Thursday 31 March 2011

Succubus

Come tip toe through my petalled mind
And show me how you'll please,
I'll raise a thought that seeds a storm
And brings a planet to its knees

Now dream your dreamscape, write it large,
And drive the lights away,
Undo the stays that hold the world
And bring my succubus to play

Your strength I take though lips and lust
Your cries all petered out,
Now all you are is mine to hold
Your soul, a dying shout.

You tiptoed through my seeping mind
And that was your mistake,
For all your love was mine to steal
And what I want, I take.

Wednesday 30 March 2011

Sapphire and Steel

I had forgotten all about this surreal series until I woke up this morning after dreaming I was inside the very episode that the trailer below is highlighting. It used to scare and delight me in equal measure. A bit like life in general now!!

Tuesday 29 March 2011

Left Handed

I know what you're thinking
And I just don't care
'cause left handed people are everywhere
I didn't believe it
I thought we were few,
Well,
That goes to show you how little I knew!

Statistics will tell you we lefties are scarce
But left handed people are everywhere!
We're pretty discrete,
Well...
That's not quite true
So watch out for lefties
'cause we're watching you.
Yes righties, be careful, be vigilant, beware;
Us sinister people are everywhere.....

Monday 28 March 2011

Returned Unopened

'Returned unopened,'
They'd writ it on her grave,
A script from those she'd tried to save.

Poor woman, held in such regard
Was nonetheless so cold and hard
She never took a soul to love
Nor shared her heart, or part thereof.

’twas not an unkind sentiment,
The words were grave and truly meant.
She'd served the church and died alone
A well respected lost, old crone.

For praying that her Lord approved
She'd had her joyfulness removed

And so, they thought, he ought to know
To just what lengths she'd had to go
To earn his love, within his church
(For that was how she'd measured worth)

A virgin, pure in soul was she
Alone 'til she was ninety three
And now returned to whence she came
'Returned unopened'
Was written on her grave.



Sunday 27 March 2011

My Fridge

My fridge is a spaceship.

I hear it land
In the middle of the night
When it thinks that no-one’s listening.

Bang! Bang! Whir! Clank!

Shudder, shudder....
Shake,

Stop!

Silence.

Don’t let the humans hear.

My fridge is a spaceship.

Why do I never see it leave?
Where does it go?
And why does it come back??


Saturday 26 March 2011

Birds Eye View


Birds, back away!!
It's not safe, IT's NOT SAFE!!

Friday 25 March 2011

Are you sure?

He might not always wear the face you first saw,
In that sea of faces,
When you thought he was...other.
He might not even be wearing the mind he wore
Whe he told you that he loved you,
That time....
Before.
He might not even be the same man.
You thought,
I'm caught.
He's a wolf in sheeps clothing,
Always after,
And before.

Thursday 24 March 2011

Don't upset the Chef

My daydreams, well, least said the better I think!

Chef. Don't say we didn't warn you,
Please don't claim it isn't so,
You were caught on hidden camera
And you really have to go.

You were fiddling with his starters,
You were spitting in his soup,
What you did to his spaghetti
Made the Health Inspector puke.

Really! Just what were you thinking,
When you dropped that in the pan?
Did you think we wouldn't noticed
What you rubbed over the ham?

Not that anyone here blames you
Now we've found out what he'd done
But we really can't ignore the fact
You nearly killed his son.

Yes, perhaps the arsenic in the cream
Was not a good idea
Next time, better check who's eating what,
Before you interfere.

And we'll have those knives back thank you,
And that bag of you know what
And we'd recommend you leave right now
Before he has you shot.

Wednesday 23 March 2011

The Frontiers of Frustration

The frontiers of frustration
Can be weakened day by day
Until all the nagging doubts that bite
Have fallen by the way.

And then standing in a different place
With eyes unglued and bold
Unfurl those plans you'd put away
Your future is not told!!

Tuesday 22 March 2011

Anna goes to Grimney - continued

Anna's off and things are happening to her. I've decided to confine her to Grimney though, so if you want to find out what happens to her you can follow her adventures here.

Monday 21 March 2011

Anna goes to Grimney - Part 1

I can't keep away from The Land Of Grimney It's a land in slumber, waiting to burst into life. Go there, look around, sign up. Write something (I know I'm bossy but it's worth it)

Anyway, I've been motivated to write a tale. Here's the first installment, hope you like it.

