talamh

threadbare flowery armchairs
dustbins of rice, wheat
and rows of vegetables
patiently waiting to be eaten.

two soggy dogs;
one frantic, one arthritic,  
and two wild wee children
with open imaginations.

little jack liked to hit
me on the head with his lego lid,
and roisin requested story after story,
until my narrative powers were exhausted.

there was one smiling, sweet-singing
expert wood-chopper, one hippy-fawn
housefather, with tail-like locks of knots
creeping down to the floor.

one artist, an apocolypitic-zine-creator,
one mother nature ... one father nature.
one liverpudlian lovely, ex-dancing
kundalini yoga, i ching enthusiast.

it breathes and creeks,
sowing seeds of active social change
for fifteen hours a week
(it's in the agreement that is!)

i learned to dig up potatoes
without breaking the skin
and fell in love with the yellow
buds of the courgette plant.

we drank fresh cammomile and peppermint
but no cows came home to a vegetarian household.
pulled weeds from strangling beds
of endless veg,

and when i needed a red onion for tea,
someone said "i'll just go get one from the garden, ey..."
surrounded by aged hippies, anarchists and activists,
folk from into the wild with nicknames like 'digger'.

i felt whole stinking of wet mud and wood smoke,
watching children play wearing only sparkly waistcoats!
whilst we picked wild strawberries,
her doll snatched white clouds from the sky
and used them for brainpower,

in this place pigeons learned to talk
so that they could join the circus,
and marigold the orange monkey
was in a fable with colour envy.

like cups of tea, much can be harmonised
by scottish raspberries, toasted oats and honey!

the battle of boredom

"the life of the creative man is lead,
directed and controlled
by boredom. avoiding boredom
is one of our most important purposes" 

saul steinberg

most times i just sit with my boredom,

side by side, palm in palm, cross-legged,
meditative in all weathers, and feel at peace.
but then there's moments when i'm off-guard
and caught short, you know those times?
times when your hectic schedule
sheds even you and leaves you behind to resort
to wishing that life was just a little bit
more fraught with conflict, because variety
is the spice of it, right?
and since it's widely known to fly
i find we frantically fill time
with the debris of life.
i've clung to slipstream antics,
i've swum like a chinook salmon
with the vast majority of the population
amongst the hurry of my current affairs,
whilst my creative lifeblood
bobbed fin-less and endangered.

yet in subsequent explorations and extractions
from the boredom compound, i discovered
that a timeless awareness can be found.
it only happens if you can open yourself up,
and adventure with a heart and eyes that can see
the manifold diversity, the options and beauty of possiblity.
can you wake up wonder-ful with the world
every day and go with a happy heart to wherever you need to be?
earn your daily crust doing what you love?
i'm talking the daily practice of protest dancing
in my case, reading books in my dad's, perchance.
it could be professional walking in my stepdad's
and ironically i think it's writing poems in my mum's. 

in this state people are different - focused,
immune to the room surrounding them,
keeping eyes steady on pieces or feet,
realising the importance of  
every move they make, and somehow intent:
as we all should be more often in life.
there we're unblinking, on a different level:
not escaping in drinking, drugs or addiction to
fallible notions of love.

it was then that i realised
that even doing what you love
gives rise to daily deaths,
the pain/pleasure opposition
and it's adrenaline.
any extreme sports enthusiast,
back-street-smackhead, domestic extremist or
religious fanatic can tell you that.

the human desire for escape
wears a vast array of well-worn capes,
and yet everything that glitters
isn't always gold, so we're told.
still, i love to live with my incessant inward
request for festivals, dimethyltriptamine,
revolutionary times, witches, wizards, hobgoblins
and other tomfoolery, cause somewhere over the rainbow
i've heard velvet-satin-rose-lovers swear
that pastel-coloured light beings make daisy chains
out of dark chocolate!

no-one wants the everyday,
so we sniff blank haze into breathing spaces,
fill voids with white light to feel heady delight
for a moment please. and a moment becomes a minute
and a minute a lifetime but what is time anyway?
the mysteries of the universe engage me
and cosmic pondering keeps me occupied with that one.

but some days i take an alternate tack,
eat banana after banana,
overdose on the dalai lama,
preach the daily practice of pranayama
and goodwill to all men, women and children!
on those days i'm walking, not on earth or air or feet
but replete with love!
and some days i still search, relentless,
for the astral plane.
my dance with boredom has many names. 
i say i want to live in natural time,
spend days in silence to clear my mind,
i even contemplate fasting, but unfortunately
never last much past midday!

some battle boredom with valiant charity
and work for the community;
another line of enquiry i
have tried from time to time.
because i'll have a go at each space,
every race, every pastime, hobby
or passion that's a passing fashion.
i've had interests coming out of my arse
for so long i identified with these words in shantaram,
"interested in everything but committed to nothing".

perhaps it's my age, flittering and fluttering like a
twenty-something butterfly. or maybe it's rage,
old rage turned into bored days, never surprised
by the money-grubby, tv-dumbing age i find myself in.
talk of finding ourselves is grim but makes me grin,
have we lost legs? toes? souls or a long lost twin?
it suggests a search for identity, meaning,
or more often, freedom. like the bluebells,
it floats away and we find ourselves amongst
waifs and strays, values kicked to the kerb,
nerves frayed by years
of searching for something -
but what was the question?

sometimes i request if i will please permit
myself to reject the big questions outright.
computer says no, like, philosophical thoughts spout
from my oesophagus unrequested
and sometimes i need a break.
so i'll take a break, but no kit kat thanks
(in fact, i'll have a yellow plum that smells of mud,
but you feel free, you see if you can feel free
whilst you nestle chocolate fingers
up your corporate bum, if you do so wish...)

no i'll never sit around, get fat on apathy
and boredom, but won't starve myself
for kicks and the media's mirror either.
i won't intoxicate my sacred self
but i will sometimes, because to deny
myself pleasure only delays it!
i'll let it come bubble up in cauldrons
commemorating the long-dead witches
of the women-hunt.

there are some thoughts i've dropped
and blocked for good, thank god.
my battle is now a dilly dally,
a pally little prancy dance with laughs most days,
'cause as my mum always said,
'only boring people say they're bored'.

i'll have fun. i'll have bucketloads of what i love 
'cos a bit of what you fancy does you good,
but i'll always try to balance it with acts of kindness.
i'll stare down the abyss and dive in with my arms open.
i'll do whatever i need to feel free in my lifelong
battle: peace versus boredom.

dimethyltryptamine

psychic raptures of half-closed holographic patterns
speak a silent theory of silver energy.

swirling light-beings touch and twirl, playfully unfurl
the soft-shaded mysteries of the universe.

an empty inner sky glitters before closed eyes, through
the window of my dream-state drift living sparks.

a smile of such peace creeps in and captures my face,
and it is my face but all the others besides.

it's the face of la que sabe (the one who knows), the divine mother,
the sons, the brothers, the sun's beams and earth's child.

the face of a million expressions directs their souls here
as their tranquility envelops and eases me.

i'm reluctant to open my eyes, but some ten seconds
or a lifetime later - BOOM (click),

i'm back in the room;
everything's different but almost the same.

el rio abajo rio

some sink there,
foaming, frothing,
betrothed to the beauty
so that the waking state
is bare as exposed bone.

some retreat there,
gasping, enraptured,
betrothed to their paradise found
so that the morning can only ever
be dead as colourless stone.

some disbelieve there,
rotting, scoffing,
betrothed to their reality
so that their every breath
gasps as an illness moans.

some simply see there,
appreciate, engergize,
betrothed to nothing,
so that their luz de la vida,
ever-present to infinity shines.

istan, andalucia

tiny white hillside dwellings, poised at altitude,
as though - like parachutes, they might take off.

their inhabitants periodically shed skin,
as cork trees, and reveal raw, red flesh.

i imagine them sitting at rest, eating bitter,
black balls submerged in jars of sea,

sharing bottles of wine where bits of
those same trees reveal raw, red 

and the sound of flamenco music.
as i walk, i ponder the arid dust

and musk of these red hills,
think of istan as a place of wanderlust.  

shiva nataraj

(the goddess whose cosmic dance sustains the universe).

she holds the elements in her fingertips
there live creatures of the deep
in the moon's glow of her stomach.

she sees eyes in trees and green
reflected in the night sky
as pastel light-beings of energy .

she feels the saline ocean at her core
the mountains above are her lungs
her limbs are no more.

she is tangled beautifully in branches
as hips swing in the breeze
her essence in nature is freed.

her skin is made of the sand
and the sand is the stars
she feels each glisten on water.

a hair on her neck is a blade of grass
she holds snail-ears to the earth
and listens, listens, listens.

if we had never left

If we had but never left this room
how much would not exist to us.

If we had scarcely space or time
what would such beauty mean to us?

What love could we feel but
for one and another?

What skies but stark white,
sunrise of yellow light?

Without earth to feel between toes
we would have only the wiles of tiles,

extracted and manufactured,
in our minds like the birds and the bees.

There nails on cotton sheets
reverberate in silent souls.

