A collection of poems and other writings...

Friday, 17 July 2015

Enfin, nous avons décoré la cuisine

after we had had
the kitchen done
the plaster on the walls
took several days to dry
turning slowly in patches
from muscovado to soft brown
to a light coffee stucco

the slightly 
less than competent plasterer
had left small arcing ridges
as he smoothed his float
over the silky surface

they crossed
they interrupted each other

after the plaster was dry
there was only one real decision to make

so we sought out colour charts
from do-it-yourself shops
such as Homebase
B and Q

there were many
Crown
Berger
Dulux

we would choose a colour to wrap ourselves in together
Heritage
we would choose a colour to swamp our lives
a verdant sage green perhaps
we would choose a colour to heighten our ecstasy
a vermillion
a burnt orange
sexy hot pink was however not available
in the Kitchen & Bathroom Range
too steamy

should we matchpot?

we considered tiles
thick and small
deep blues, buffs and siennas
terracottas and tomato tartines
offering the rustic charm of
an Italian farmhouse kitchen
spattered with pasta sauce

and yet the decision could not be made
there was tension
in the new kitchen

we crossed 
we interrupted each other

which remained
undecorated
for ten years
taking on the aspect of 
a Sheffield terrace offshot
spattered with pasta sauce
until the prospect of
a French exchange student
called Sandrine
staying chez nous
for eight days
finally
drove us to



off-white

Tuesday, 14 July 2015

the first language of love

of love
there are five languages
the five love languages
are a tool to improve
your relationships

is there a problem with your connection?

quality time
spending time
focussed
on each other
this is the first language of love

the people in this picture were all murdered
by an F16 strike on the building
in which they were
in which they were sheltering
this picture is all that remains of the family
the people
in this picture
were all murdered

having trouble viewing this?
are you having trouble viewing this?
if you are having trouble

is there a problem with your connection?

some need words of affirmation
so tell your loved one
this is the first language of love

Syria’s children are dying
blood leaves their bodies
blood is leaving their bodies

here we have
physical touch
is this how you receive love?
this is the first language of love

there seems to be a problem
with your connection
please check and try again

five tips to turning your life around
after you've lost your way
this is the first language of love
acts of service
perform acts of service
for your loved one

if you continue to see this message
contact the person
in charge of your network

give and
receive gifts
for this is the first
the first language
for this is the first language

of love

Wednesday, 8 July 2015

brain food

life is but a
melancholy flower

life is
and from youth the matter
suffers a decline
from the airy sanguine
through choleric blood
to the melancholic earth

life is butter
the phlegmatic young
may be enjoyed lightly inspired

life is but a melon
yellow bile
honeydew
black bile
piel de sapo

but with individuals displaying
a darker humour

other culinary techniques must be employed
up to the testing of by fire

for best results
look for a cream colouration
indicating a level of maturation
blood and phlegm

life is but a melon
Cantaloupe
Charentais
Galia
Galen
Water
Too, too solid Air

but not yet too advanced
while the firm flesh should offer
some light resistance

life is but a melancholy flower
blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm



as the palpating fingertips
carefully check each ventricle
for blemishes and irritations
pineal parasites, pests and aberrations
Other    Dark    Spots
the frogskin of encasing leaves
should be removed
and the stem severed at the base
to thus allow extraction
from the cranium case

having washed the whole
separate the lobes
parietal
occipital
frontal
temporal

a melancholy flower

and with a sharp blade
sever the cortex
right through the stem

"Basal ganglia" by Mikael Häggström and Andrew Gillies*
 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File
:Basal_ganglia.svg#/media/File:Basal_ganglia.svg
from each segment
incise slices
no more and yet no less
than a centimetre thick
the which lay flat in your pan
non-stick

life is butter-melon
medulla oblongata

drizzle with a fine
extra virgin olive oil
or spread with rich butter
spice with whole cumin seed
then salt liberally

life is but a melon

a steady temperature
http://ohmyveggies.com/wp-content/uploads
/2012/08/cajun_roasted-cauliflower_steaks.jpg

Gas Mark 6 to 7
depending on the
thermal efficiency of your oven
will be sufficient
to tenderise the flesh
and caramelise the cauliflower

life is but a
life is but a
melancholy flower
melancholy flower
life is butter melon
life is but a melon
cauliflower

cauliflower




*
- Made in Inkscape. The following raster image was used for modelling:Basal-ganglia-coronal-sections-large.png (By Andrew Gillies/User:Anaru; Creative Commons Attribution ShareAlike + GFDL license). Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - 