Anna goes to Grimney - Part 1
Something tickled persistently against her nose and she sleepily waved her hand across her face to stop it. The tickle moved off to her cheek where it quickly became obvious that whatever it was had legs, and far too many of them.
Spider! The thought hit her feet first and dragged her body behind it almost as an after thought. Hands spasmodically patting her head and face as if putting out a fire she stumbled about, eyes clenched shut in case the spider tried to run into her eyes. She knew they could, she'd seen it in a documentary once.
'Oooohhhhhh!!'
She scrubbed at her eyebrows a few more times before risking a look in her mirror.
Her eyes were now wide open and she froze, and just stared.
That wasn't her bedroom wall. And that definitely wasn't her mirror.
She looked around. There was a her sized, body shaped indentation in the long grass nearby. She looked harder, as something shiny caught her eye. A broach. She picked it up. A silver willow tree. Pretty but not hers. Then she saw more spiders moving in the grass and hurriedly backed away.
Strange knotted trees grew to her left, grass and fields to her right. In the distance she could see mountains, purpled by distance. She turned. More gnarly trees.
She shielded her eyes against the sun. There was definitely a wooden fence over there though. Man made. Which meant there'd be people around here somewhere.
She breathed out, relieved. Anna knew she was pretty clever, her dad was always telling people. She's a good girl our Anna, got her head screwed on that one. Been smarter than me ever since she was little. Always beats me at University Challenge, haha!
That bit wasn't true. She'd got five questions right once which was, she knew, pretty good for 12; but she didn't mind her dad exaggerating. It made her feel good he was so proud. But she wasn't sure she was smart enough to work out what was happening to her now. She'd gone to bed like normal, well, a bit later than normal because her Uncle Mark and his strange new wife had come over; she'd read for a bit, gone to sleep and then woken up here, in her pyjamas. She was glad it was the long blue winter ones, the yellow ones would have been freezing! So, it was unlikely this was just a dream. No, impossible. She didn't have flu or take drugs so she probably wasn't hallucinating. Everything felt pretty solid, there was a sun, and a breeze.
So. Fact. Somehow she'd been transported from her bedroom to wherever here was in her sleep.
She shrugged, pinned the broach to the top pocket of her pyjama bottoms and decide to follow the fence for a while. She hoped that her dad hadn't discovered she was gone yet. He'd really, really panic. She started to trot. The quicker she found someone, found out where she was, the quicker she could get back home.

Sunday 20 March 2011

MarieAnne

This is a song that Simon and I wrote a while ago. Martin plays guitar on it and produced it.

Friday 18 March 2011

Kill you with Kindness

I don't want to kill you with kindness
I'd rather use poison instead
Or a gun or a knife would be almost as nice
Just as long as you ended up dead!

No, I don't want to kill you with kindness,
But I might use an axe in your head,
Just as long as it's painful and lasting,
Just as long as it's fatal and red.

So beware when you next see me smiling,
Don't believe that you're safe in your bed
It's a trick of the light
You won't run, you can't fight
In the morning my love, you'll be dead!

Thursday 17 March 2011

Like a Stranger at a Bus Stop

I sat in traffic today on my way to a meeting and watched for a few minutes, the interaction of a couple at a bus stop. At least, I imagined they were a couple. They didn't actually speak but he looked, she glared, they moved apart. He looked again. The bus came, and pulled away. He had gone but I could see her walking away from the bus stop. This is what I imagined he though as he sat on the bus, alone.


Like a stranger at a bus stop you looked at me,
Your rage obvious in your clenched shoulders,
Your silent mouth,
Your telepathic tantrum drumming in my head,
'don't make a fuss, don't embarrass yourself'.
Your eyes narrow like a lobster,
'You are less to me than dust'.
I open my mouth, to plead, to reason
But you are gone,
In a waft of perfumed air,
Face averted,
Like a stranger at a bus stop.

Wednesday 16 March 2011

The Land of Grimney

So, maybe I've been looking in the wrong places for the wrong things, who knows!
But suddenly, I think I've stumbled upon the right place.
Who knows whether it's got the right things, only time will tell.

http://www.thelandofgrimney.co.uk/index.php

I could tell it was the right place because it gave me that funny, strange, tight feeling in my stomach that looking at pictures of Nana Mouskouri with those glasses and her stern face used to. In fact, I just googled her to make sure I spelt her name right and guess what, she still makes me feel the same way. But that's probably another story. In fact, it's definately another story!!

The point I'm making, I think, is that my interest has definately been piqued. Heaven help those poor people of Grimney Land.

I can feel a short story coming on, back once it's over. Pass me a tissue.

Tuesday 15 March 2011

Cake

I remember being a girl in Lancashire. It was a happy, happy time! I was of the rosy cheeked variety of child, a little on the plump side I think, but that could just be my poetic memory playing tricks on me.

