Friday, September 30, 2011

it wasn't that

so it's not this and it's not that
''why don't you just do what you want ?
why do you need anyones nod?
just, do you approve?''

all i have is the trinity

and thank god for you
and it's not this and it's not that which can bring her from here to there
she rapped so hard, ''you cant come in''
and so he made an apple pie
and then unblocked their loo

he kissed me in the kitchen hard

and oh, thank god for him
so it wont be this and it wont be that
well no, i don't. i can't exist within when i'm without
she called my name and woke me up

raw acid seeps into open wounds

and thank god she did.
so it can't be this , and it can't be that
she shared it all with me, you know
she gave me much in half an hour

with her big arms and sobs of loneliness

and thank god for her
but it might be this it might be that
i'll keep an open mind
i'll ice her birthday cake tomorrow
blow up more balloons

i'll show her how very much i love her

and we'll say ''it was this.''

lemon coloured girl

everything is speeded up for me, or they say...i have only ever been me, dash ones way around that, how could one know? clothes and perfumes fly circles around the room so i try to catch them... you would... my bed clothes are there for my bones...hoping they don't crash out of my corpse... and smash like a thrashing shaft of rain into icing sugar... if only they will keep the white and the me alive... God then everything but everything is all smashing red and mulberry... aubergine follows and purple wants,wants to get thru but... never will... you slow and stately, regal purple... murdering children, chaos and fury... don't let me stop no, i might cease forever, don't have me stationed... i couldn't bear my hands to catch up with my mind, they will... bash it and bash it and bash it... for punishment... the great human victory of ignorance... i knew it would be like this... i knew it... you should have let me gush right out of your arms... and find my own way... i have an identity, i am not pieces of random characters... it is killingly hidden - like an engagement ring in the sand at hastings beach in the late seventies... and that poor lemon coloured girl with her tears and her slow delicate delivery and perfect fucking balance... … you don't listen... i tell you its torture... i must not be calm... it will make me sick

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

don't go round

i see people sliding into living...
dancing and screaming, the global commotion
and i, far away, like this sand from that ocean
i resent their beige sort of ease...
i ache to join in and be part of them, there
i want to so dearly, i just stand and stare
i see it all jagged in mosaic square...
it all turns to orange and red, it makes fire
i tell them i'm busy, but i'm a damned liar
it's tight in my chest, you know...
I leave all this pain unexpressed,
and it's no good
i don't go round murdering people.
i would.

Monday, September 26, 2011


so label me yes, as a time or event.
i'm bending back trying to see where i went.
i roller skated up the A259
for one reason, i wouldn't take you for mine.
so i saw red. should i have waited in green?
or save my soul from a far worse might-have-been?
so nobody trusts me, no-one gives me cred.
i'll scrape them all out of that hole in my head.
i felt jagged warnings the time of the fall.
It was on the news, but i did warn you all...
i cant make blue what has revealed itself brown.
the witch is back, so, will she float, will she drown?
i went to the station where I was on file.
i may have messed up, but i did it in style.


when a feeling rings a bell... when you think, oh god i don't wanna admit it but this feels uncomfortable, and when you ask yourself a question dreading the answer and you feel a really hot uncomfortable cold pressure in your solar plexus its because YOU ARE BEING TOLD SOMETHING by your inner voice (God perhaps) ignore it at your peril. the ones you resist the most are the ones you most need to listen to. i am certain of that.
this is not, of course, to be confused with trouble causing thoughts that come to you to try and mess up your happiness, so you feel a 0.00001%th worry about something and you worry so much you think maybe its true and a big fear thing happens and you get in a state and then you blurt out the most painful thing you can and then you ruin it all for yourself. that is a surprisingly (and depressingly) normal human character trait. to try and shoot yourself in the foot.
i know cos i been doing it for years. people like to make life as hard as possible for themselves. i used to confess to all the mis doings of my brother and sister as a kid. and things not to do with any of us. i took the blame in case it might have been my fault. i told a shrink once he said its really rather common.
so...what does one conclude...
listen to your feelings cos they will save your life form going badly wrong... but don't listen too much.

diary; oh fucking hell

i just wrote a really nice poem about my sofa and copied it, as i always do, and some twat messaged me on facebook in bloody arabic, and so i copied his words and looked them up on google translate. and so that idiot person, not a brilliant cellist after all, lost me my ''sofa''... great.

i was just thinking about pizza and this came to me...

if you package something well enough (present yourself beautifully) ... price it REALLY high (have lots of self respect)... and give it really good press (refer to yourself and your past in positive terms) then it really doesn't matter what it is (who you are)... it'll sell (you'll go far)


i have a big secret... i don't want to keep it but i must... i am a good actor...  i have had to be... to protect myself... it's been the toughest part i have had to play in all my years of performing... i lead a double life... i truly lead a life, and a completely different one... and this is true... if i told you the reality you would probably not believe me... i don't understand why it is this way, i don't understand why the job was given to me... if only you knew... if only you knew...i will never tell a soul... i can't... i am bound not to... it is not easy at all... it is terribly hard... if only you knew

Saturday, September 24, 2011


life has such a strange way of giving you exactly what you did not want and then making it the very thing you truly needed to achieve the longed for end result... wonderful, but so hard in the interim... ''ours is not to reason why'' but we feel we need to, to help us cope with the utter horror of being denied again, again and again what we so want and feel is our path. well. it can't have been. for if it was, we would have been given it and taken it ! fact

