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Pencils and Pens

I like pencils and pens,
writing materials and paper.
Lions and tigers,
cheetahs and leopards.
I like jumping and puddles,
getting muddled and confused.
Plants and flowers,
flour and bread.
I like eyes and ears,
sensing life and feelings.
Thinking and reversing,
negative photos and drawings.

When I was 6

Between the ages of three and six years old I had a reason not to give up, an ambition for life, a purpose. A future.

I wanted more than anything, to be, when I grew up, an apple tree. I wanted to live in the corner of a beautiful garden getting visits from the birds and the bees. I wanted the wind to blow my branches to provide hugs and to drop my delicious apples to feed those who were hungry. I liked the idea of being stationary. I had moved from a large bed in my own room to the attic. It was the first night after we got the latest in roof windows installed, which were the fashion at the time.

I had had a pleasant day talking to the old plasterer. I only remember he was old so he was about 16 – 90+. He had an old hat. Possibly a flat cap, a popular accessory among the pensioners of the area. He had done a good job with a smooth finish, so much so i would stroke the wall around the window just to appriciate the smoothness.

It was later that day it happened… Night came as I lay in my bed. It used to be bunk beds but my Dad had sawed them in two to become two single beds. Mine was the bottom bunk. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep that night. I had been awake for hours. Lying there, just looking through the roof window, the light pollution of the city bled darkness into the sky. The stars were out…

My earliest favourite reading books were about counting to ten and basic science for children. They were mostly published by Penguin or Puffin. One of the books said stars were giant burning balls of gas just like the sun. I must have been read this book recently because it was then it dawned on me.

Never before had I contemplated what I was. What life was. What I was doing here. I was the sort of child whose main sad thought up until that moment was ‘other people can’t have been around before me… I would’ve remembered them.’ And that was only sad because people would laugh and dismiss this truth. It was soon to come when a moment in time happened, where I would become disappointed. Too scared. Too afraid of what was. I felt reality’s full force. All its fierce flames and its endless meaning.

I no longer could accept my future would be being an apple tree. I felt my branches had fallen off and my apples were rotten on the ground. All my hopes and dreams faded into darkness in that second. Into the space between the supposedly giant balls of burning gas, my mind was lost. I was a dead tree’s stump in a great wasteland where nothing was alive. I was null and void. I was minute. Smaller than the smallest speck of dirt on the new glass of the roof window. Against these giant balls of burning gas the size of dots against the deep, ongoing, pure black of space. I was insignificant…

And so, it had happened… So, I reacted, I ran down the attic stairs, across the landing past the door of room, I did a hair-pin turn like a frantic rally car on a tight muddy track, down the stairs again I ran, I reached the bottom and without losing any momentum I took a quick right into the brightness of the front room. My mum was there, stood hands on her skirt, warming her arse by the fire. I had slowed down by now and was pacing slowly towards her, under the headache inducing light. It was then I bent my neck back, looking up at her face, a formidable five foot and half an inch off the ground. She looked back down at me. Her pale face, no make up, pointing down at me, crushing her chin in two. She looked as she had seen a ghost… “Mum! Its all too big! I can’t cope!” I said. “What is?” She replied, her voice quivering. “Everything. Everything is.”

Beans or tomatoes

I must hide. My imagination becomes real when I get ill. For shame, I sometimes choose a miserable existence. In theory things must get better from this sad old place. In action, the theory fails magnificently when I get more and more comfortable with my delusions. I feel bad.

Saved by an elf

Me saved, you entered my head in a wavy dream,
I’m fine, you gave me art sweeter than Ice Cream!

A story, It was so good it taught to sing songs too,
Before I go, I’ll need some support from friends, just a few.

I jog along, getting fitter everyday, under 13 stones now – always been lucky for me.
I’m never off my psychic phones, texted out messages, picking up calls, I do it free.

Oh what I am saying!
Small mercies, I’ll do anything….
Anything, just to see myself see the light at night,
I’d go through self put fright after fright.

Cancel my appointments,
recognoise my voice, tonight.

Listen, I can’t concentrate in this vacuum.
Show me previews of what life can be like.

Er..flume.

I’ll never be perfect, but anything is to me.
I’m difficult, but the easiest person you’ll meet.

I’m going to change,
I’m going to change,
I’m going to change,
I’m changing now.

Now-ow-ow
Now-ow-ow
Now-ow-ow
Now-ow-ow

Me, I’m saved, I scream your art now, it’s what Ice Cream.

Now.

