Thursday, 28 June 2012

"African Grey Parrot"

I focus upon the bright red tail

of this beautiful, principally grey-and-white, bird -

who currently hangs upside down

from his favourite perch,


for the benefit

of random passers-by.

The parrot's spirit reaches,

and playfully pecks at,

that part of my own,

which remains

gentle, pure -

and lighter

than the lightest feather,

or even

the palest shade

of grey.


a kaleidoscope

of reds and greens; golds and blues:

macaws in flight

"Sun Conure"

A splash of undiluted Summer

Upon late Autumn's darkening canvas

Prominent, "let's play" eyes

Such energy

Such sociability

That smiling beak in which golden-yellow

butter wouldn't - couldn't - melt

The perfect pet? I wonder...

With such a shriek?

"If Only"

if only I could

fade away


not have to face


pointless day

as me

that's how I feel

some days

most days of late


not really living at all

wishing that I could


fade away

Wednesday, 27 June 2012


waves of anguish

moments of almost-hope

and then I find our rainbow

"Psychedelic Giraffes"

Psychedelic giraffes

stroll past

our windows


and "Borrowers"

still reside

up in the loft.

My Size Eights

clothe the folk

in Narnia.

Oh yes, and did I tell you


the giraffes?

Tuesday, 26 June 2012


greyscale days

bleed crimson tears

upon a canvas

of black


each tear is framed

as I drown in these black
oceans of despair

no sign of hope

Monday, 25 June 2012

"Let Me Go"

so very low

exactly how


can I go

I simply don't know

how to go

on any more

exactly how low

can I go now

please let me go

I want to

let go

of everything


Friday, 22 June 2012

"Mission Statement"

"Multitask" means

learn to nap

as you fax and staple.

"Monkeys and Oceans"

"Concrete monkeys" and

"ferocious oceans"

perfume and colour her poetry,

as she dances with her lover

to the rhythm of the fax machine.


Psychedelic monument

Aesthetic junk

Mad, glorious masterpiece

"Absurd But Empty"

Psychedelic symbolism

So surreal

Dry studio passion


Almost rigid

"The Image"

Her solo scream

paints naked terror upon

a canvas of fresh questions.

"Remembering, Night and Day"

piece together dreams

silhouette of a cigarette

a child's "surround sound" screams

compose a new song



try so hard to understand

yet never truly understand

you never will


I am building dreams on the jagged edge

of nightmares.

You are constructing fragile futures

upon apparently firm foundations.

I am learning how to walk on stilts,

on these icy pavements -

with which I am already too familiar.


Investigate colour. Then

Paint your life jet-black.

Indulge your darkest fantasies.

See and accept bold beauty,

in her many, varied forms.

"Fragile: Don't Touch"

I could shatter

My mind is pure bone china

The likes of which

You could never afford to replace

So replace me carefully

Upon the shelf

On which you found me

My soul is made

From grains of sand

Look into my eyes

For seven years of hell

I'm fragile but it's you who'll be


Bleeding to death

Just from touching

The shattering fragments

That used to be



Azure infinity lures me in - ensnares me.

I taste the pale pink perfume of


which settles like dust,

upon the evening air -

already making vague,

quarter-hearted promises.

Thursday, 21 June 2012


Starlight softly sings

Her sparkling lyrics

With clarity and passion


Erratic sleeping patterns.

Thoughts spin,

like the contents of

the washing machine

on its final rinse.

I, too, have come full circle.


This sculpture

may well be

a symbol of my naked faith.

Why break it?


Close to the edge of the ledge

of sound logic,

we may well experience the lure

of "insanity" -

but we choose to

turn up the volume

of our silence



In a sapphire sky of silk,

Starlight singing:

Soft, metallic chimes.

"Evening Stillness"

The stillness in near-silence

is the gift of solitude.

I tentatively reach out

and touch

the steel-clad wings

of angels.

The sky is quietly glorious

in shades of gold, peach, lavender.

Another day accomplished. I am glad to be


"Colours of Pain"

magenta stains

upon jet-black

soothed by amethyst skies

lilac dreams

"Underneath Her Mask"

She buys her clothes from Top Shop

still wears a Size Six –

secretly fears her biological time bomb,

with its silent tocks and ticks.

Through layers of make-up,

and Prozac and gin,

she hides her true self -

duly deposits her life in the bin.

Well, it’s not like she’s lived it

for two years or more.

She’s living by "their" rules now, after all –

not her own –

and she knows the score.