Friday, 3 July 2015

In the Queue - Cashier Number Five, Please

“Is it your birthday, Doreen?”
“It is my birthday.”
“I saw your badge.”
Doreen’s wearing a “Birthday girl” pin badge.  She perches on her stool counting out the woman’s money.
“I’m taking tomorrow off, Jean,” Doreen smiles, “making a long weekend of it. Might have a facial.”
“Ooh! That’s nice.  Is it a big one?”
“Not particularly,” says Doreen.  She mouths “forty-five” through the glass.
“Oh, I had you as older?” says Jean.
Doreen stops smiling.
“How much did you want, then?” Doreen asks
“I’ll have the full two hundred.  I’ve gave up smoking and every week I’ve been putting it aside – twenty pounds a week.  Now I’ve got two hundred!  Just from not smoking.”
“Amazing,” says Doreen.
“I’m still doing them e-ciggies though.”
“Right, but they’re much cheaper, aren’t they.”
“Oh, so much cheaper”

Crystal is serving me.  She’s new.  There’s a sign above her window “Staff in training. Please be kind.”  I push the banking under the glass as kindly as I can.  A small rubber band rolls out of the cloth bag, too.
“I’ve just got some banking to do and a bit of change – oh, and a small rubber band,” I tell her.
“Oh, haha!” says Crystal.  “Er…”
Dawn has been spring-cleaning the shelves on our side: one by one emptying them off, wiping them down with a J-cloth and a bit of spray, then popping the things back on exactly the way they were but without the dust.  She comes up to the counter to talk to Crystal.
“Have you not done banking before?”
“No,” says Crystal.
“You’ll be fine.  Doreen, soon as you’ve finished Jean off can you help Crystal?”
“’Course I can, lovey.  I’ll help you, lovey, I’ll just finish Jean off, you’ll soon get the hang.”
“Here,” says Dawn to me, “look at the colour of my hands,” she spreads her fingers out to show me their blackened tips.
“That’s me done,” says Jean.  “ Bye all!” and she walks out struggling to close her purse around her two hundred.

A man walks up behind me heading for Doreen who has sidled across to look at what Crystal is doing.
“Hello, Len,” they all say.  He’s a regular I’m guessing.
“Hello, girls,” says Len.
Crystal is occupied slowly counting out my twenties into piles of four and wrapping a fifth around them, so Doreen slips back over and sidles her bottom onto her stool to serve Len.  Len puts his card in the card machine.
“How much do you want?” says Doreen.
“All of it,” says Len “soon as I can remember my number, er… .”
Dawn has taken the rolls of silver wrapping paper off the high shelf above where Len is standing.  Now she tries to put them back but they topple off and one hits Len on the head.
“Oh!!  Watch out skies a-falling!” says Len.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, Len!” says Dawn and another roll topples down.
“Wo-oah,” says Len “you take your life in your hands in here!  ‘Sallright Dawn I won’t sue you.”
Dawn picks up one of the rolls from the floor and taps him a hollow knock on the head.
“Steady on, lass,” says Len, “that’s my weakest point! Oh, hang on…” he’s remembered his number and presses it carefully into the machine. “Had to be rattling round in there somewhere! I’m obliged to you.”

Crystal’s been picking up speed; she’s finished the tens, and fives too, and is just fiddling the loose change onto her little coin rack.

“Did you get them bees, Len?” asks Dawn
“What?” says Doreen.  “Bees?  What bees?”
“Oh, did I not tell you,” says Len, “got chatting to a man over Wombwell way last Sunday.  Beekeeper chap.  BMW they used to call him - Bee Man of Wombwell.  But he’s ninety three and he’s giving it up.”
“And you fancied a bit of honey on your porridge, didn’t you Len!” says Dawn.
“Eh, it’s not just that,” says Len.  “I do, like, but it’s not just that.  He says he’s got hundred thousand bees but he wants to give them away.  So I says, well I’ll have ‘em.”
“ Blimey!” says Doreen
“I know!  With all the equipment, like.”
“Hundred thousand!  That’s ever so many.” Doreen can’t quite believe it.
“But you took them back,” Dawn chimes in, “’cause when you got them home there was one missing!”
“You’ve not done it before though, Len,” says Doreen
“No, no,” says Len, “no, not done it before – don’t know one end of a bee from t’other.”
“Haha!” says Dawn, “well I reckon you’ll find that one out soon enough, Len.  Eh?”
“Oh, be-hive yourself!”  says Len.  “Be-hive yourself!”
"Eh!  I'm Queen Bee around here, aren't I Dor?"
"Oh, yes."
Dawn grabs her midriff in her hands and wobbles it.
"Look you can tell I've had too much of that royal what d'you call it, y'know..."
"Jelly," says Len
"Ay, that's it," says Dawn, "royal jelly.  Too much royal jelly!"


Tuesday, 23 June 2015

Negotiation #5

What are you doing tomorrow?

What?

What are you doing tomorrow?

What am I doing tomorrow?
while today there are blackbirds
feeding young in the garden
and today the sourdough
is gently lifting in the kitchen -
its first proving
and today is the first day I have
time to sit down
since the last time
I sat down?

What are you doing tomorrow?

What am I doing tomorrow?
when tomorrow is probably filled
up already with moments
blocked with time and trouble and toil?

What are you doing tomorrow?

What am I doing tomorrow?