If we had but never left this room
this is all that we would know.

nature-lover

bridleway veins, the path to his heart
lips are bowed like humble ploughs
my stomach full of love rumbles.

hilly cheekbones synchronise
form green-brown contours
beside peat-bog eyes.

grassy hair is overgrown
at home in the wilderness;
a kinked, not hostile environment.

brown-bowl eyes are shining earth,
sun reflected in mud, and a small
archipelago of muscle at the elbow.

it's the shape of a kidney bean.
two dots, 'x' marks the spot
underneath each bog.

but where are the fault lines?
i suspect they lie with the land,
just short of blood ties.

he came to me from the forest
with firefly eyes so deep to hold
a cup of my moonflower-love.

more owl eyes, woodland creature
life. are they a conduit?
contradiction or compass point?

he will forage in the forest
flying into flurries of firewood
and food. i will indulge,

smother myself in scottish
strawberries and soil, learn the
practical skills of co-operative toil.

see his sharp shins, see his
tender thighs, oh! see me sigh!
he has orange leaves for eyes

and a purple swirl at the
stomach. his mind crackles,
each brittle leaf an idea,

cherished but rejected in the end.
blobs of autumn mustard
scatter energies in every direction.

we have the sensation
of those leaves, caught on
a crisp, woody breeze.

he came to me from the forest,
lucky for us we're both
tangled in branches.

off with her head!

how many women have wished
worse tortures upon their sisters?
many more men besides,
from aescetic aeldred to henry 8th,
elfin beauty punshed by death.
severing, he strung the holy head
of halifax to the yew tree. fastened
by it's own shining tresses, he fashioned
a warning to mother shipton's. the
witch-hunt, or should i say woman-hunt?

the 'they' complex

in my hometown, there is
a vertiginous green finger
which swears at foreigners
as they arrive.

the locals once dubbed it
'the tower of spite'
and it seems that they are
still quite right.

it was of course, fine,
when migrants were
shipped in - but only
for the night shift, love.

now the bnp are on
the rise,  and
it's not quite right
'poor hometown plight'!
that 'they' have got all the jobs.

the daily grind

in this room they all sit
clucking in cliques,
repeating the same shit
week after week.

someone's nicked my cup again!
as if the world might end,
and time after time,
they refuse you a smile.

they clutch misery to their chests
like textbooks,
the young ones are
actually the worst.

still twisted up by teenage tantrum
and bitchy comments,
which are a bit rich, to be honest,
coming from them.

from school to the staff room
and some stay here forever,
it's particularly painful today.

i sit in my windowless room,
the artificial light like 'cynthia',
reminds of the first artificial form of life,
created in america last night.

yet even here, i feel energy like
moving music, bubbling, rising,
effervescent as the fields, the hills
and the sunshine outside.

i might just go and do a sundance,
sticking two fingers up through the window
and smiling at everyone in sight!

a tragedy this morning

basking in the warm blast of my hairdryer, i observed her,

peacefully buzzing, juddering, low-flying.

i smiled from a happy heart, 'this space is equally yours',

i thought, proud of my own generosity.

i would not have fought to rid the room of you, small creature.

i would not flee; a fearful, irrational human.

i felt love for you from this pantheist heart i have,

before i went back to the warm blast of my routine.

i was disturbed by the sound. an electric-sizzle,

a juddering, low deathly buzz, sinister in it's similarity.

i was immobilised for a (dramatic pause) moment,

before i flicked the switch. in silence, listened to her twitch.

i hurled an expletive at the god of small things.

i was torn in two - to before and after almost certain death!

i witnessed a tragedy this morning. whilst i was yawning

her brain was flicking switches, off, one at a time.

i decided to stand back, at least until i had to leave for work.

i said a little prayer for her that she would fly again, took

a look at her resting place - shocked to find a brother or sister there.

i said a little prayer for them for the third time lucky.

as i basked in the warm blast of my hairdryer once more,

i observed my thoughts on this incident.

i worried that this would set my day off on the wrong foot(!)

along with bad hair days and getting out of bed on the wrong side.

hot air swiftly blew away my sadness and i almost forgot entirely.

until the noise again ... bzzzzz bzz bzzzz bzzz bzzz.

she was ever more juddering in her rumbling bumble!

i gave a round of applause for this miracle,

and went back to my hairdryer.

festival-love

can be found in the 70% cocoa, dark chocolate
that we ate with magic mushrooms yesterday.
it's in the prisms and patterns of kaleidsoscopic
colour that we splatter with mud for extra effect.
it can be found in the satisfyingly round, spiral sounds
as we contemplate science in frantic ecstasy.

epiphany, anyone?! entangled particles describe
our hearts and we were all created from stardust!

it's there in the dancing and panting,
the prancing with earth between exultant toes
as there we stand, foot to foot with those
toes we love. shrunken amongst tall trees
and mingled sweat, never regretting
the sweet scent of you and i.

the joy of three days without washing,
and i still 'see' you, as though for the first time.
the sleep in our eyes crystallising,
our mud warrior stripes;
my dirty knickers are in a twist for you, as ever.
your mischievous eyes are fireflies in the festival night,

reflecting light displays of enchanted forests, more eyes,
grass-green seas and purple skies.
like plain paper, morning rain washes
away the excess of yesterday.
i can't say i feel fresh as such,
but you are the freshness.

no matter what playful concoction i ingest with you,
i never lose my grip on the space-time continuum.
"have you seen a bunch of old hippies
in 3D glasses mate?" he's obviously trippin',
but i wonder why we bother - wide-eyed
with love as i am, anchored by alice in wonderland.

small, decorative objects

I have an unhealthy obsession
with small, decorative objects.
Quirky, artistic; with patterns
intrinsically pleasing to the eye.
They extract a pleasant sigh.

Such superfluous items worry me.
I'd like to survive on only what I need?
Images of children with distended
bellies rat-a-tat-tat in my head,
knocking on the guilty door,

I know it is not the desire for
a fat car, cigars or Beluga caviar,
but my addiction holds it own vanity.
Disparity is debatable, always.

It's the box the cigars came in,
made into a bag.
It's the girl smiling in sepia,
from the hood of a classic car,
in an antique photograph.

I don't know her. She's no relation
besides the quaint sisterhood of
my love learned from books on
compassion. I liked the way
the light fell on her 40's pin curl,
 was appreciative of the sly curve of her lips,
her promising hips, all fashioned in
a cupid's bow.

I have so many small objects,
trinkets; I am a secret delinquent.
A collector of detail professing
simplicity, simultaneously
hoarding a trove.

how to be an old-school consumer

pick each item up,
shake it, stretch it, test it.
hold it up to the light
check for holes or stains
and extort a discount
on force of pain.
let the shop assistant tut,
sigh, roll eyes to the sky,
or maybe she'll cluck -
proud of the display of
bargaining skills, which she
had thought lost.
at all times barter!
hark back to a world with
-out tills and microchips,
when coffers were filled
proffering goods or services
direct. buy only secondhand,
but not just vintage ladies!
get stuck in to rooting,
searching and looting,
not that i'm suggesting theft
(well, maybe from tesco's!)
steer clear of banks
as much as you can,
avoid the mobile phone,
and watch only re-runs of
very old programmes.
be at home in your own
old clothes and those of others.

sports and social club

the union jack flaps in the sunday breeze,
it's threadbare and almost transparent.
next door, the roof is lower than the rest
and 'this building has 24 hour CCTV'.
it's a private club - members only,
and the members are smokers.
fag ends float in brown foam,
preferring the drain to the ashtray.
it houses the three-fold joy of quiz, bingo
and races on thursday nights.
it's here you'll find the disco,
and live sport on the big screen.
an escapee blinks his way out
wearing a t-shirt: 'if found, return to bar'.
he asks 'what're you doing, love?'
and i chance a truthful answer.
'there's nowt creative to be found
in there', he snorts,
as he steps inside the house next door.

still life at tan hill

just after sunrise, in the sticky sweetness of a tent for two.
there'll be no need for an umberella this weekend.

the remanants of a fire; burnt carrot coals cooled to ash
and smouldering with memory.

memories of kinks of ink black hair and careful caresses,
of drinking cammomile tea with the stars,

these two seekers of secrets and lovers of solitude;
settled, for a weekend in wilderness.

surrounding green envelops, an ampitheatre for peace
and new love. there are only the bleats of sheep for company

and the landscape is bleak, and beautiful, but never, ever twee.

harvelin park, stoodley pike

would this stone-finger waggle if it could?
residing as it does atop lumps and bumps
that cry out to be discovered, covered
in boot-clad feet, made for walking in bogs.

the standing statues magnificent,
juxtaposed with the tractor-hum
at seven pm on a sunday evening;
stillness and movement is simultaneous.

there's an aged house here on the hill,
where he peeled damp,
flowery wallpaper as a child,
found expletives hurled at the walls.

who would scatter swear-words
at the inanimate?
take the time to inscribe
them in fat black pen?

in the shadow, stansfield view.
cold coats and white cells
quarantined madness,
but when was it catching?

such black histories lodged in the hillside.
the toy-town homes are sore in the
twilight sun, such man-made creations
unwelcome in nature.

in the morning, you hear nothing
but the birds,
and his mother's
roses really are my favourite scent.

salento

a stop sign advances
by the power of unison.
abstract wings are
cock-eyed and ramshackle.
libertarian-crows fly
across the stage,
where a back arches
like a vicious bridge
(not made for crossing).
that same spine
is a shoal of fish,
creating time
for spiral highs
as salento lifts.

distance

above,


your full weight
brought to bear
upon me, who is
a 'delicate creature'.

even as you
lay     there,
i feel you

disappear

inwards, folding
like a sphere.

this fear
becomes
and grows
and can
go nowhere
in this L-shaped room.

