Creative Coping


Mary
July 14, 2009, 9:27 pm
Filed under: childhood, happiness, home, love, memories, nature, strength | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Mary moo Mary

You were there

When the blossom

Came, Mary you

Were there when

The winter

Went, Mary you

Are here just like

A Gran.

Standing ironing

Sitting moaning,

Laughing, crying,

Listening to ‘Lipstick

On your collar,’

Telling tales from

The betting shop or

You and Marge’s

Latest trip to Wimpy,

 Brian, Moreen

Leighton,

Patrick the Irish

Queer next door.

Have some more

Cream slice,

Bread pudding,

You’ll buy four for

For me,  ‘Only a paahnd

Fifty’, to take home.

Or pie and mash for sister.

YOu? No, no you

Don’t eat like

You used to,

In the caravan,

Round, happy,

Just the sun and

Slot machines and

Walks along

The sea, girls

On leads, so’s

We dont ‘draaan’.

 

Please remember,

We thank you

And love you like a

Gran.

Grand old Mare



Girl in 5 parts
June 11, 2009, 6:51 pm
Filed under: growth, healing, love, nature, pain, regression, shame, strength | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

1.

My name is girl

My age is when

I feel the day

My height is fringed

With misty things, the haze

That surrounds all,

Air , or something like it,

Electrical.

Part 2.

My fate is but a worm

Squirming in the sand

Beneath an apple on the

Beach.

My rubbery coil senses Autumn’s

Mellow fruit but feels

Only grit and cigarette ends,

Yellowed with spit

And the odd spat of sea.

Part 3.

My Date is a round

Can of something fizzy,

A man, who’ll pop

And bubble over

With sense and tunes

Told well, with confidence

Like some voluntary tramp.

Part 4.

My ache is a bell

Bent out of shape

Chord twanged by the wrong

Hand. Who”s hand?

Who cares? Lets fix it,

If it’s copper it’ll meld well.

Part 5.

My tune is a song

Soldered on to the side

of my liver, an odd

Audience, granted,

But keen, it knows exactly

Where I’ve been and what

Deals Life’s dealt.

No, livers make grand audiences,

They’ll tell you whether or not

You were truly magnificent,

With their view from the stalls.



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.



Beginner’s Autogenics
June 26, 2008, 8:58 pm
Filed under: autogenics, control, earth, hair, healing, health, heat, light, strength, thrill, willpower | Tags: , , , , ,

A hot expanse swells below

This cafe floor, my Earth.

Above, if i picture it,

A bulb of light so large it might include a tree-

Between, am I, small and sitting-

Straight, I think, ready channel but feeble

Conductor.

 Let Life Force strike light

Through a balding head

Into my woken soul.



Earth Glow
June 13, 2008, 6:53 pm
Filed under: health, hope, pain, strength | Tags: , , , , , ,

Beauty shall come and regal shall her entrance be

Crowned shall she be with solid gems

Wrought thick within a deep

Deep soul churning with sulphurous lava flows.

Now is the curdling agony, the

Deafening crash on Vulcan’s anvil.

Beauty will come when now is then,

And her train of delights shall clank

And glisten like cans

Under a ‘Just MARRIED’ number-plate.

Now,  gut groans and churns poison

Syphened off in toxic channels to limbs

Turgid with the rancour.