Creative Coping

Havana Fisherman
April 5, 2009, 5:45 pm
Filed under: Cuba, eating, fishing, food, hope, Travel | Tags: , , , ,

Sitting on a polystyrene float

Fishing for something,

Feet soaked in salt water,

Cold on the ankles now

As the night-shift approaches,

Watching the water, hoping,

For some late luck to

Dangle off the hook,

As lovers sit, some, backs to

The sea, others, backs to

The road, always pairs

Unless a fisherman,

Solitary, but for bucket, rod

And hope.


He sits, sits, polystyrene

Squeaks and creaks and

Waves lap skin and vessel,

Taunting, teasing, ‘What?Still

No catch?’ They seem to say,

Those little bumps and ripples,

Carefree in their endlessness.


Time to go, back over the

Malecon*, home, to hunger and

Hungry Rosita, nothing to

Go with rice and beans

But chilled ankles and

Guitar strum.


*Malecon is Havana’s conrete wall, about 4 feet high and 2 wide, erected to keep the sea out


Havana Tuna
April 5, 2009, 5:33 pm
Filed under: Cuba, fishing, food, Travel | Tags: , , ,

Sun setting on a fish just

Caught, off the Malecon,

Fresh, clean, shining like

A newly minted coin.

Couples sitting hip to hip

On the concrete tongue that

Rims the shore’s decaying

Edifices. Sometimes a gap,

Crack or gaping window-

Frame plays host to rude guests:

Gust, diesel, dust and spray.

Poetry in a cafe called Coffee@Bricklane shortly before closing time


Sweeping round my feet, no ceremony.

Customer-centric ? What?-

Too close to closing time.

Anyway, this tables’s mine for now,

And on its pink lino I’ll rest

THis little black book,

And a tweed elbow

Like so many others, hordes, in fact,

Vintage with Youth.


I’m here now writing, instead

of Yoga or eating, to stop time

And take stock.

Of what? Of myself, of course-

Narcissism or self-awareness I can’t

Tell, self-indulgence, perhaps.


‘Soup of the Day was three pounds ten.

Why ten, what’s in it for them?!

Three pound is round.

Rhyming won’t get me anywhere.


One day I hope to be above all this.

Taller trees generally have deeper roots to

Counteract the blast of the wind.


Blast this music! Always the same

Here at Coffee@, NOISE,

Racket designed to be heard,

No need to listen.


Why have I come here

To get myself in tune – all this din.

Well, if I can’t tune here I can’t tune anywhere..


Thats it! Back to Kipling,

‘If you can keep your head when

All around are losing theirs

And blaming it on you..’


Yes. I’ll keep my wretched head and

Forget regret and neglect

The errors of a self

Lost, waiting for a way out

Not picking up Ariadnes’s

Guiding thread.

In the park
September 2, 2008, 8:40 pm
Filed under: earth, eating, food | Tags: , , ,

Two times me:

One here with cake I didn’t want

Already consumed,

One there, in the future

Maybe, or now, if I let her,

A better her.


This cafe’s by the the lake-

For longer than a cake

And a cup of lemonade

I’ve sat and thought,

Watching people pass,

Making what they can

Of squirrels in the rain-

Nowhere to go but round the lake,

Past swans and reeds


Salt Tune
June 19, 2008, 9:07 pm
Filed under: eating, food, happiness, health, hope, thrill | Tags: , , ,

Hope fits nicely into Today.

Yesterday was small,

An awkward size, to small to

Hold an egg-

It held salt, as much as filled it, instead.

Hope fits today,

Fills it full, pills

Throb through veins,

Skin drinks up the breeze,

Food floats light and

Sense is song

Warm Heart
May 28, 2008, 8:26 pm
Filed under: eating, food, happiness, healing, health, hope, love, thrill | Tags: , , , , ,

Happy day started at night for me,

Whether from pills or injections

Or Prunes and live yoghurt

Makes some difference,

But not too much.

Am I in control or merely

A passenger in a rusty car

Fuelled by pharmaceutic diesel

And in need of repair and care?


Bathe me in water and leave me

To dry in the sun.

Take me in before I fry but

keep me somewhere cool and clear

Where static glare is fenced

Out and love relit.

Pain’s Sweet Tooth
May 28, 2008, 7:34 pm
Filed under: control, eating, food, health, pain | Tags: , , , , , ,

Back in this place again

This place of doom and gloom

Bloated stomach passing for womb

Once i was well and pain

Was something felt from a

Prick of thorn or cut of steel

Not as now when it grows

From a live seed

Planted deep, sown down

In furrows, virulent its saplings writhe

For supremacy, squealing for

Sugar and coffee and tea

Cake and wine and syrup and cream,

Drops will not do, bring

Buckets for bowls, Life must

Be strained and stretched to

Feed Pain’s sweet tooth.