L for love                
becomes one I         
and another,             r
yet you're just          e
around the               n
                          c o r

he burrows a hole,
head bowed
into myths and
literary criticism.
i want to ask,
'what have you found?'

but my words are
dr
       ow
             ne
                    d
in self-sabotage.
it's that damned
vishudda again.

i need to scream
and gargle
with salt-water,
sing a song
to the oceans
and splurt
hurt into sinks.

this poor frog                    s
in my throat;                    t
time and again               a
have i washed              o
him away,                   l
but the bloody thing  f

the strangled kitten
manifests as laryngitis
and ineptitude of
expression.                      
i may be sensitive,               v   e
but i don't want to call it  o         r.

little worlds

my rasping heart
clasped one hundred pictures,
but observed them not.

my skinned pink feet
sought just one kindred soul,
but touched it not.

my wavy fingers
grasped one thousand treasures,
but freed them not,

and then i saw
all within and without,
for a timeless second

and i needed not
to clasp, seek or grasp anything,
within this mikros cosmos.

midnight cowgirl

positioned between two mirrors,
she observes a warped vision;
there's two of her,
twelve fingers and three noses.

she rocks back on hardened heels;
shorn with contact, cracked and fraught
in contrast to the sheet -
which is virginal, in non-judgement.

she strokes it's cotton-skin 
long before the lines creep in,
but bloodstains still flower,
spreading sordid tye-dye across the bed.

faint grey lines emerge and
she picks up a rubber,
but the lines remain,
persistant grass stains or period knickers.

her voice withers with
explanation as the mirror
beckons; she is resting-less
for the lack of the lotus.

i suppose it's a question
of freedoms exchanged,
peeling the onion, layer after layer,
crying out freeing fears
but weary woe betide her;

for i wonder what we will find
when she is all gone?

lotus flower

just call me nymphaea (or ms nelumbo, if you please!)
under favourable circumstance, my seeds
remain viable for as long as 300 years ...
even when recovered from a
barren lake-bed in china, i thrive.
i am the aquatic perennial;
ever fertile, and emerging baptised
and disguised as a mermaid.
how strange to be the lofty lotus;
sacred with sexual purity and divine beauty,
it's petals unfold like lovers souls'
alongside one another, in perfect unity. 
i like the anecdote about growing from the earth -
that my flesh and blood will return to mud
is certain, but meanwhile,
i will try my best to make a pretty seat
for the feet of deities.

a riddle-poem

they decorate oreilles;
snail negatives of open space,
in which the tunnel funnels down
in sound.

like dream-catchers,
these dangly apparatus
capture secret worlds
for little girls,

and twirling them
between fingers
is somehow
always comforting.

plain paper

i love to write poetry on plain paper,
i find it more natural
to create on this fresh slate.

and you are a human being
in plain paper form,
with the rare simplicity

of nourishment without the adornment
of sweet decorative barriers,
all the better to contain me with.

fences, hedges and pledges of allegiance
all melt, there are no taboos
between me and you.

it's exponentially true
that i could observe the freedom of this
woodland creature for time immemorial.

the beauty of blank paper again,
the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
and the unconditioned energy of touching souls.

seekers of secrets and solitude

Kinks of ink black hair frame his face on blue air.
I embrace the teeth and scratches of carnal rapture,
the skin of secrets, the green itch of acts and
silent pacts witnessed by the wind today.

In an isolated ampitheatre; with only the bleats of
sheep to break solitude and submersion in
each other. The sides of the valley rise like new love,
enclosing and unfolding with the fear of feeling.

On occasion, we run to the top in opposite directions,
but we return to the idyll to un-eat the ancient fruit.
We are seekers of knowledge and wisdom,
yet know that we know nothing, so do not worry.

We drink cammomile tea with the stars;
talk of past loves and outdoor poos.  I find
solace in brown owl-eyes, dusted with dusk
and the lust of libertarianism.

Within the sticky sweetness of a tent for two,
beads of sweat adorn him. With each one another
necklace of love forms, but why decorate that
delicate spot with chains?

Some freedom can be found in reins and the
tender pain of change. In the highest pub in england
I have enormous wings. I laugh that the table is
too large, too much space between me and thee.

Before momentary seclusion even from you,
surreal time-space perception and a snag
as I sense your unrest. You have descended
into the abyss, where I can see nothing.

Nothing but you, shape shifter, as
chamelion-like you reflect light.
We light fires, the archetypal chamber
of mystery for us seekers of secrets.

The caramelised coals look good enough to eat
and I long, long for something sweet ...
Yet hold back - must be careful - as sure as I can,
that those crackling coals don't burn my new tongue.

the forest and the mirror

below the reflection room lies the forgotten forest,
with it's ruined walls and closed doors,
which if tempted to open, might force you to fall
for a floor or two.

from red brick to blue paint as buildings revised,
it's a sombre sight, and such feats (whilst great)
have not quite halted the roots
which took hold when we were not watching.

their secret beauty takes tiredness away
and returns with wonder. inside,
the swedish girl finds the same wonder in
my wavy fingers - we're jigsaw people.

i linger upon strands of stray hair,
escapee spaghetti flees the window-frame.
i take on the role of cartographer,
trace map lines of veins and marvel in shame.

i see strong calves and feel thick skin like set jelly,
it's comforting, but my throat is exposed.
there is confusion in my right leg and
clarity in my left arm,

but the two can never meet in the middle?
instead, i swing between, a pendulum, as ever.

sighing with this i visualise
the city-forest outside,
i could kiss that freedom -

flying down from the third floor,
and i'm in just the right mood to
join jungle heathens.

love and chaos

despite chaotic appearance,
love reigns in this cruel cosmos
of lovely chaos,
and what complex chaos
this cruel existence is -
though my whole heart
does love it!

animalistic tendencies

are we but earthly creatures, beasts and straw dogs?
subsumed by a cycle - are we savages who bite
when pushed, and slice through love with our carnal lust?

can we unwind? unravel the bind between love and disgust?
the physical impulse of sweat and scratched chests,
as i find clumps of hair in my hands afterwards, and wonder,

where did that come from?

in those kinks of ink black hair i grasp traces of darkness,
i grow claws when you are near, enjoy the fur and teeth
of beneath, and twinkle-smile at my sexual aggression.

i see forests and sinister, crackling branches as home -
a place to make your body my own
for a molten moment.

i delight in the reflection of vicious teeth
dipped in stringy saliva, not sure if they're yours or mine,
but i share your desire for soft flesh to sink them in.

all i can visualise are
dead rabbits dragged in by the cat,
but who's going for whose jugular, i ask?

i tear at your hair like the banshee i am
and howl, a whirling dervish of
extremity, exalted for the present
in teeth-baring depravity.

fear, feeling, fate?

a few hours in and i'm tapping
the shell for weak spots,
leaning in, peering round
at kinks of ink black hair
and brand new stubble.

i have a red chin
and fear trouble ahead,
as i indulge in
bowl-eyed-beauty
of animalistic tendency.

i'm sorry that you seem to find a bind,
do you see reference points on a map
as a trap? i thought it was the kind of
thing you'd like - being practical
and enjoying detail, and fact somewhat.

there's a road sign we all slide behind:
it says no entry, roman sentry at the gate,
but like me you don't believe in fate, as such,
but what is, is, as lemn says
and we thought as much.

if i'd been alone i would've stayed,
followed the light, zoned in, got shot of ties
and reference points, pins in a map
can dangerously alter the course of flight
in spite of independence.

it itches like freshly cut hair
on the back of the neck to admit,
and i resist the comparison to
samson and delilah,
choice, i repeat as a mantra.

'the leap of faith without fear
requires relinquished attachment to result'.
i prise my fingers apart -
remind me that i don't own them!
a borrowed body shudders

and what strange creatures we are?
can't we let go of the stories we're told
and create our own?

i fear you're searching for a truth
you will not find, sir,
not in socialism or free parties or straw dogs.

is there more to life than death as it is?
let's not comfort ourselves in philosophy,
cast off the blanket of ideology,

let's remain unwrapped
entreating lines of logical
time space, space time
to spin behind, in front, upside down,
and all around in a circle.

a perfectionist, yes, but you'd do well
to end the embargo
on public displays of affection.
loosen the fingers from a clenched fist,
i'll help with the rest.

a beginning should be unspoilt;
so please, let's not let it be soiled
by reticence.

the sadness of a single line

I was a full-time waitress. It was an interesting learning curve.

One particular day, I was observing the behaviour of rain. I watched it score liquid lines on the white-blue wash of glass walls between me and the world. All day it poured, not dripped; glib watery onslaught. In memory, it appeared slow-motion like liquid methane on titan - a byword for boredom. Through the sheen, a samaritan sought shelter under the white outdoor arcade.

Silver-haired, he flopped on the chair to eat chips. They looked salty, warm and dry with grease. He seemed tired, grateful and cold with rain. Cue wringed hands and a pained expression. Boss gave the nod and looked on expectantly. He was the kind of restaurateur we all abide. A stereotype: inflated stomach and ego, misogynist, and lacking human warmth. As server, it was my job to rid our chair of the customless bottom.