Oh, and how I remember the bakeries. In fact, happily, one still exists in the village where I grew up. Every time I go to visit my parents I make sure I visit the bakery to keep my memory refreshed. No one makes cakes like that!

Todays poem was written from the perspective of a 7 year old Lancashire lass. I hope you like it!!

CAKE

It weren't the very biggest, or the one with all the cream,
It weren't the one with icing, like a sculpture makers dream.
It weren't the one with marzipan or jam or strawberry flakes
But what it were, it were the cake he gave me by mistake.

'Cause what was this he passed across the counter like a twit?
Where was the sticky chocolate sauce I'd dreamt would cover it,
Where was the soft, warm sponge inside, where were the chocolate chips?
What sad and sorry disappointing anti-cake was this?

Not even one sad cherry sat upon it's flattened top
Where once the cherry'd sat was now a grubby, yellow spot,
And nowhere was there evidence of almonds or of jam
Just a dry and crumbling biscuit sat offending in my hand

'But Mr, that's the one I want, that strawberry chocolate one,
The one with all the icing, look, that lovely, sticky bun!!
Please take this back, it's horrid and think I see a hair
I really couldn't eat it if the cat has been back there!'

He looked at me with pity, I could see it in his face
He looked and me and then I knew I'd made a big mistake
With only 50p to spend such choice was but a lie
That's why the cake I left with was a badly made mince pie.


Monday 14 March 2011

Earthquake

Outside, the eye of the world blinked, and blinked again.
There came a sound from deep, deep, deep,
Like the tearing of centuries.
The oceans ran,
Heedless they flowed
Fleeing from the rippling, shaking, tearing
From deep, deep, deep.
The eye of the world, blinked.
It saw aeons and seconds intertwine.
Life flowed, and gathered and wept.
Again.
The eye of the world blinked,
And life carried on,
Brief, ephemeral, broken and beautiful.

Sunday 13 March 2011

Born to Work

I wasn’t born to work you know,
Not like a snail is born to slime,
Pecuniary incarceration.....
That should be a crime!


I don’t do any damage,
To your veggies or your greens
But I’m bound to work, not free to roam
I think it's quite obscene!




 
I wasn’t born to work you know,
I’d rather be a snail or slug
Inflated monthly targets
Don’t mean much when you’re a bug.


I know a slug is not a bug
So pedants please stand down,
Poetic license there I cite,
So loose that crazy frown!




I wasn’t born to work you know,
I’d rather be a flea
On second thoughts though
What I want
Is to be a work free me!

Saturday 12 March 2011

Look out there's a Monster coming!

Look out, there's a monster coming!

How do you know it's not already here?
Hiding in the skin of a politician,
Waiting for dumb prejudice to reappear.
Call it just a feeling or you'll call it just a notion,
Whatever you might call it won't be worth a damn;
Hear it lurking in the speech of a BNP child,
Calling to the heart of the weakened man.

But baby,

Don't heed the calling, deny it any audience,
Fight it in the bone, in the blood, in the head,
Deny it in the feeling, in the morning or the mourning,
Without our fear to feed it then it's already dead.

So,

Look out there's a monster coming,

Better get a weapon and the will to fight,
Look with your brain then with your eyes
And truth will usually follow,
And remember
Shun the darkness and embrace the light!

Friday 11 March 2011

Think before you speak

I opened my mouth and a foot fell out.
Again,
 I hadn't looked before I spoke.
If I'd been a car
You would have wrecked me,
Over a cliff perhaps, so you could watch.


Would I have eaten my own words as I fell?


I opened my mouth and a foot fell out.
I wish you'd used one on me,
Before I could speak,
Before I could....Well you know.


If I open my eyes now, will you have gone??

Thursday 10 March 2011

Useful

I want to do something that's brilliant,
That's splendid and marvellous and brave
I want to be more than the sum of my parts
Is there someone out there I can save?


Wednesday 9 March 2011

Blinkered Man

She saw his hunger
And fed him,
A morsel at a time.
Tiny crumbs from her table;
So small she hardly even noticed them.
Not him. 
To him
Ambrosia would have tasted sour by comparison.

A lapdog to his own ideals
Her reality was paler than the fantasy she was in his mind.

Oh blinkered man,
Her cunning has wrapped you in a perfumed deceit,
And robbed you blind.

So willingly he paid the price,
It finally meant as little to her as drowning puppies.

Too late, he saw, too late,
Where duplicity dripped;
What cruel manners she employed
To put him from his friends, his funds, his life.

