One more day

Words to memorialise the day
this is
to say I lived it
the way I said it
and set it down.

I was alone.

Not a clue what I’m doing here.

It was not unlike
all the other days
I know longer remember

I knew i lived.

(Newton Abbot)

A cellos purple fifth

I heard a cellos
purple fifth
hung between a cobweb
and a single star.

I heard a fat man’s
ugly rage
blast onto his young wife’s
fearful face.

I heard my feet fall
into place,
running towards…and running
…..running….
to stamp upon, to break

(Totnes train station)

At 4 in the morning

At 4 in the morning
the fucker was fuming
not holding back anything
shouting he would do everything
to make me feel small
- if I didn’t give it in to him.

I can’t give you everything
cus then you’ll have everything.
But I realised the score:
He’d take away my hands,
he’d take away my hunger,
he’d take my voice away,
he’d take away my balls.

If I don’t give in to him,
if I don’t give it all to him

The madman will cut my throat.

A white, white day

And so the Summer came.

On a Sunday May morning around 6 o’clock: a time when everything sounds soft and hollow.

Silence was falling in through the open skylight in rolls of bright static – with a suctiony pervasive thrum; cries of supercharged sun-hungry birds over everywhere already plugged in; dried out old bleating from the sheep-topped hills. And so on.  I lay there, next to you, the lover, saying it all to myself, as though humming a favourite melody.

From where we lay the sun could not as yet be seen, but it would be somewhere over there, at the back of our heads and towards the left, spreading the sky warm over the earth. And as yet (too early), not at the height of its power, not delivering the full extent of its radiance – but I could tell, I knew, that this was it, a day going to be different, much different from yesterday, a day when it could all begin again.

The woodman’s hut, that’s where we were, encircled by tall flowering trees (hence all the birds). The woodman was away, and never to return.  It would be just you and me, here, together, for as long as we wanted.

And yet you slept on.  Maybe another hour or so before you would waken. Time enough for the bells to ring. Which they would do, as they usually did, tolling out from the church over the valley. Either they would have to wake you or I would, poking up from behind, tolling the usual rhythm.

There was no car anywhere. No Worldwide Web. No news to know. No alarms.

Safe. Becalmed.

I imagined myself as I was: lying in bed on a Sunday morning with windows open, anticipating the coming of a white white day, soon to be drinking the jasmine and listening to church bells, soon to be eating buttered toast with cunty fingers……

Alive the air

Up here in birdworld alive the air.

From bushes a hidden coo coo woo coo coo woo.

From opposing house a black fat bird squadding the roof.

This birds mate flies from tall tree over there to here and, as mate had, walks the roof rim like squaddie on parade. These two birds cross over without touching beaks.

Now, a small bird at attic window flutter fluttering…..

Girl is watching. She reaches out to take tiny mad thing inside. Her young hand pressed calmly against glass, presses the place of the birds head. The bird shoots off up.

She waits at window looking about trees following songs. The coo coo woo is unable to switch off. Questions behind leaves she hears. She cannot answer.

Quite soon, once again, the small bird flutter flutters with white wing-tips clapping fast against glass, hovering there, beating the window like a madman as if wanting to break through. Reaching out hand to touch glass, the bird soon flies off up, disappearing again.

With finger she traces on glass the body where the bird was, feeling to go where it went. She tries to pull window open to further see its sky. Too tight the latch for her weak grip, she yanks and yanks; but unable to open up – she yields.

You came for me didn’t you bird, you knew where I live, that I’m here. That’s why you had to get in – for me. She blows these, or some such words on glass as if to make, with breath, the vanished thing re-appear.

And for some time, like this, with hands and face touching and breathing, against glass she waits, looking all over the blue bright sky.

No such bird returns. Over to smaller kitchen window she goes then, standing on chair to lift up catch, pushes open. Now you can get in. Come back, come here for me, as soon as you can. This is what she wants at the window as she watches, waiting for what she wishes.

No such bird there either. Instead only the two fat birds she sees, on birdwatch, patrolling the roof, first one way then the other, seeming to know what they do. They look all over anywhere. Then, as ordered, they both come to a stop and, in a standstill, stay perched for some time with only empty heads moving, in slight nods and swivels.

Their black hollow heads don’t sing anything. What they can’t sing they only see, keeping the looks to themselves within small eyes, directing silences onto objects that move.

They do not see her or pay any heed. She moves off to first window, looks, waits, moves back to second window…..looks…. looks forlornly….. waits, waiting for some small long time.

The madman is not coming back. Her mad little bird. Bringing its blue bright instinct for her to life, of inexplicable longing,  devotion…..

The afternoon is summer long. And still the coo coo woo, but this she cannot see, still the black looks, but these she cannot hear. And the flutter fluttering, which is long ago gone – and this she cannot follow.

You, who have lived on earth for me

I thank you.

Even though.

You could have been.
You might have had.
You should have done.

(You wanted to)
(You didn’t do)

Even though.

You didn’t even try.

I thank you.
Even though.

You never did your best
(not really)
to do anything any better.

I thank you.
Even though.

You lied.

And had no idea.
Had not a clue.
Could find no reason.

To tell the truth.

Even though.

You did not know
and did not care
enough to find out

I thank you
for all those times
you did not get picked
or couldn’t jump
in and take a chance,
or kept missing the boat or bus
(in fact missing the whole fucking point)

Or when you did not score the winning goal
did not smile the winning smile
did not kiss the girl
couldn’t run that extra mile to gain your hearts desire

I thank you
Even though

You couldn’t see the wood for the trees
couldn’t smell the coffee
couldn’t get your arse in gear
And didn’t sing your song

I thank you
Even though.

You had nothing to say

I thank you
Even though

You did not shine the shiniest
Did not sparkle, flare or flame

did not wish for the most
did not long to burn
did not make a mark
or leave a trace

And you,
You who have been home for my blurry eyes
The place for my luke warm heart
The river for my turgid blood
I thank you

I thank you
Even though

I could not stand you

Even though
You never made me happy
Even though
You wasted my time

And even though
You don’t deserve me

I thank you.

Even though
You are ridiculous and foolish
And never learnt a bloody thing

I thank you.

Because you suffered for me,
stood in for me.
And (for better or worse)
You took me on

For, to tell the truth,
without you,
(I know now)
I would never have lived

On earth at all.