Reluctantly, I sidled up to the elderly gent. I did ask him to move and for this I repent. I blamed it on the boss - claimed higher power, peaceful sneaky flower (I am, I am!)  Cue wringed hands and pained expression, crease upon crease stacked slow and year upon year of "Well I never, flower! Whatever happened to the milk of human kindness, eh?"

I strode back in to the soundtrack of a million raindrops, scoring liquid lines on the white-blue wash of glass walls between me and the world. 'Never again', I shook my head. For this, I will never repent.

broken rope swings

the frayed blue undulation is weightless,
on a trip back and forth
in seamless swing.

the pregnant breeze brings life lines,
and i'm aware of this about my neck
as i remember death.

the broken rope swing is bittersweet and
branchless; tied to the tree as it is, in a
footnote to freedom.

the click

"good day everybody! my name's hamish and i'll be leading your tour of the royal botanic gardens today. beautiful day for it too, ye little buggers ... s'not like this on ma days off!" esme smiled at the freckly specimen of scottishness before her. it was a beautiful june day, sun high in the sky and all thoughts of exams were far behind her now. it was the end of her first year as a philosophy student at the university of edinburgh, and she had been meaning to visit the gardens for months. esme loved the rich history of the city, and here it was again in all it's finery.

she lolloped along languidly behind the group, tuning in and out of hamish's dialogue at random. esme was stunned by the blossoming bounty surrounding her - huge, white orchids, gigantic, rich green amazonian lilies ... and a 200 year old west indian palm tree, planted in an elegant 1850s glass topped palm house. it was like stepping to another spot on the time-space continuum, and she had the unsettling feeling that this place existed in another dimension. 'too many books!', her mum would say, 'i knew that studying philosophy would do her no good, she could barely keep one foot on the ground as it was ...'

and it was true. esme felt that if she concentrated hard enough, she would banish the entrance of the west gate on arboretum place, and find herself out in the depths of the amazonian rainforest somewhere. she breathed in the multitude of scents and stopped still to soak in the diverse shades of green surrounding her. allowing one thought to cast out all others, she wondered along, 'green, green? was it really green? was it all even really there at all?' as she did so, she slowly became aware that she was being watched. it's strange how our instincts can tell us what our physical senses do not. it was a curly haired bloke with fascinating brown eyes. kind of serious, but with a mischievous twinkle at the same time. he was wearing a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches - very history teacher circa esme's school days. in fact, he particularly reminded her of one such, favourite history teacher. 

"hello. amazing, isn't it? i'm not much of a botanist but i really do appreciate the beauty of it all. and pavilions and glass everywhere too, it's all rather grand ..." esme felt instantly intrigued. she was a great believe in speaking to strangers, took pride in the pure joy of it. unexpected alliances were always the most interesting, and as for social convention, well it was a knackered old concept that sucked all the fun out of living. just then, hamish butted in, bounding along enthusiastically and ushering them towards the rest of the group.

"come on ye stragglers, we haven't even seen the wee chinese garden yet ... get a shifty on eh!" the two grinned conspiratorially and obediently followed. the air between them was no longer empty, and esme knew that mystery fella with the brown saucer bowls for eyes was equally as aware of this as she was. well what the hell, a thought crossed her mind, a sordid fling with a history teacher to round off what had hitherto been a somewhat disappointingly rebellion-free year. hopefully he was married, kids, the whole shebang. esme smiled in shock at the lowlands to which her own mind could descend. elevated examinations of the concept of colour one minute, sexual deviance the next ...

"so, my name is rory, what's yours? to whom do i have the pleasure of speaking? and what do you get up to edinburgh? you're obviously not local..."
"my name's ana", said esme, "ana-maria. aspiring painter, sculptor and printmaker. currently pathetically penniless. born and bred in yorkshire, but of brazilian heritage". bloody hell, esme blanched at her own fictitious tongue. it had grown legs all of it's own in this game she occasionally played - creating characters, acting them out with people she hoped never to meet again. it had only backfired once before, but in a fairly hideously embarrassing manner. a look of surprise crossed rory's face, and esme quickly returned the question,
"and you rory? what do you, 'do with yourself', in edinburgh? you are obviously scottish, that's a lovely soft edinburgh accent if ever i heard one."
"i'm an antiques dealer. or perhaps that might be stretching it somewhat. i have an antique shop which might otherwise be known as a junk shop. it's just off prince's street. it's an aladdin's cave - full of curiosities for the inquisitive. had it for about 6 years now, but unfortunately, it too leaves me pathetically penniless. we lovers of art are doomed to this i think". esme inwardly grinned in anticipation, there was actually nothing she loved more than a rummage in a junk shop. being a great appreciator of the weird, the wonderful and anything olde worlde - time spent in the dusty enclaves of such cluttered shops was something she treasured. indeed, she thought she knew and had visited the shop he was talking about, though she had definitely never seen him there before. perhaps he was lying too. perhaps he really was just a history teacher. perhaps she had finally met her match in the lovely world of lying for ones own entertainment.

the tour continued but they had little chance to continue their dialogue, such was hamish's insistence upon group cohesion and the undivided attention of all it's members. however, when they reached the gates on west arboretum place, esme no longer wanted them to disappear into a whirl of south american jungle. she was now taking with her some new, somewhat tribal desires concerning the curly top in front of her. mumbled suggestions of coffee on his part and fluttered eyelashes on hers, took them towards city cafe.

"it's where irvine welsh drank coffee and wrote trainspotting, you know", smiled esme. the cafe represented an altogether different side of edinburgh, one of contemporary note, she supposed. esme had read the book, had loved the characters and observed startling similarities between herself and the anti-romantic renton, who was in fact, it seemed, a huge romantic at heart. dislocated, dis-enamoured and dishonest, esme found herself afloat on the waves of a life in which she lacked identification with anything much.

the existentialist romantic is a terrible type, and makes for an altogether painful experience. alright, so she wasn't a smackhead, but apart from that, she'd backed herself into a pretty similar psychological corner. despite the fact that she could observe this, esme still seemed utterly unable to find the 'click' that would drive her past this 'giving up point'. if only paolo coelho had provided a method; a tangible, results-driven mode of interrogation into finding the evasive sticking point.

"really? interesting ... never read the book myself. got the impression it was all misery and drug addled lunatics. would've spoiled my notions of old fashioned scottishness. i steered well clear to be honest". rory's answer was intelligble, and made perfect sense in the context of his seeming infatuation with nicety and antiques. his voice was gravelly smooth with a whispering lilt and he gave the impression of one who enjoyed the finer things in life, finances or no finances. esme yawned and ordered a coffee from the tired looking, pierced and aubergine-haired waitress.

sitting opposite rory, drinking her strong cappaccino (no chocolate) and posing as ana-maria that afternoon, esme was numb. she had felt more back in the botanical gardens, when she was surrounded by plant life. if only she could let go of her attachment to an inflamed world. all the way down the royal mile she had been exhilerated, passionate, loving of life in all it's wondrous variety. she'd spotted troops just back from iraq or afghanistan, with harassed girlfriends and kids trailing along behind their mirage. there were canadian tourists, bickering couples, two girls with the long, lean elegant limbs of dancers and faces like expensive cats. on that short walk, underneath rare blue skies and with a stranger at her side, esme had felt in love and at peace with the world. but love for an inflamed world steeped in the heightened anticipation of pleasure was not true. even esme knew this. 

exhausted by her own exhileration, she now stirred out the swirls from her good cup of coffee and wondered where that sense of well being had evaporated to. she failed to see the person sitting opposite her, though rory believe that he saw her. she had a freckle underneath each oval eye and a toffee colour complexion. she was exotic and manipulative, with a stunning sense of self-assuredness.

to him, 'ana-marie' was the archangel of feminine mystique, descended from the synchronicity of escape from his girlflriend's boring choice of destination. edinburgh ... antiques ... he might wear tweed but history was not one of his strong points. more of a persona he had adopted since realising that lovely literary girls always love a period drama. rory had ditched elaina dusting off books in the ridiculously named 'unicorn antiques', and was now entirely arrested by the momentary magic of this brazilian beauty.

