Pixie practice

Hospital mental ward
communal room smoked
confused loneliness.
Daytime TV marked
aimless time between
weekly consultations.
She sat companioned by
teenage angst counting
cuts and burns of
escapism and control,
her body slight, underweight,
a pixie lost from her toadstool.

He saw her hidden perkiness,
the way she perched cross-
legged on the lounge chair.
He was a middle-aged,
suicidal father, but
he could practice as a pixie too.
He sat cross-legged beside her,
he couldn’t believe she
wanted to die,
she couldn’t believe he
didn’t want to live,
they gestured their mood towards
each others’ pixie positions.

He came good soon after,
she took a little longer,
and in times of heartache she
remembers him and calls herself
back to the practice of the pixie pose.

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The precocious pupil


She held him back after class,
telling him off for inappropriate
behaviour during the class test.
She was most upset that he’d run off,
chatting in the physics preparation room
with his mates, Mr Ford and Mr Davies.
No – if she was to revise and
take the next class test seriously,
he would have to stay and
invigilate her and the rest of his class.
He assured her he would and
from then on he kept his word.

Driftwood 

Wood drifted into
floating sleep

buoyant dreams
ebbed and flowed
tangled limb desire
swept through her
empty branches
logged and lodged
in her knotted mind

tumbled smooth skin
sonambulant senses
wished for his bare bark
to envelop her sea damp
contours offering her
the fantasy of sap rising
– heartwood restoration

but a drift she was
dry and dead inside
yet the sea journeyed
her home to a shore
where lovers saw her
poverty and loneliness

they adorned her with
sentimental souvenirs
and she became
someone else’s memory

Someone to bow down to

I need someone to bow down to, my guru,
someone to show me basic sanity,
to show me the best of humanity,
I need someone to bow down to,
may it be you.

I need someone to bow down to, my guru,
someone to show me grounded reality,
to keep me away from grasping fantasy,
I need someone to bow down to,
may it be you.

I need someone to bow down to, my guru,
someone to show me my mind’s essence,
demonstrating the truth of interdependence,
I need someone to bow down to,
may it be you.

I need someone to bow down to, my guru,
to be my better reflection,
help me realise my intentions,
I need someone to bow down to,
may it be you.

Universe inside me

In another universe…

you are..

A universe I can’t see.

An environment only my

imagination can reach.

 

In another universe…

you make contact occasionally:

a pulse beating across skin,

a pebble rippling the water,

a drum skin struck from inside,

a wriggle on a trampoline.

 

I listen for you in another universe,

listen for you with my body’s intensity.

I listen for you in another universe,

another universe that lies inside of me.


I wrote this some time ago and just found it in a notebook.

Because he played the Dame

Thirteen
that age where crushes form
from throwing romantic projections
on to random strangers.

My friend has a fancy
for the cool twenty year old
in the Michael Jackson hat.
He swaggers around the am-dram society – I find him too cool to take
seriously.

Instead my eye is on the twenty
something who plays the Dame.
I figure that to be male,
to be his young age, and be the Dame,
he must be caring to have
the giggles on him,
to want to raise a laugh in
frumpy frock and rouged cheeks,
yes, he must be sweet.

His brother is a six former,
I pass him once a week at school,
always enquiring about my Dame.
One day I pluck up the courage to
ask the brother to ask him out for me.
He does and I’m told he thinks
I’m lovely, but we’ll have to wait
until I’m sixteen.

In the intervening years
he calls on my guardian,
to establish his pure intentions,
while I lose my virginity
and try to hide my indiscretions.

Finally, at eighteen we meet again,
I’m soon to leave for university,
he is as sweet as ever I
imagined him to be,
but too late, I’m far too
strong-willed, I’d eat him alive,
and leave him with only inconstancy.

Where did the twinkle go?


Where did the twinkle go,
the one in eyes of blue?
That lit up my world, and
made me feel fresh and new.

Where did the sparkles go, the ones
that came with a smile and wink?
That lifted me up, spun me round,
made me love you in a blink.

Where did the life force go,
from once such glittering eyes?
Do stars take back energy?
Don’t tell me that it dies.

Perhaps the faires took the light
to give their wands true magic,
do the embers lie in my heart?
– thinking other would be tragic.

It hurts to see you go,
to know your memories fade,
but I will keep holding on
to all the love you gave.

Sister Mary’s eyebrows

Summer evening with visiting
Sister Patricious and Sister Mary.
Sister Mary has been teaching us
to chase the devil.
But now playing cards are packed away,
and Horlick’s is being made.

There is a firm knocking at the door,
Sister Mary seems surprised that
an unexpected visitor could be
calling at such a late hour.

The visitor is my 6ft tall, 
long-haired friend, Aidan.
Sister Mary looks shocked that
I should have a gentleman caller
so late in the evening.
Her eyebrows are somewhat raised.

Aidan is ushered in to the dining room,
where we are all gathered.
He needs to speak with me about
our plans to attend the Glastonbury festival.
Sister Mary’s eyebrows are now 
walking up her forehead.

We continue our discussions
and Sister Mary gathers I’m
going to be in all male company.
Her eyebrows climb closer toward
her hairline.

Simon has his own tent,
and Aidan has secured a
good sized tent for me,
him, and Joel to squeeze into.
Sister Mary’s eyebrows are now
teetering on the brink,
eager to escape and throw
themselves off her cliff side face.
If it weren’t for her habit,
keeping them from encroaching higher,
I do believe they would have taken
the leap and fallen off.