after all?)

Beneath love’s dark waves I am slipping, slipping, falling, drowning gasp of ocean air

Fills tired lungs, ache from crying, soothed by grave waters, suffocating

With death’s silent scream narrating.

All this love and no hope of salvation; all this love and no air to breathe

Not in these slow murky whirling depths, slowly strangled by malicious weeds.

All this love and no arms to cling to; all this love and no lips to kiss

No fingers to caress each moment, soothe with undulating bliss.

No heart to accept love and reciprocate feelings, to embrace and hold and welcome it home

Drowning with all these other lovers in all this love, yet I am here, alone.

We’re all alone with our unique obsessions, each lonely soul in its private passion

All this love and not a drop to drink; all this love our poor hearts to sink.

I want to scream ‘fuck off!’ at you, to push you away, away, away

Because the distance I already feel is more than I can bear today.

I want you gone because I need you here and I cannot have it my way

To have you here, it is forbidden, and what would our neighbours say?

I need to delete your omnipresence, unsubscribe from your daily views

Unfollow your voice on my video feed, block every last trace of you

Because you can do nothing for me now.. (it’s just me and the pain, again)..

His voice shakes. Is he laughing or crying? I can no longer tell, perhaps I never could

Perhaps all I knew were guesses at best - mere approximations of hopefulness

My heart harboured for him, from him, to you, to him, of you, of him

For you, from you and him, and you..

Can I only live this life if I erase him? How can I possibly live without you?

There is air on the surface, that much I know.

But for now, on this loneliest of nights

I will sink to the bottom and forget how to breathe.

A Farewell To Arms

Spinning around the liminal spaces
pushed towards an edge
she finds herself outside herself

watching
listening intently
as her lips - her own lips transferred onto this other -
open
in slow
distorted
motion -

See
you
soon

The words tumble out precariously
as the world holds collective breath ..

And it feels as though these words
might never before have been uttered 
never before in this world ..

A silver-spangled brand-new phrase -
this collection of letters and sounds
flown in by cosmic forces
at this precise moment
to be extracted for the very first time
from human lung and throat
uttered for the very first time
by human mouth
this delicate triptych, for the very first time 
is heard by human ear
laid gently, insistently, for the very first time
upon human mind and heart

The tone sounds familiar and nostalgic
recollections spin like dancing plates
hurled at break-neck speed
down the staircase, across the hall

But each word is a novel occurrence
tied together with silver string
gilded with stardust
as though they alighted here from some distant galaxy
sending soothing signals
out into the great unknown

An utterance of such simultaneous profundity
sits alongside an air of nonchalance
perfectly juxtaposed for higher definition audio

Three words

They fall upon us both
shroud my mouth
cloak your ears
in hopeful, strange delight
sprinkled with a smatter of tense anticipation

You drink in the surprising nectar
swill each syllable inside your heart
before cautiously allowing the echo
reverberating inside your chest
to spin upwards to your throat
as your mouth on autopilot
repeats
the same
three
words

See
you
soon

A slow
drawn out
poignant yet forgettable disengagement
of bodies first
then arms, wrists,
hands, until finally
just two fingers remain intact
clutching tightly

ramparts guarding resolutely against the passing of time

But time will not be stopped

Let go Let go

Just for now
until we meet again..

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.

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.