"you can really see the hispanic heritage in you, ana. i can just imagine you dancing the night away in rio ..." murmured rory, in what he believed to be a seductive tone. esme blanched, the reminder of her lie and his convoluted notions made her feel slightly and suddenly, quite claustrophobic. 
"just popping to the ladies rory. be back momentarily. keep my coffee warm, and if the waitress comes over - get her to bring me a glass of decent red wine too. i think it's time for a drink drink" in this way, she excused herself from the red diner-style seating (american influence - city cafe - why had she never observed this before?). once downstairs, esme sat for several minutes staring at posters on the back of the toilet door. the band on later sounded interesting. they were called 'king charles' - apparently some kind of art-school pirate boy with huge hair and a propensity for falling-over during performances. esme absent-mindedly kneaded the purple flower-bruise upon her left thigh, the slight pain was satisfying.

she might come back tonight for the gig, but for now she slipped out quietly behind rory's unsuspecting back. the air was definitely empty again, and whilst unexpected alliances might be the most interesting, this was turning out just as tired as the last one. esme, too, was tired. 'interesting? interesting? was anything really that interesting?' she pondered. perhaps esme had finally found the click? the thought did cross her mind briefly, as she placed one foot in front of the other and focused on home. this was a doubtful turn of events, dear reader - but entirely possible of course...

the sweet taste of

today really was a beautiful train journey ... and so good to see the sea! i miss the water. the sea and the sun are important to me. my mind is half still, soothed by the rhythm of the train and exhausted by exhileration and adrenaline, but it's also half racing along - racing along with the scenery and enamoured with life and love!

this life is such a joy eh. there's a noisy hen party, soldiers just back from afghanistan, crazy fighting families and canadian tourists ... all right here, on this train. all walks of life in all their wondrous variety! i've also found out that the girls sat opposite me are returning from a dance audition in edinburgh. of all the people to be sat with! magical synchronicity, reminds me that the door to carriage f stopped directly in front of me ...

i am the smiliest public transport passenger! truly in love with everything and everyone! so appreciative of being alive! i am returning home in a crazy yet contemplative mood. the next phase of my personal legend is beginning. the brown saucer eyed beauty is but one more inspiration! a cosmic gift to keep me on my fully extended toes!

it's always the way i suppose. the unpredictable and intriguing nature of the art of living. there is always more to learn, always another enriching challenge, and anything is possible. so bloody much to be joyous about!

fond farewell

my final shift at himmat was a bittersweet parting, forced simply by lack of hours in my days and weeks at present. i really didn't want to leave. in all honesty, the whole thing has never seemed much like work. i've met many beautiful people - a diverse set of characters, from the youngest child to the eldest of the organisation. the kids have been brilliant, and i leave with so many wonderful memories of my short time there. many an evening covered in paint, refereeing arguments over the pool table, and drinking copious amounts of tea with my fellow youth workers. two in particular, will be friends for life.

not only have i laughed, learnt and loved during the time spent between these four walls, but i have discovered a new way to live. i have grown, become much less selfish, and finally understood that for me, when it comes to making a positive contribution, it really all starts with the next generation. they inspire me; through them i have rediscovered my own inner child. yesterday, i was touched to receive their goodbye cards, with such lovely spelling mistakes as 'good luck in your egsam miss izzy'. it also tickled me to notice that the other izzy (the male, bearded, muslim one!), had insisted that they all address their cards to 'ms' instead of 'miss' or 'mrs'.

i remembered fondly, an event from the previous week. one particular girl had been reading to me from an english translated version of muslim stories for children. suddenly, she stopped and asked, 'do you like the qur'an miss izzy?' i had to admit that, no, i had never really read the book to be honest. 'what do you read then?' she continued, 'the holy bible?' i shook my head again, no, and answered that i wasn't really religious, although i did quite like parts of the bible and had read it from time to time. the little girl looked utterly shocked, 'not religious? what do you believe in then?!' i said what i believe, which is both everything and nothing - translated to the statement that god is everywhere to me. having no particular name, religion, stories, but being all around us and in us at every moment. she looked intensely relieved, as though i had just been saved from hellfire by the skin of my teeth. 'ah, that's ok then miss izzy, you're right. god bees everywhere'. if you don't come across little kids of pakistani heritage and their slang often, that will be lost on you, but trust me, it was the most adorable thing ever...

so back to the last shift and after work we went for a meal, where i was shown photos of the wedding of my boss neelam's cousin. it had been ongoing for what seemed like weeks, and i was reminded of the cultural diversity and insight into what can seem a somewhat closed community, that i had experienced through working there. despite believing myself to be utterly non-judgemental when i began, i had to admit that the last six months had still provided a steep learning curve. they found me a curiosity, and i them. i loved to hear about their traditions and felt privileged to be included. when neelam said i could join in with the preparations for her wedding, whenever that may be, i was somewhat overwhelmed! a week of practising dances long into the night and elaborate rituals involving covering her in some kind of turmeric paste ... bizarre and brillianT!

i will really miss that place.

characters

i treasure characters:
the joy of eccentricity and
the quirks of unique beauty.
the saffron-robed, shoeless monk
in yorkshire november.
i always remember him
and his echoed reflection.
pete the feet and in turn
a lion-maned one
casting the cloak of
the image in rejection.
their rejection of comfort inspires
and souls reside on the other side
of the thin blue line.
they are questionners.
characters as questionners.
they wander freely as clouds,
through tree-tops
without clocks or any awareness of time,
and a 'character' would share
the tree's stance in politics,
'but you're not a tree, man,' i whined,
missing the point entirely, of course,
in my defensive subjective projection
of another's perceived dejection.

short thought. 2

: the moon and the sun

i go a little crazy around that time. i've experienced some extremely bizarre events by full moon-light. i'm not sure why - but apparently we cancerians are heavily influenced by that great shining orb ... and isn't lunar such a great word? a reminder of lunacy! but what else does a moon remind you of? i think we'd all be lying if we didn't own up. forever and eternity ... the viscount advert - or was it jaffa cakes?! 'full moon, harrrlf moon ... total eclipse!' in strange scandi accent.

and now to the sun. i am interested in plato's metaphor about the sun. u also read a quote yesterday in my spiritual india book, which went like so

we do not require another lamp to further illuminate the sun, when we can simply remove the curtain that stands between us and the sun.

wise words, i thought.

short thought. 1

: feminine things

sugar and spice and all things nice - is that what little girls are made of? what a question. my friend is a big fan of proverbs and quotes, often communicating some nugget of wisdom via text in quotation marks. one of my favourites is as follows:

experience is a hard teacher, because she gives the test first, the lesson afterwards.

he was giving me some advice, since i had been berating myself over some mistake earlier in the day. what interested me was that 'experience' was personified as a woman. what is it about experience that implies femininity? is it that we women are wise?! or does it hark back to the loss of innocence - the day that eve ate the forbidden apple and we were all doomed ...

a prayer to myth and legend

i would like to fulfill my own personal legend. i would like to unlock the door to the recesses of my own soul, my subconscious mind, my whatever it is that is beyond mere linguistic expression. i would like to find down there, amongst dusty chapters or age old myths, a huge, ancient key - slightly rusty and ominous looking. what's in there? a story-board outline of a life, a techni-colour painting depicting the overarching themes? perhaps a simple word - one word, summarising all that i will strive to achieve. or perhaps i will find nothing there - a pure, empty shell where once a legend lived. is jung correct? do we all know instinctively why we're here as young ones, but then forget progressively as we age? and never forget the 'giving up point'. to forget is to live a half-life.

and so, a prayer to peace and to love. to the part of the personal legend in playing it's unique solo in the universes most awesome orchestra...!

sheep on drugs

i spotted the above words graffiti'd in bratfud. it made me chuckle, think, and then despair, in that order.

the easter service

As I stood in the Easter Service at the school yesterday, I didn't know whether to find the whole event quite nice or utterly ridiculous. I never went to a religious school myself, I'm not religious in the usual sense of the word. Consequently, I felt both warm and cold - warm at heart and cold in the knowledge that most students (and staff) were also non-believers. Arm-twisted by authority to attend (if only the kids realised it's not so different being a teacher). But they seemed so different, as stern-faced and unsmiling they stalked the walkways, making vicious and prolonged eye contact with anyone who spoke. The discipline was quite unprecedented, I've never before witnessed anything like it at the school. Despite this, the overheating hall bristled with repressed discomfort and irritation. The uniforms were crisp and neat, the silence was almost complete, as the odd rebel was shifted to a more well-staffed spot.

The vicar was different; a large, joyous black lady. Vibrant, faithful and the antithesis of the pervasive atmosphere. There were sniggers muffled by smiles, red faces covering resentment. There was the odd intrigued soul, who held out their palms for the bread and wine with some hint of solemnity. There were the silent, raging teachers who are always angry. There were open-hearted evangelists too, singing high-pitched and nasal in this white Christian school. Every so often, the projector displaying the lyrics malfunctioned, and we were left with only the evangelists and the dutifully rumbling song of the teachers.

Some guy took to the stage to talk about brokenness. He got two kids up to try and put a broken easter egg back together (why do they always choose the badly behaved ones?) Needless to say, they failed in fitting the pieces back together, point being that once broken, things are very hard to fix. He talked about broken dreams, fractured communities and natural disaster. He tried to empower the kids to do their part in keeping things whole, or repairing our broken world in their own, individual ways. Unfortunately, it all had to come back to the limiting banner of Christianity. It should be 'your faith' (as if the majority of the audience had any) that inspired you acts of goodness and compassion. To most teenagers, it sullies a powerful image, because it severs their ownership over the act.

Yesterday, as I often have in the past, I silently rolled around the question - can we not be the good samaritan simply for ourselves and each other - must it always be for faith in a specific God of a particular religion, or under threat of Hellfire?! Is there not an all encompassing faith, a spiritual path we can all follow which might also include all the different religions. It's a wild and beautiful dream I suppose. If I ran a school, we would use readings from all kinds of disparate scriptures. The Bible, The Qu'ran, yes, but also The Dalai Lama's books, Krishnamurti and Kahlil Gibran's 'The Prophet'. The school of pluralism. I'd also introduce aromatherapy, meditation and yoga to the curriculum, to name but a few!

The whole thing became long and ridiculous in parts, most notedly - the piano and vocal solo which has to be the most embarrassingly white Christian performance I've ever had to witness. Bless him, he enjoyed it, but it was really awful. It made me itch for a gospel choir or some kind of 'Sister Act' hymn singing. However, I did enjoy the ritual of the service, even the singing, at times. It was somehow pleasant and spoke of community of a kind rarely found in contemporary society. I smiled, I even almost shed a tear when a candle was lit for a teacher who died a few years back. I had to exercise serious control to send the tears back down from their welling up point, despite never having known the woman.