But in willingly delivering to her, his heart,
He sealed his fate.
So blinded by his pointless tears he didn't seen the signs,
Or feel which way the wind was moaning.

In fact, so complicit was he in his own demise
He hardly even trembled as as she left him.


Tuesday 8 March 2011

Being Right

Unless you're right I can't be wrong,
Please darling, let's not fight.
Unless I'm wrong, but then you know,
My wrongs do make a right!


Monday 7 March 2011

Twitter on

D'you know, I don't think I can cope with much more excitement!

Having started this blog just over 3 weeks ago, and finding that I am having an almost improper amount of fun updating it, following links to other bloggers and stumbling around some wonderful websites; I now find myself suddenly imbued with a rash and hitherto unanticipated confidence in virtual me. I can do it! I exist, virtually as well as actually! And, after being gently guided by the invisible hand of self belief, I now find myself with a brand new Twitter account. I'm sure this is a good thing except that I don't understand what it's for, I'm not really sure that I need it and I'm absolutely certain that I don't know what to do with it!

I opened the account on Saturday. That bit was easy. I know my name and my email address quite well by now and submitting that information was the most challenging part of becoming a Twit. Some might argue that I've been a Twit all along; but then they would wouldn't they?

I've chosen my twitter name, or is it address? Regardless, I went with my name on the grounds that it is a) easy for me to remember b) easy for me to remember.

But now what? Well, I stared hypnotised at the ever scrolling roll of tweets that dribbled down the twitter.com screen for a couple of hours. As my brain started to melt sanity finally prevailed and I scrambled away to get some help.

Webdoctus is useful, Nerve  is useful AND funny!

So, after extensive research I now know that when I tweet I:
  • Must tweet to my audience (when I have one) on subjects both entertaining, interesting and relevant to them
  • Must follow and be followed (confusion, am I, or not?!)
  • Mustn't tweet too often
  • Mustn't tweet too infrequently
  • Mustn't just tweet about me, me, me!!! (oh dear.)
  • Must link to interesting things
  • Mustn't link to things that might upset anyone (oh dear.)
  • Must remember whatever I say can be read by ANYBODY on line. (again, oh dear.)

I know this is hard to believe, especially for those of you that have ever spent any time with me, but now I can't think of anything safe to twitter about! I really am a Twit (terrified what I twitter)

Oh well, let's hope my unconscious comes to the rescue before I twitter the wrong thing, at the wrong time, in the wrong way or I won't be a Twit for long!

Sunday 6 March 2011

Loneliness

What does loneliness sound like?
Like the quiet weight of a heavy hand stroking the silence and hoping for a sound.
Deny the empty space between, smile into the void and stand firm.
A soul is a soul and deserves to be seen,
Not hidden by a silent scream.




Do your bit to stamp out loneliness, smile at someone who needs it and listen out for the silent hellos.

Saturday 5 March 2011

Karaoke Poetry

What an exciting day! 

I have built my first karaoke poetry movie.
Well, I must admit I use the word movie in it's very broadest term! 
Sadly I didn't go to movie making school, or computer animation classes either.  
Consequently I have come to be rather better acquainted that I would like with the word 'compromise', especially when it comes to getting what I see in my head out through what I can actually achieve through my hands.
I'd be stunned and amazed (hint, hint) if someone would put something together that was visually, well, better!
The same goes to anyone that can set up some spooky sounds to go behind the words!!


I have many more items of Karaoke poetry waiting to be created - all advice and assistance gratefully received!!



A Change for the Better

Friday 4 March 2011

Being Alone

..............................
And now being alone causes infinite sorrow,
A ponderous torture known only to one;
Destroying her mind and corrupting her thinking
The joy of her happier life has all gone.

Because double edged silences cut in her daydreams,
A mouthful of whisky, she screams at the one,
At the memory of days when she should have known better;
But that's far behind her, the damage is done.

Now she's caught in a trap she created with cruelty,
Discarding her friends, living only for one,
Being stronger than all whilst inside she was crumbling;
Being needed so much...now the tears start to run.

For the love she destroyed with her stupid insistence,
'It doesn't mean anything, you're not the one.
I can live without needing that one special person.'
She was wrong, still she needs him;
The pain carries on.

Thursday 3 March 2011

Flat Pack

I'm caught in a wave of can't-quite-maybe
Brought on by a bout of  'someone save me!'
WHERE THE HELL DOES THIS LAST SCREW GO??