Saturday, 16 June 2012


she is sleeping

through the darkest days

beyond hiding her pain

she is hiding herself


sleeping in a quiet corner

filed upon a wrong shelf

but content to sleep there


under a starless night


Friday, 15 June 2012

"Twenty Years"

twenty years ago

and here I am

in my first

boring office job

clock-watching my way

through wasted days

hazy thoughts

caused by

"starvation" diets

still eagerly awaiting

each new Madonna release

with an intense

sense of anticipation

now alien to my thirty-something mind

and I have finally graduated

from Sweet Valley High

to Danielle Steel

and it's fair

use of a well-worn cliche

to say

that soon

I won't know

what has hit me


distant gaze

golden haze

of emotions

too many days


walking around

in a daze

so many vague notions


"Tracing Paper and Waiting For The Bell"

At primary school, we wipe our bums with

Tracing paper.

At secondary school, we wipe our bums with –


And I sit there in French class one afternoon,

Trying to solve the problem of how

One afternoon can be longer

Then the whole year, of which

It is a part.

And I sit there in maths one







And start to read the graffiti

On the desk, and come across

A masterpiece – that simply states:

"Here I sit,

Bored as Hell,

Waiting for the bloody bell"

And I’m, like, yes!

And I show it to my friend,

And it just makes us laugh –

Which, of course, you aren’t allowed

To do in school time – so that’s

Another detention.  Great.

And I look back now

And I just wonder when we were ever there anyway,

What with teachers’ strikes,

And broken boilers,

And IRA bomb threats – well, okay

Kids in the local phone box,

Faking Irish accents…

Yet, the time spent at school seemed endless. How?


Frozen emotions

The intense heat of passion

Burning, yearning


Frozen emotions



Liquid emotions

"So Quietly"

so quietly

she cries

herself to sleep



metallic tears

that burn




Tuesday, 12 June 2012


this life full of lies

that they

whoever "they" are


can no longer disguise

my hurt


by their lies

by a lifetime of lies

and still each one of them


that I am surrounded by lies

Sunday, 10 June 2012

"Before I"

before I return the childhood memories

to their dusty

attic box

maybe I will write my

initials in the dust

just to let you know

PP woz ere

before I close the classroom

door once more

close not slam the door

this time around

since I am an adult now

and have no need any more

for slamming doors

but before I leave the

distant past

behind this time

I shall take one final backward glance

take a moment

to light a candle

in my mind

for two old friends

both of whom were

gone too soon

Saturday, 9 June 2012

"Black and Blue and Purple"

He beat her until black and blue and

purple, so she left him, and then

faithfully scurried

back for more. She can hit back

if she likes, she argues. Well, she

can, but he just laughs aloud. I

watch her retreating

gratefully, respectfully, into his

luke-warm embrace, her shelter from

oblivion or

liberation, or

proper happiness. She patiently awaits his death,

and psychotherapy.


can't hoop jump


don't have very much

to say

and anyway

and anyway

the day is cancelled

Friday, 8 June 2012

"Beyond Darkness"

beyond this darkness

there has to be


so visualise

a burning candle

and let the image see you through

another night

hold on

hold on tight


some day

it will be all right

"My Words"

my words
take them
aspects of my soul
the pain
the gain
the going insane
a few random words overheard
take them
or leave them
my poems
my blog posts
my words
dark words
vibrant ones
those that reveal
parts of me
that you never knew
misunderstand them
hate them
resent them
love them
crave them
refuse and reject them
dissect them
respect them or not
they are words
only words
and maybe they will never
be enough
but they are
and they are mine
so I offer them
offer and share
these words
that you read
or these words
that you don't

"Liquid Gold"

where do they go

these emotions

that flow

the liquid gold

of tears

that flow

a soul

my soul

that overflows

where do they go

where will they lead

these emotions

raw emotions

"One Flower"

all but one

of the bouquet

of flowers

have drooped

heads bowed

one remains

stands proud


still seeking the light

Thursday, 7 June 2012


each conversation

is a game of consequences

at each point

at which I could have said

A, B or C

what would have happened


would the direction

of the conversation

have altered

had I only

made a different selection


I think it through


then analyse the analysis

dissecting remembered conversations

in my mind

fragments of

half-forgotten conversations


for hidden meanings

double meanings

searching for words

that I could

have said


of the ones that I did

or the ones that I did not

regretting the silences

that should have been

filled with words

the words

that should

have been silences

or different words

wishing that I

could write

alternative scripts

with fresh dialogue

wishing that the

real conversations

could have been