It touched me to observe teenagers blushing in the face of a blessing. I felt sure that they knew they were loved in that moment, somewhere in the labyrinthian confusion that is a teenage soul. The intention of the Christian ethos, is of course, good, but like so many things in our human world - it's expression is, ironically, one of brokenness. The facade of many in the face of the truth. When the vicar spoke of peace, love, of us all being brothers and sisters, I recognised my own religion and felt blessed. As British schools cast off the final remnants of the cloak of religion, we must start to provide some alternative, in terms of the spiritual, holistic education of the whole child.

a dancer

she was a naughty school girl mover,
mischievous then morose,
she danced as the orb-like moon rose.

and as it rose under her chin / her body sings /
and a thousand songs have been sung
on her feet, her toes, the bones amongst.

there was enough energy in one little toe
to power a thousand bulbs in antarctica,
all the way from here in huddersfield, yorkshire.

her grace inspired a glow as
saintless, soulful and sharp shouldered,
her phraseology inspired silence.

/ she brought action ! /
choreographing synchronistic sanction to my
dream-catching.

stepping stone

one specific slippery stone
is moss-coloured and fantastic,
before casting twilight devours it
chameleon-like, and the stone
becomes only the round brown
of sunless lives.

milk

certain events have departed,
leaving only my acidic stomach for company.

i go on to wonder, if it's not something the sweet milk
of human kindness can cure?

it's wholesome alkaline goodness repairing
stomach linings, frown lines and the

acidic effects of bitter red wines.

teracotta pot

earthy, bed-red and
naturally moulded in
the shape of (wo)man.

it is riven, lacking
the thoughtful needs
intrinsic to human existence.

mesmerised

by stepladder skies, i rise,
intrigued as silver sighs expose the
geysers of ice.

they steam-scream with release
and i visualise suspension
in freedomsong flight.

in a timeless second i nose-dive,
expel air and share my body
with the ground.

scissor-like, i sever,
and let hips thrust as needs must
come willfully unbound.

in tandem

the grace of sound is
lengthening and strengthening my tall soul.

i'm finding equilibrium
in the free flow of limbs

as i contract abdomen
and swirl pins.

pressure to the left knee
reminds me of age

and moisture rises
like a welcome morning.

intent, my posture is clear
as i focus on there,

far and nowhere but here.
is pain inevitable, suffering optional?

connected / married / in tandem,
the inseparable tribal / divine.

the martha graham technique

from studio window, i witness
the hill that has governed my life.
i breathe deep, roam the room on air-clad feet
remembering tweets from birds of freedom.

a warrior stance, my even breathing,
extend and contract in cause and effect.

i direct intent in wholesomeness,
each muscle in unison illuminates.
removed from the organic machine
that breathes and reads and seeks,
i keep time instead with sound,
and the tribal shout of my time-loss dance.

i dig deep/mine,
uncover shovels of love and good
once coiled at the base of the spine.
body-connected i contract,
effect a spider-entwine,
my sweat drips in a satisfied line.

endurance ensures that pain is good
as i strive and stretch to arrive at rest.
lights infer my body's guest
and the heart in throat slows.
elegance follows neutrality
and i relish the memory,

the adaptability that i have learned or earned
during the cracked flow of this journey.
movement provided the space for intent
and when i enthuse my path is correct.
weightless moments draw space,
the grace of movement never lies,

the ominous drum is my friend
and my own sweat has baptised.
i taste salt: observe again
the dark, partial shape
outside and decide; as earth to hill,
this dance is me, am i it's wife?

varieties of ice

the marble effect of water glass
creates a sheet between me and thee,
as layer upon layer of cracked thought
becomes more opaque.

yes i'm crunching on a love
that's been creaking for days,
encasing grass and stopping streams.

why do we burn back the beautiful heather
and what is wrong with my curiosity?

i say tread on every puddle of ice to see if
it breaks. test it with a toe, jump on it
and downright kick it.

i still want to do this
like a 12 year old.

blackberry

the bursting sea of a black wind
sends clusters of sadness
rippling, like fat women
on weighing scales.

grape

as one of a multitude
i feel pale green.
squeaky clean and boring -
but i thank myself a bunch
because fortunately
i'm becoming good
at crunching my own paradox.

kiwi

like a little furry rodent
it’s seeded with thoughts that are
slimy mathematics for a words brain.
it appears green – hideous envy!
but small and sweet,
to counteract this.

orange

the textured nature of
life is sweet.
full of juicy morsels
alongside inevitable
sour sections.
naturally segmented,
i only hope that no one
slice gets too sticky.

an adhd story

jumpin' jack flash twitched his way
onto the adhd spectrum.
attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
alienated those around him so
that his impulsiveness repulsed
as he smashed the third telly in a row.
stop it stop it stop it! jack screamed,
as mum flew at him all eyes and teeth -
he protested, it's not my fault that
my chemical messengers are fucked
and i somehow ducked the radar
of behavioural screening.

she nearly split spleen trying to fix him.
no e numbers, no ay carumba, less screen time,
lots of fresh air (and broken tellys).
he went through three primary schools
though admittedly, two of the head's could well
have had 'nob' preceding their name.
little bitty jack even threatened to stab
someone with a compass once.

his condition threatened to send the whole family
over the edge. she sighed, gave in,
fed him ritalin twice a day -
and all at once like magic,
jumpin' jack was a different lad.
loss of appetite and insomnia
were but a small price to pay
for the chemical messengers
boosted in his brain.
fixed, they put jack back in
a box and older brother sam

crept in, took the chance -
stole just 'the odd one'
as a cognitive enhancer
and was an a* student in exams.

adult ballet

one at a time

we pas de chat,
both legs in the air
diagonally,
just as i side-stepped
a sledger at shibden.

dicing with danger elegantly
i dredge a grande jeté
from the recesses,
dust her off
for a laugh
and a gallop.

there's a certain smell
in a studio:

leather shoes and sweat
as we chassé. my body is a tool, none left unturned and minutely examined as my mind re-learns.

the 5k giveaway

http://beta.theconch.com/content/text/if-i-had-the-money--931

If I had the money ...

What I'd do with the wonga if I won the 5K giveaway.

I've put alot of thought into this!

My first thought was obvious; if I won the 5K I'd put it towards my next adventures to faraway climes, using it to cut short the long months of saving it's gonna take to get me there, so that I could sack off Blighty immediately and head straight off to my next stops. First for me would be a serious Yoga course, rising at 4am for meditation and looking out at the mountains everyday in India. It would be a soul cleansing trip and a dream to study Yoga seriously in it's country of origin. I would follow this by a bit of Southern Indian beach life for good measure...

But the big trip, and the place that has captured my imagination and held it for some years - would be Latin America. I'm particularly interested in Chile, Argentina, Peru and then way up in Central America, Guatemala. The Mayans, The Incas, the Amazon, the Andes, Patagonia, and on and on and on ... volunteering, hiking, teaching english, salsa-ing, tango-ing, snowboarding and travelling. The landscapes and possibilities for adventuring are endless. This is the continent I am particularly fascinated by.

During both of these trips, I'd also be doing a bit of research. This is because my dream (along with millions of others out there...) is to write a book. I have the outline of a novel in my mind which you could call a postmodern, coming of age novel. Centred around the life of a 'struggling' young artist of the wannabe-Beat generation and our contemporary, bohemian middle class. As a young woman who has lost her 'artistic vision' she goes on a journey in order to regain it - via experiences amongst 'the common man', with hallucinogenic substances and spiritual enlightenment ... not necessarily in that order. This mammoth undertaking would be intended as a comment on the comforts and confusions of our life of choice in the First World (and the joke's also on me by the way.)

So now I've bored you with that, I'm actually going to say that I've now decided I wouldn't use the money in the afore-mentioned way. For a few reasons - I'm nowhere near novel writing standard yet and I'm actually currently much more interested in poems! But also, I'm now working in a school for AimHigher and doing some part time Youth Work, and I want to give it a while at home to see how I go before I head off again. So then I thought, well hell, I could use the cash to fund several nice trips in my school holidays. Snowboarding in Canada at Easter, six weeks Yoga and hiking in India or snowboarding and wildlife spotting in South America in summer - perhaps a writing course squished in one half term?! Ahh, the luxury of it. Not to mention all the new kit to go with the trips. Sounds like heaven, and all for free! I could go parachuting, climbing and all that shizz on weekends. It'd make for an action packed 2010!

However I've finally realised what it is I'd really like to do with the pennies, if they are by some miracle awarded to me. I currently work for a local charity as a Youth Worker and this experience has been inspiring me more week by week. As I said before, I believe in DIY and would love to utilise my enthusiasm to set something up for the young 'uns - something involving adventure sports ideally, since we all know what valuable experiences these can offer for disaffected and/or disadvantaged individuals. I know the original idea of the giveaway was to give one person a giant leap forward in their chosen sport, but how about giving lots of young people a small but invaluable leap forward in theirs?