Wednesday 2 March 2011

George Cudmore

I cam upon this story when I was googling for poetry the other day.
I followed the first link that I found which took me to the Daily Mail website. Hmmm.
Not somewhere you want to be if you want actual facts.
So I investigated a bit more and found another link to the This is Plymouth website.
I seriously recommend that you read the Daily Mail article first, then go and read the one on the This is Plymouth website.
Then just have a little game of 'spot the difference' with yourself.
Moral of this story, the truth is out there, just not on the Daily Mail website!!



Brought to Book

He had a wife and loved her, maybe for a year or so,
Until Sarah came a calling, now poor Grace, she had to go.
Well it's a risky business murder, not as easy as you think,
But for Sarah's touch he'll risk it, for her skin that's soft and pink.
Why she wants him he can't fathom, not a handsome man is he,
But she loves him with her body, so by God he will be free!
Oh rat catcher George, he knows the score, with poisons he's the best,
But getting Grace to swallow some will surely be a test.
So he dribbled arsenic in her tea, it only made her ill,
When she cried in pain, to his damn shame, he fed her poisoned pills.
With a burning throat and a raging thirst still his dying wife fought on,
'til with growing fear and panic George did call on Sarah Dunn.
Came she shakily to her lovers aid, hiding deep her shame and guilt
To administer more poison hid in roasted fruit and milk.
Grace succumbed at last, but it was clear who'd done this dreadful thing,
And soon the pair were locked up tight, George a-feared they both would swing.
What a yellow toad, what an evil snake, Sarah's guilt he did proclaim,
Saying she alone did the curse'd deeds, he was innocent of blame.
But the truth did out and the judge decreed, she should live, and he would die,
And 'for a thousand cheering people bad old George was hung on high.
But now twists the tale in an eerie way, after many years passed by
Bits of George's skin, tanned and tidied up, caught a keen librarian's eye.
How this came to pass we might never know, but I'd recommend a look
At the killer who was caught and bound, and was truly brought to book.


Tuesday 1 March 2011

Magnificent Mechanic

This morning I had an early start.
I left my house at 6.15am and drove off to collect my friend who lives about 5 miles away from me. I was due to collect her at 7 o'clock and then collect another friend who lives 15 minutes drive away and then drive us all to a meeting in Woodford which is a further 2 and a half hour drive away.
Traffic can be bad so I left plenty of time..
I was, unusually 15 minutes early so I parked the car round the corner from her house and decided to wait for a few minutes in case she wasn't quite ready (I'm considerate like that!).
I turned off the engine and listened to the radio. Ten minutes passed.
I turned up the heating, turned the key in the ignition.....and nothing happened.
No, thought I. This can't be happening.
I drive a Toyota for goodness sake.
Reliability is it's middle name.
I got out of the car, locked it, unlocked it, put the key back in the ignition and tried again (No, I have no idea why I did this but it seemed like a good idea at the time!) Unsurprisingly this random action made no difference. Still all I heard was the deathly rattle of an engine singularly failing to turn over.
OK, now I'm about 5 minutes late. I'm parked round the corner, she can't see me. She doesn't know I'm here.
I'm on a schedule, my car won't start, it's stupid o'clock in the morning and I'm about as mechanically minded as a plant pot.
My mobile phone is in my hand. Who do I call first. My husband, who will be asleep and is 5 miles away? The AA, who will probably laugh? My friend? Argh.
And then, as panic is creeping clammily over my skin with each passing second, from a doorway somewhere out of sight behind me he comes. I see him in my mirror, an angel dressed in blue overalls and he's carrying a clipboard.
I leap from the car as he draws level to me, pouncing like a demented thing out of the early morning mist.
'Morning!' I bellow, doing my best to look both nonthreatening and desperate at the same time.
'I don't suppose you know anything cars do you?'
He smiles at me, 'a little bit' he says, and as he turns towards me I notice the SAAB logo in 6 inch high letters that is stitched to his chest.
Excellent, now I look desperate and stupid; must be his idea of a perfect start to the day!
But he is a GENTLEMAN!
He opens the bonnet, locates the battery, goes back to the doorway from which he emerged only moments before, and comes back with jump leads and a very professional looking red thing which I assume is a battery charger.
I scamper round the corner whilst he is doing his thing, grab my friend and as we return find he has breathed life into the silent heart of my lovely car.
The engine turns and we are saved!!!
We were tragically 20 minutes late for the meeting but this was due to the universe getting it's own back for this moment of joy and blocking the M25 with traffic for an hour.

So, I have no idea whether SAAB make good cars but I tell you this... they employ magnificent mechanics.
Not even Mr Darcy would have stirred my heart more.

Thank you Mr Saab, whoever you are, you saved the day!