Don’t Text When You’re Drunk

I blame laughter and Sauvignon Blanc;
Friday night, an inept DJ.
I wonder how you read my misspelled words.
Did they whisper or shout at 2am?
Mute in the light; grey and painful,
Each idiom deciphered, pored over.
Now expectancy fills the space in my chest,
Heavy and humid like my damp flat.
Present residue, just as unwelcome.
Your silence is unfamiliar; jarring as a 10cc engine.
Immersed in the pounding silence,
I realise…it matters. It saps the energy to shrug.
Another minute goes by, void of you.

Transform Me

Your fingertips shaped Creation,
And what was good is perfect.
Intentional inspiration;
more than worthy of respect.

Extravagant your bestowing
Light, entity, a deluge of galaxies.
Meticulous Designer, fore-knowing
Scrutiny, query in life’s galleries.

Indulgent Father, I create anarchy
An unintentioned disposition
Still, you relinquish your love to me
Lavishly, at your own volition.

Reshape my miniscule soul?
World wearied, in disproportion
Transform me, mould me whole?
Pure. Like when you shaped Creation.

How She Prays

Orange skies and Lemoncello.
So clings the last vestige of day.
She’s supine, captured in yellow.
Cherry red lips parted.
Cloudless, open are the heavens,
Ear cocked to hear her prayer.
She’s wordless, emptied even,
Her contrition halted.
Tell her heaven hears her speaking,
No matter how quiet the sound.
Catch her before she’s weeping.
So the seeds are planted.

Headstrong

You miss me most when you’re craving
Your heart of discontent
And then you cry you’re worth saving
On this, i daily lament.

It hurts to see you head strong
When your heart is so very weak.
All sacrifice seems worthless. I long
For the prayer which you never speak.

All I ask is that you love me
I made grace so very easy for you
look away from your pained reverie
Trust my strength will see you through.

29.06.11

The Royal Wedding (or, It’s exactly a year ago…)

And so, The Year is approaching. And as the Royal couple get ready for their Big Day, amongst the media buzz and furore, I try to forget my Big Day.

Forget the excitement of the last few days of singledom; the brilliant Hen night, the last minute preparations, the finishing touches and eleventh-hour-decisions. Although, I must say, I’m happiest forgetting the smoke spewing from my credit cards.

There were ever widening ripples of excitement amongst family and friends. Proud faces, happy congratulations – but above all, there was the two of us. There was my blind trust in him; that we were a ‘team’. We’d see each other through the minor stresses to enjoy the biggest and best day of our lives. Because after it, we knew we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.

What a difference A Year makes?

I’ve moved to a new place, on my own. I say ‘new’ – but this town is where I’ve had my happiest memories. I lived here when I was around 5 to about 10 years old. ‘Here’ was the first house mum and dad owned. Here is where I went to school, had a best friend..’played out’ ‘til late with my next door neighbour; oh, and fell while swinging on bollards putting my teeth through my bottom lip.

I like it here – but I don’t like the worry that comes with planning to meet bills, and make ends meet, having no one to lean on; no more ‘team’.

It’s the wine – I’m being a tad negative.

Yes on the other hand, there’s the positive challenge of being on my own. Doing my own thing, and at my own pace. The positive making of me as a strong and motivated woman, who’s not reliant on a man.

This is what I was before I met him actually – although never single, I was quite independent. But once you start leaning on someone, you easily get used to the support, and become lazy.

Anyway, wine aside. Today, I’m sad.

Poem: Vauxhall Bridge

I hid my chapped lips,
The last vestige of winter
Save for the wind which blew tear tripping cold.
It ruffled the watery murk, blowing it across the vauxhall bridge traffic;
Now surreal by osmosis.

Later, balm smeared my wine glass.
Merlot hid the cracks,
And you painted a similar picture;
Something cold, and murky
And we didn’t give it a name.
We didn’t stop for dessert,
And I only had myself to blame.

The London Poetry Festival: 7th – 10th August 2009

Poets are brave souls. Not only do they pour out their heart into their PCs, choosing the most eloquent words to describe the sometimes stained, sometimes rank, always kaleidoscopic world we live in; they also read them out!

So, knees knocking, i also performed..and it does felt good!

This year my favourites were: ‘Poets in Residence’ Aiko Harman (Link here) and Rowena Knight (Link here).

I was in awe of quietly spoken poetry legend, Michael Horovitz (Link here), both he and his son, Adam read – leaving me feeling as though i’d met the First Family or something!

Prolific writer, and The London Poetry Festival organiser Munayem Mayenin (Link here) gave me a copy of his life’s work – Laranska, The Anatomy of fear…i’m thinking i should get reading!

The Winning Ticket
Dom Perignon and a bumptious new friend,
Danced on my head Sunday morning.
Sock and braless note a rambunctious end
A man on the floor still snoring.