Not so long ago I heard about a charity in London that funds trips to the mountains for inner city kids, and I'm now dreaming about setting up something along those lines for kids from my (slightly grim - if you've got a neg head on!) Northern town! It rains, it pours, it's grey and there isn't alot of opportunity. Though the hills round these parts are beautiful, it's not that cool to a teenager and few of them are brought up in the outdoors. If you award me the 5K in the giveaway I would love to use it as the start up of a charity whose eventual aim is to send local Yorkshire youths on trips of a lifetime to learn to ski or snowboard in the mountains!! It wouldn't be easy (might even at times feel like boot camp), but it would be an amazing opportunity and learning curve for kids who might never otherwise have the opportunity.

I realise that this project would involve work for me (and even further fundraising for extra costs - travel and so on), but it's something I feel so passionate about. Inclusion and opportunity, fun and progression leading to self-belief through the great outdoors! Cheesy but I'm a huge believer. This 5K would enable me to start small, setting up trips to the Manchester climbing wall, windsurfing, hiking or parachuting for kids from the school and/or charity I work at. Perhaps three initial projects - one for the school, one for AimHigher aimed at raising aspirations, and one for Himmat which is the local charity I work for? It's all hypothetical right now, but I'm getting excited just thinking about it! Surely there can be no better use for the money than to give it to someone who will use it for the good of young people?! They are the future of adventure sports, as they are the future of everything.

I have my fingers and toes crossed that I will be given this chance to start something positive for my community. Even if it's only a short project for the duration of three trips, I think it would be so worthwhile. We could call it The Conch Project! It would generate interest in the media which would be beneficial for everyone involved. If you have any doubts about my abilities to follow through on this commitment, please check out my previous project (www.shestyles.co.uk ... google or facey us for further info). This was a not for profit event that was conceived of, organised and executed purely for the love of it. The event was hugely successful, professional and a credit to ourselves and our brand partners. This kind of mutually beneficial use of the cash is what I would like to see. I hope you share my vision!

With much love, peace and hope for the future of adventuring,

Izzy Brittain xxx
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Author
shestyles

Screen name
shestyles
Age
24 years old
Location
Halifax, United Kingdom

Tags

* adventure
* charity
* travel
* progression
* fun
* youths
* money
* enjoyment
* inclusion

http://blog.theconch.com/2010/01/28/we-have-a-winner/

pretty amazing eh?!

busrides and timeslides

six solemn backs of heads

sit serene in solitude,

unique as antique plates

with chips, patterns and histories

but plates all the same.

dust coats my finger as

half-conscious, i collect muck;

a minor detail of matter.

here bus tickets lie like

scattered reminders of time.

the bus carries me to town

by hook or by crook,

and the clock stops as i travel.

there spiritual laws unravel

like knicker elastic,

in rare breaks between

time binding and surreal snakes

of tick-tock watching.

there is silence and potential

in this daily journey.

i gift the bus driver with

a wonky grin, an open-hearted wish,

then rub rank, velvet seats

that stink of piss

with my nail-less fingers.

le baiser

One knelt,
Neck crooked at uneasy angle,
Expression angelic and
Sleeping face
Cradled in grasping hands
With pianist's fingers.

Autumn leaf hair
With flowers drifting
Amongst the nest,
Spiral pattern on golden cape
And a yellow aura
Draped.

Venetian glass again
With gold, the colour of love?
Can these metallic tones
Be symbolic
Of embrace
In the face of divinity?

I went for a massage
And drew a card:

It said I was 'motivated by love',
And there it was
The print that my family
Use to adorn walls
With ardent amour.
With hope and time it's truth

Shall seep into our rooms
And beds
We presume?
As we lay our heads
With whomever
We choose to rest this night.

numerology

Life Path; This number represents who you are at birth and the native traits that you will carry with you through life. The most important number that will be discussed here is your Life Path number. The Life Path describes the nature of this journey through life.

4 (4, 13/4, 22/4, 31/4, 40/4)

The Life Path 4 suggests that you entered this plane with a natural genius for planning, fixing, building, and somehow, with practical application and cerebral excellence, making things work. You are one of the most trustworthy, practical, and down-to-earth of individuals; the cornerstone members of society. Indeed, as a Life Path 4, you are a builder of society. The cream of the crop in this Life Path can be a master builder in society. if you are among these highly talented people, you have an idealistic nature which is grounded in practical terms, allowing you to conceive grandiose, far-reaching schemes and carry them through to the end. If you desire and are willing to work for it, you can achieve enormous success, prestige, and fame. Obviously, everyone with a 4 Life Path does not become famous.

All with this Life Path have the ability to take orders and to carry them out with dedication and perseverance and many 4s live and work happily in this context. But so often, the 4 Life Path is the entrepreneur and manager in the community. In either role, you always demand as much from yourself as you do from others, and sometimes a lot more.

You have the kind of will power that is often mistaken for sheer stubbornness. You don't think of yourself as dogged, but your honest beliefs and that ever direct speech makes you come across as completely unremitting. Once a decision is made, it will be followed through to the conclusion, right, wrong, or indifferent. You are very set in your ways and determined to handle things the way you are so certain that they should be handled. Your tenacity of purpose and ability to get the job done borders on obsession. You are a wonderful manager with a great sense of how to get the job done.

You are an excellent organizer and planner because of your innate ability to view things in a very common sense and practical way. This stems from a strong desire to be a perfectionist in your labor. Planning is necessary to avoid errors. It's very likely that a 4 Life Path person invented the to-do list, because it is the rare Life Path 4 who doesn't have one by her side at all times. Your life is programed in an orderly fashion permitting you to catalog and manage the flow of ideas and activities that fill your day. Indeed, you seem to function best when you are under the gun and facing a tough set of problems.

Loyal and devoted, you make the best of your marriage, and you are always the good provider. Friends may be few in number, but you are very close to them and once friendships are made, they often last a lifetime.

The number 4 is solidly associated with the element of earth from which it gains its strength and utter sense of reality. You are one of the most dependable people you know. If patience and determination can ever win, you are sure to achieve great success in life. Often, you are called on to take care of others; to finish what they have started. It may not seem fair and probably isn't, but it may be the key to your accomplishment and reputation.

The negative side of the 4 can prove dogmatic to an excess, narrow-minded, and repressive. A lot of skin-deep people turn you off, and you lack the tact to keep your feelings from being totally clear to all around. Additionally, the negative 4 has a bad tendency to get caught up in the daily routine of affairs, missing the big picture and major opportunities that come along once in a while.

Life Path Periods; The life path has been discussed in very elementary details previously, and the life path period is an addition to this reading that should be taken into account. If we live long enough, we will experience three life path periods. As you progress into this page, think of the readings in terms of a modification or enhancement personalizing the life path reading. These readings do not replace the life path reading, but merely fine tune and customize it to the individual. Because life path periods can vary so widely, the life path we are on becomes complex and motley.

1st Period - Early years: The 6 period produces a need to be needed, and you probably want to help your parents or your brothers, sisters, and friends in whatever way you can. In some cases, this period is one in which the subject is required or somehow forced to take on more than a normal amount of responsibility at an early age. Generally, this early time in the life is marked by obvious attempts to be helpful and even nurturing to others. In early adulthood there is a strong sense of responsibility and caring.

2nd Period - Productive years (beginning in 2018): The 2 lifepath period suggests that you will profit from your ability to work together with others in harmony and cooperation. In these years your ability to use skills in diplomacy and mediation will be pronounced. The affairs of others and their success may be the key to your own advancement. Pushing your own agenda doesn't work as well now. The need is to control hyperactive emotions that may appear from time to time.

3rd Period - Later years: With the 5 period occurring late in life, be prepared for a never ending series of adventures and expansive travel so long as the resources hold out. Actually, however, many with a late life 5 period choose to continue to work because of the sense of freedom found in their endeavors now; so long as the work is not boring or routine, there may be no reason to quit. This influence will continue to send you off to find new challenges and try new things. You are never too old to learn.

2009 Personal Year 1. . . .A New Beginning In Your Life

The current year is the beginning of a new nine year cycle for you. It holds the promise of being an exciting new adventure, with life taking on new challenges that pave the way for the next cycle of nine years in your life. This is a time to clarify your goals and it is a time to act on them. Hard work may be necessary to get a new venture moving. Your physical strength will be up during this year, perhaps higher than it has been for some time, as you have some special needs for this extra energy. If you are unable or unwilling to answer the call to change and make the move in your life the appears necessary now, your prospects may be delayed until the next cycle begins in nine years. Because of this, you feel like an adventure, a major change in your life, something new. New goals should be clearly set and worked toward, as this is really a new beginning of a nine year cycle and it is best not to dwell on the past at this time. This will be fairly easy for you to do because most of the problems and disappointments of the past will tend to disappear, leaving the way open for these new challenges. This is a great time; use it to its full advantage.

2010 Personal Year 2. . . .Development, cooperation, and waiting

This is a number 2 personal year. A personal year 2 is a wait and see time; a year when you will find yourself in the background and very much in a stage of development. This is not a time to force the issue and try to move forward. It is a time for cooperation and building relationships that will benefit you in the future; a year for accumulating and collecting. Aggressiveness will cause problems now. You must be prepared for delays, detours, stoppages and you must be patient. This is a time of small contribution, of helping, and details must be taken care of when they come up. You may give time and effort to further another's work. This year may be a test to your self-control and emotional sensitivities. This is a time to improve your abilities to work with others in a productive way and this can be difficult for you if you have chiefly worked alone in the past. Keep calm, cool, and pleasant. You may experience a degree of nervous tension during this period; the two year brings a tendency to emotional extremes including depression. Very deep relationships with a person of the opposite sex (including marriage) may be more apt to occur during a 2 year. If married, there is apt to be a deepening of feeling in the relationship during a 2 year.