{echo until fade}

Someone

I saw a photo of someone and I want to smoke a cigarette with her,

just her, just because…

Well because… She looked lonely as me, she was a pea in a bowl trapped under cling film, I was a glimpse – an image, a moment in time, seemingly screaming alone in an unspent void!

I don’t even smoke anymore.

Take a seat, I’ll be your chair for this evening.
Tired, it won’t be long before you’re leaving.
Take some heat, I’m highly strung tonight.
Giving off warmth, you might, just might, just might pluck my branches until tomorrow afternoon. So let’s fight!

****

Tomorrow afternoon, we can play and have a sight of the sea, draw the rocks on the beach, weigh up options, how much balance does it take to say thanks for being a snapshot.

Lass, you move differently to how I guessed, but you leave me shaking, dissecting truth from my words, you are everything I need. Of course you might never know if the mirrors aren’t set up well. If the angles are wrong and the camera isn’t set.

Dreamland

Steam coming from you is like the sun in the West.
Dipping down after days with no rest.
Water really never did anything for you.
Ice or steam is all that you knew.

Dreamy days will pass you by,
trying hard to live your lives true.
Stories sang, the stories you live,
shape your heart, give you more to give.

But I know I can’t sing, so why I am trying?
I just don’t know, my left from writing.
Only wanted to show you that I can join in.
Believing now in a journey but where to begin?

One daytime soon I’ll catch sight of her voice,
Varied in character you’re a whole play at once.

Mud

Everything I do just muddies the pond (what pond?). The pond I worked so hard on and that took so long to create!

The candles don’t burn any more and everyday I wait to be bound (to what?). Bound to some unknown solemn fate.

I don’t know where these sentences are from or what they mean but I suffer. Rise above the noise. Madness. Listen.

Depression

*inaudible scream*

The place is cold and empty.
Lying on the floor with six white bowls, in them remnants of rice or a partial crust of toast. I can’t speak. I have no intention to. All the complements I give are thoughts. Instead I give you a shiver or a tear.

Cat

The first time I saw you. Your face said bring down the monarchy. It said we could live in a world of equality where we need not worry about war. It said disarm all nuclear weapons and spread joy to the disadvantaged. It said meow. You were a cat.

Emotional Pain

Felt like I was getting stabbed by invisible daggers through the heart whilst gently having my throat slashed last night. If anyone says to me ever that emotions are all in the mind I will proceed to call them a fool.

Three Certain Things

Three things are certain in life:

1. uncertainty
2. death
3. change

Could sound depressing that but turn it around….

1. I’ve always loved surprises, big or small.
2. Everyone dies one day and no one knows what happens next. Thinking about death is like pressing fast forward on your favourite music.
3. Sure, life can be shit, but change is the biggest thing in the universe! Change has always been there, and will go on for ever. Did a god or spirit create the universe? Maybe but before that there was change. Change will always be around. May as well embrace it!

I don’t know. If, but, and… do.

What’s going on? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know.

If change is infinite yet we experience stuff. Then perhaps stuff that we’ve experienced can be experienced again. Maybe from a different perspective. Uncertainty is a doorway to infinite possibilities. What’s going on? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know.

But I like to think that infinity is about experience but also something beyond that. I currently experience things with this body and mind, in mostly similar places (all physical things). If you remember the possibility of infinite possibilities, it is maybe possible that once this physical experience is over, (Perhaps our visible universe dies and restarts a few times or something) maybe they’ll be something different to experience, something less painful, or something more painful. It’s all speculation. I honestly have no answers. Who knows?

I’m probably complicating things.

The idea is simple. Change is about cause and effect, a process, present as the laws of physics are now. But even change itself is subject to change. Whose to say when we’re all dead the laws of physics won’t eventually change? They’ve changed since the very early universe according to the large hadron collider (or so I am led to believe).

Whatever you think. Accept you thought it. Accept that eventually, it might be of no consequence. Things change. Things are destroyed and created all the time. Why? Can any living thing really know? Even the smartest brains are only a limited size after all.

Speaking for myself. It’s important to respect other’s right to think and believe what they want and like. I’m very cautious and careful about so many things. Just, in life I seem to have too much ‘faith’ in what could possibly be. I don’t fear death, nor do I understand it. However, I do want to enjoy life in the present at the same time, and a lot of my caution is preprogrammed (genetics/upbringing/instinct). I’m not a risk taker. That could change though.

Blue Wales of my eyes

“What’s wiv all da H’s in your name dude!?”