How easily you clatter the question around

Yes well
there is an Agenda
for tomorrow
I do have an Agenda
for tomorrow

but today
I have only
headings and subheadings
and outlines and landscapes
and plans and pre-frontal projections
and while a few papers have been
submitted for my early consideration
I cannot navigate
the complexities of tomorrow
until the vagaries of today
have been drawn into play

What are you doing tomorrow?

Ah, but if I were to tell you
something
for the sake of an easy answer
it would inevitably be
a short story
of possibles and maybes
a novella of nuance and supposition
a wish-list of the terrifying
and the fearsome

What are you doing tomorrow?

You come here with your crowbar question
levering yourself
into the slim and early tracings
of my promised tomorrow

I was just wondering…

you say
with your innocent
fingers fiddling
with thin porridge on the stovetop
and a sketch of an idea
somewhere across your brow

and I am wary of that sketch
because it is in that sketch that you
forge a steel cage that imprisons me
tomorrow
for it is that sketch
that fetters the ankles of my spirit
tomorrow
that channels the energy of my spirit
tomorrow
that breaks the resolve of my spirit
tomorrow
and casts me
into the pit of your desires
and the fuddle of my despair

What are you doing tomorrow?

If you insist on that question
then there is no tomorrow
do you not see?
there is no tomorrow
no tomorrow

I was just wondering whether you might be able to pick me up from the supermarket?


Negotiation #2

Are you washing up or cooking?

What?

Are you washing up or cooking? I’m not doing both.

No, well I don’t expect you to do both

Good , because I’m not.  So which are you going to do?

Well, which would you rather do?  You’ve been out all day – would you rather sit down while I wash up, and then you cook?  I could make you a gin. Or would you rather wash up and then relax?

God I’d love a gin – been fantasising about one all afternoon!

Ok, so I’ll wash up and make you a gin and you can cook.

I must say I had hoped you might have washed up while I was out.

Yes, well, I have been busy.  I haven’t just been sat around all day.

No, I know…

I have been working, too, you know.  I haven’t just been sat watching youtube, you know.  I have actually been working. 

Yes, I know…

I have.  I’ve booked a course and I bought those train tickets and I’ve been looking at holiday cottages.  So it’s not like I’ve just been sat here doing nothing.

Yes, I know…

You think I don’t do anything while you’re out, don’t you?

No of course not…

Yes, you do. You think I’m just sat around doing puzzles or watching television.

No I don’t.  I…

Holidays don’t just book themselves, you know.  Someone has to do the research.  Someone has to make some decisions.  If we left it to you we’d never go away anywhere.  You do want a holiday, don’t you?

You know I do…

Well, then someone has to sort it out then don’t they.

I’m very grateful.

So pardon me if the washing up isn’t done just when you walk through the door.

I’m just saying…

Pardon me!  But I have been busy you know.  I have been doing things for us, too, you know!

I’m tired.  Do you want a gin?

I’ve sent you a link to four cottages.  Four!  I’ve looked at hundreds and you only need to look at four.  So I need you to have a look and tell me which one you like best.

Ok.  I’ll look next time I’m on.

Make sure you do because we haven’t got long and they're going fast for those weeks.

I will. Gin?

Of course.  Did you get my text?

No.  I’ll make them then, shall I?

God – why don’t you ever check your phone?

I did check.  When did you send it? I checked before I left work.

About half an hour ago.

Well I would have been on the bus then.  I can never hear it on the bus.

I can hear mine on the bus all right.  You need a new phone!

What did it say?

What?

The text.  What did it say?


We’re out of tonic.  So if you want a gin you’ll have to stop at the co-op.

Tuesday, 16 June 2015

too poetry

some things are just too poetry
for poetry

a spinning wheel
a honey spoon
a waterfall
a silvery moon

a constellation of stars
the tail of a fiery comet
a rainbow
arcing across the sky

a baby’s bonnet

in fact
don’t write
anything to do with night
no owl or wolf
or bat or ghost

no candle – shining in the dark
http://imgbuddy.com/

weather is a problem too
with April showers
or blazing sun
a sudden fall of snow
frost or mist or fog
a cotton-candy cloud
is just too
LOUD
for a poem

other
poetic animals to avoid
are
horses
well stallions
cats
well toms
or tabbies
dogs
eagles
and their eyes
timorous mice
they've been done before
and better
snakes and lizards
spiders
starfish
whales
eels

weasels

the first cuckoo

longing is difficult
and love
and lust
and patience
and a first kiss
or a last kiss
or falseness
and pretence

a garden fence

mud
dust and rust

trust
especially if broken

derelict houses
with fractured window panes
in the rain
where no-one has lived for years
not really lived

old cars
worn carpets
rugs and wallhangings
pictures
in frames
and old photographs on pianos
slatted Venetian blinds
parlour palms

oh and
you
your arms
your eyes
your mouth
your nose
especially if you are a baby
and it is a button

your heart
my heart

your blood
my blood
and the things blood does

milk
tears
tea
sympathy

plums
cherries
overripe blackberries
dripping from vines
all just a bit too rich for me

and now I think about it 
there's not really much 
you can write about 
at all