2011 Social Expansion and Creative Success (3)

2012 Hard Work, Slow and Steady Progress (4)

2013 Personal Year 5. . . . Feeling Loose and Free

This is a number 5 year, a year of major change in your life. Horizons are expanded and growth is less impeded. You are likely to make a number of new friends this year as social activities are expanded. This is a year that has brought/will bring excitement and adventure and a good deal more freedom than you have experienced in recent years. This is a time for feeling loose and free; for moving away from old routines in a constructive way. If you became bogged down during this past year, now is the time to seek out new directions.

The problem with a personal year 5 is the tendency to scatter energies in all directions. Your ability to do detail work is limited now and it will make you feel very confined. In all, this a free-wheeling year that is liable to bring major changes to your life; your career, your family situation, your residence.

2014 Love, Family, Home and Responsibility (6)

2015 Analysis and Understanding (7)

2016 Attainment and Gains (8)

2017 Reflection (9)

2018 Next Cycle (1)

Destiny; Destiny is a very descriptive word for the meaning of the this important core element. This is the number that describes the tasks that you must achieve in this lifetime using the name that was given to you by your parents.

The number 6 Destiny suggests that the direction of growth in your lifetime will be toward a greater sense of responsibility, love, and balance. Development in life must make you more helpful, conscientious, and capable of rectifying and balancing any sort of inharmonious situation. You must be a person very much inclined to give help and comfort to those in need. You have a natural penchant for working with the old, the young, the sick, or the underprivileged.

As the saying goes, charity begins at home, and the home is where you must be a special person. The qualities of the 6 make the finest and most concerned parent, and one who is often deeply involved in domestic activities. Openness and honesty is apparent in your approach to all relationships, particularly close family relationship. A happy home life is the goal of Destiny 6, and if you live up to the promises of this number, you will reap this reward most likely with some degree of luxury and grace.

Although you may have considerable creative and artistic talents, the chances are that you will devote yourself to an occupation that shows concern for the betterment of the home and of the community at large. The destiny of the 6 is often a career in medicine, welfare work, education, dealing in the arts, furniture, decorating, landscaping, home construction, religious endeavors, or scientific fields.

The positive side of the number 6 suggests that you are very loving, friendly, and appreciative of others. You have a depth of understanding that produces much sympathetic, kindness, and generosity.

If there is an excess of the number 6 in your makeup, you may exhibit some of the negative traits associated with this number. This can include stubbornness, self-righteousness, or dominance. There may be a tendency for you to be too exacting and demanding of yourself, too. In this regard, you may at times sacrifice yourself (or your loved ones) for the welfare of others. Many with the Destiny of the number 6 worry much too much. In some cases, the over zealous 6 has difficulty distinguishing helping from interfering.

Soul Urge; the heart's desire, is an important core influence in numerology. However, the Soul Urge falls well below the Lifepath (the birth date number) and Destiny (the full birth name) numbers in importance, because this is a number that you don't expose overtly to those around you. It is your inner cravings, likes and dislikes, which are usually kept rather private. This number denotes what you value most regardless of Life Path (what you are from birth) and expression (what you will become in life). This influence suggests the nature that drives you in your daily life. Satisfying the demands of the Soul Urge will give you a sense of inner peace and contentment.

7

With a 7 Soul Urge, you have a strong inner need to gain a spiritual sense about the world around you. You have an inborn appreciation for nature and the wonders of the world around you. Fulfillment comes with being able to spend time in solitude and in seeking wisdom.

Inner Dream; The sum of the consonants in your name relates a secret dream, your inner desires, or maybe even fantasies. As a modifier, this aspect of your chart may be considered less important than many of the others because often these remote and deep-seated dreams are never realized. Sometimes, however, when this number has a relationship to another core number, the dream can come true. Strangely, this number is also associated with your personality or how people see you on first meetings. This number may be so strong in your subconscious that you even project the trait as a personality mask.

8...You dream of success in the business or political world, of power and control of large material endeavors. You crave authority and recognition of executive skills. Your secret self may have very strong desire to become an entrepreneur.

Birthday Number; The birthday is a supporting influence added to the Life Path. Think of it as a modifier to the Life Path. These are traits that you brought into this life much as with the more important and dominating traits shown by the Life Path. Here is your birthday and the modifying traits shown by it:

Your birthday on the 29th adds a tone of idealism to your nature. You are imaginative and creative, but rather uncomfortable in the business world. You are very aware and sensitive, with outstanding intuitive skills and analytical abilities. The 29 reduces to 11, one of the master numbers which often produces much nervous tension. This is the birthday of the dreamer rather than the doer. You do, however, work very well with people.

Planes of Expression; The word expression used here really means activity or how we act. This determination of expression is a product of birth name.

Creative/Adaptable

The combination of most of the letters in the creative and Adaptable mode suggests that you are a person who is inclined toward constant activity, but this activity must provide variety and change. Your efforts are directed at the here and now, but decision-making can sometimes be a problem. You are likely to act immediately on issues that come to your attention, but not without paying attention to the lessons from the past. Sometimes, you may dwell on the past a little too long. Positively expressed, creative letters produce constructive initiative, while the Adaptable tone allows you to always be flexible. You are able to fit easily into most situations, and you produce results wherever you fit in. You are devoted rather than ambitious.

Grounded Absence

Because your chart is void or nearly void in Grounded letters, you may be better at starting things than finishing them. Either you become bored with something soon after beginning it, or you take on so much that you don't have the energy or focus to accomplish anything. You may have difficulty in various aspects of your life, frequently changing jobs, lovers, residences, and even your beliefs and ideas on many of life's weightier issues.

Emotional:

Strong:

The emotional plane is very strong in your makeup. Indeed, your point of view usually contains significant portions of emotion and imagination without much concern for the facts of the matter. It's easy for you to get carried away sometimes. You are very original and creative and you care deeply for causes you embrace. You are extremely sentimental, sympathetic and caring. Your direct expression of friendship, affections and love make it clear where you stand.

Physical:

Weak: Your name suggests that physical or material interests are not paramount in your makeup. You would never pride yourself as being a very practical person. Indeed, your behavior may be anything but realistic and you really don't care. You may actually lack a solid sense of physical discipline and tend to avoid tedious and repetitive work when you can. It's hard for you to turn your many ideas into hard reality. Playing the game and competing at any significant level may be foreign to your nature.

Mental:
Average: Your name shows substantial strength in the mental plane suggesting that you have the ability to think things through carefully before making a decision. You have little difficulty handling mental activities even when they become technical and complex. You are comfortable in a leadership role, but this may not necessarily be an essential to your well-being.

Intuitive:

Weak: Your name suggests that intuitional or spiritual interests are not paramount in your makeup. So called intuitive awareness, psychic or otherwise spiritual matters aren't of much interest to you as you go about your daily tasks. The idea of developing inwardly pretty much leaves you cold. If there is an inner voice, you don't have much trust in it.

Challenges; Life is not a bed of roses. There are hurdles to get over and mountains to climb. In numerology, the roadblocks faced in life is called the challenges. The Challenge is a weak point in our Life Path. It is the weak link in the chain of life which must be overcome for us to grow and develop properly. We learn by meeting the challenge, and dealing with it effectively. The nature of the challenge is shown in the Life Path.

The numbers behind the final challenge will each be a potential problem during half of the life. The first sub challenge during the first part of the life, and the second sub challenge during the second half of the life. The Final Challenge is a potential weakness and problem throughout the entire life.

Challenge 1: No. 4. The challenge of the number 4 suggests a difficulty with work. Either you simply don't like to work, don't like the work your are forced to do, or you have difficulty completing tasks and working efficiently. You may be careless and lack a sense of practicality. Often this challenge makes it hard to see the forest for the trees when it comes to work and obligations. It is important for you to learn patience, understanding and the practical, common sense way of dealing with mundane responsibilities. You may also need to learn the importance of working within the parameters of a time schedule.

Challenge 2: No. The challenge of the number 3 suggests a tendency to scatter talents and try to do too many things at once during this period of your life. You may have a fine imagination and a gift for words, but you find it hard to express yourself effectively. Though you know you should cultivate friends and be sociable, you tend to be somewhat reclusive and defensive. You may have a talent for writing, acting, or speaking, but you are reluctant to involve yourself with these sorts of activities because you do not like to face the prospects of criticism. You are expressing yourself with a negative emphasis, hiding your creative talents behind a wall of shyness. You must strive to develop yourself in a social and in a creative sense. It's hard to just relax and have a good time.

Challenge 3: No. 1. The challenge of the number 1 suggests you are likely to feel dominated by others with strong influence, probably parents or others with whom you compete. The challenge of the number 1 is avoidance of being dominated, but doing so in a fashion that does not impose upon or dominate others. With the challenge of the number 1 it's extremely important to control the ego, and avoid the negative aspect of individuality. False pride, pomposity, egotism are issues to be guarded against now. You are now in a period of learning about self-reliance and how to solve your own problems independently. Learn to rely on your wit and your intelligence, avoiding argumentation and resentfulness.