Ummm…. I don’t know, what my given names mean to you.
It shouldn’t mean a thing, I hope it doesn’t, that is true.
Softly spoken answers to questions, aren’t always real (no).
It’s just a dream I had once, doesn’t mean a great deal (two U).

Anyway, I digress:

H is for Hollow, H is for all the great Hopes,
H is for the Horrid times, by, H is for History.

With many thanks in big ways I point my hands north,
Blue takk helps sticking ceiling space to the pours,
The texture of the paper on what my friends do draw,
Times I look at the maps to remember what my brain is four.

So:

H is for Hollow, H is for all the great Hopes,
H is for the Horrid times, by, H is for History.

I hear U calling out through my record player,
Something I can’t quite make out, someting I did not hear,
Whatever, nevermind, I will not let it dwell,
Sometimes, somethings just don’t go so well.

So shhhhhhhhh:

H is for Hollow, H is for all the great Hopes,
H is for the Horrid times, by, H is for History.

An Earthling’s engWish

“John are you ‘avin’ diss for tea?”
“Neyow!!!!”

I will refer to your look, as a light, happy, glance.
With a hue just off blue, that caused a dot to dance.

Collectively we are a shape. Not knowing what it is.
Parameters of what were; are, changing!

Hiss, for a happy life:
Hiss, body will be healthy.
Hiss, goals will be plenty,
Always a future for you.

Never asked to be born, but I have to thank you for a chance.
The inspirations, the artists and singers, the individuals, all of them, thanks.
All of them, alone or together, on this soil, on this Earth.
From myself, you will never know, you own true worth.

Smile, my friends, smile.
Smile, my friends, smile.
Smile, my friends, smile.
Smile, my friends, smile.
Smile.

I will refer to your look, as a light, happy, glance.
With a hue just off blue, that caused a dot to dance.

Where are you from, and where are you from?
You were cooking for us, now,
This Sheff is cooking up a meal,
I just want you to have this steel.

{echo until fade}

“What”

Ok but tomorrow I’m reading how to melt cocao butter.

They all look the sane she said about your drawings.

It’s act one, still, in a play of actors and animals. At night and backwards, a colour-blind unripe banana looks towards you as you seem to be jumping on a deer, my dear. It’s a protest, acting your rage in front of two loud helicopters. Average salary is three sticks of celery and a hairy smokescreen. The windows are closed and the curtains shut, there’s a what? And it doesn’t look all that. Good Kazoo Solo and his wife look at tired imitation. Depressed on my chest is a chest of jewels and brass thinklets melting into a drip of squirrels. Building a fence is Kazoo and he’s using hockey sticks on a hockey stick ocean. Blurting and blubbering noises come from a helicopter and you are winched up inside a giant orange. The magic bus stop potion is ready as you fly off over the ocean. The rhymes stop, and the lizard flies its flirty eyes at your misdemeanour. It has reached the end and daylight breaks the glass hockey stick ocean and Kazoo is tired.

Waiting On A Return

You’re selling us our health after making us ill.
Ripping up our human rights so we can’t get our fill.
Want to share a bit of culture.
Want to build a bridge, a friendship.
But who cares about us.
But who knows how long you’ll live in denial.

You’re waiting on a return.
Putting all ends together as one.

I prefer an unravelling spiral. Something to aspire to.

Spinning

My mind was spun.
Faster and faster it was pushed, a mad oscillation. It learnt too young, too quickly. Turning anti clockwise, a jarring, silent tick.
Too soon this top did wobble, like an unstable blur. As life became clearer. I became thick.
Slowing, unsynchronised and spiralling from it’s source. You’ve won a window. Why not take your pick?

****

Do you ever notice that people paint their problems on others they desperately want to relate to?

In the town of Briar Bush

In the town of Briar Bush there were two districts, ‘what is’ and ‘what isn’t’. There was no death in Briar Bush nor was there any life. Before Briar Bush was built, there was the great source. The great source was never mentioned in Briar Bush for it had no effect on the ongoing existence of the town. Officially inhabitants of Briar Bush were all women. Of course Briar Bush had it’s secrets, rumours of a man were true in parts of ‘what isn’t’. This spelt disaster for town, this man was to be downfall for Briar Bush….

Light Hearted

Every time I let out a sigh,

I begin to see little birds fly.

Yet, I can catch one if I move quick.

Or is it about choosing one to pick?

Too late! My chance has gone.

Now there is night where the sun shone.

If they were dozing by day and sleeping at nightfall…

I’d just pick one up and then I’d walk tall.

But no, awake, and with wings they fly.

Every time I let out a sigh.