Friday, September 23, 2011

on stumbling across a flash of normal

so take us home, love, lie with me
let us be still, i'll make fine tea
i need a hush sweet valium still
i need your scent and, yes, i will
you bring me pink and green and blue
your colours nest within mine too
i need your poise, your breath, your balm
beneath your gaze, beneath your arm
you give to me your regal power
i give to you my wilting flower
and when we're home i feel relief
and yet i'll shiver, life lost leaf
there's nothing strange about the calm
beneath the pleasure's stormy harm
the violence in lust and fits
the stone bits and the feather bits
just resting i'm inside you more
than yesterday, and days before
i've longed for comfort all my life
the glass the spoon the fork the knife
there's safety, yes, in numbers, true
when there is love, that number's two.


thru your haze i see myself, a shadow of what used to be, an apricot colour... i was afloat with easiness and with the accompanying joy.... smooth cream relaxed head... now i can't, not for ten thousand oceans... saturated in what should have been... i am lost... just drifting like a feather, grey feather... freedom is one thing, but drifting is quite another and i just can't catch my speed... don't bring me down, don't drag him and her down either, I am happy just drifting now... illusions of grandeur ?my illusions are of getting to the post office ok, you see you never understood me, you never even tried... illusions of my happiness, my fun, how I adore my very emma firework life? there are real rainbows in my wardrobes... lets whisk up drift into a dance... let's dance until we drop, take my hand... let dance in and on the green until we die... you lose your desire to take your place within the charcoal years.... robbed of your will... well, you won't get mine, not in a million... i am lying flat licking water off a dolphins back in a nile blue leotard... my awakening... riding home with the Gods and Goddesses who are my loved ones... hazy, hazy it's just crazy that i still miss you though you're gone, hey, will you be misty long? I am here but are you out there? say yes.

note to self

note to self. if somethings not good enough. if something is not fulfilling you. if you feel uncomfortable in a medium. go your own way. even if bankrupt status beckons. follow heart. follow heart. follow heart.even if you end up far away from where you thought you would go. go with what god gives you and follow the path you can swim down. don't knock on doors that you don't like the colour of. even if they let you in.

end of the season

you mosquitos, with your human blood bank
you're sole aim to swim in red and you sank
you came to me desperate for a drink
you little dracula beast, do you think?
you're so driven raw desire to be fed
and sometimes your neediness leaves us dead
do you consider how you will do it?
do you rub yourself jolly when you sit?
you make me so itchy and then i swell so
like a pink marshmallow on a pillow.
you're so common you know, you just don't care
who sees you, or photographs you mid air.
i have no respect for you or the mark
you left on the world after noah's ark.
two by two you flew out and just raised hell
and pissed people off, upset kids as well.
you wanted our blood, oh well good for you
go for your life, if thats all you can do.
oh no! lay eggs fast or you wont survive
i feel so indignant about your drive.
it's so blinkered and corrupts any peace
cant you lay eggs like crocs, bluetits or geese?
i think you get a kick out of your game
biting and being a general pain
you're reign's worse now, and i know the reason
so, tough! cos its the end of the season.

diary. train.

going on a train can seem like you are starting a new life... away form one place... (where inevitably bad things happened,as they always do, as well as all the good things of course)... and heading to a new place where we shall be afresh. new. virgin. smiling. heady. even if we have been there many times before. yes. a new start. what could be better then that. going on a train. one will buy revolting coffee and biscuits for a million euros apiece and celebrate doing so as it's holiday time (even if it isn't)... we will see backpackers on the train and know we are very slightly above them... why is that... disgraceful really... i haven't cried today yet... its normally all those who cant swim stand on chairs by now... you know, trains are odd things. stress. watching them go without you.getting on one and finding no seats. having to stand all the way is intolerable and i always look really lost and ill until a male stands for me. or backpacker. i was arrested in italy three times in my first month here. each time for ignorance. i didn't know here you have to have bought and stamped your ticket before you board.a police arrest and eighty pounds later i knew. i like the way trains sound. i always imagine the railway children scene where her father comes home, appearing thru the mist and she says ''daddy, its my daddy''. oh, now i am crying.

Thursday, September 22, 2011


you came to me, i'd needed you,
i'd been in stab black and in blue.
red raw arrived and i had coped
and coped and coped and fucking coped.
and coped and help me coped and coped,
and begged and prayed and even hoped
to blow a breeze right into hell
and watch it stay afloat as well.
you placed sweet tight upon my chest
and stroked and traced and gently pressed.
then i recalled i wanted life
and quite forgot the night the knife,
ecstatic, sacred, full belief
in Heaven, i had pain relief.

a good lover

you make me good coffee to fill my desire
you get into bed too when i must retire
you bring me plain biscuits so i wont feel faint
you could be a devil but you are a saint
to care for ones lover's a gift and a joy
to find all the tenderness you must employ
embracing their illness and pain in the light
is part of embracing their body at night

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


his brow was creased
the light mood had stopped
from one second to the next
i felt a heaviness
and pressure
within him, deep
he didn't know why
he was hot and still
and told me not to worry
i was disobedient
and worried endlessly
for 93 minutes

as i turned and saw something rise up from him
it looked like a dusty peach blush coloured blanket
but ghostly, greyed out and cloud like
like buffeted smoke,yes
it seemed to be being sucked into somewhere high up above us.
this was all over within a split second.

i looked over to him
his whole face altered,
lightness, buoyancy, a place expecting fun
his colour was different, his skin had entirely changed
and he looked at me and smiled.
he was back

stars and sky

oh moving moon, oh dearest sight!
put my hand on his heart tonight,
give me neptune's strength and pride
not to resist your pulling tide.
grant me now a mermaid's grace
and have him kiss my tear stained face.

so be the groom, oh stars and sky.
and moonlight will present your bride.


i lost my sense of sound
i lost my sense of sight
i couldn't feel you beating
when i reached out in the night
but worst of all the scent of you
was absent from the room
the chemicals that made us love
were bored of us so soon

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

change of seasons

churning inside my stomach
looking out into the not light
not dark
nineteen hours and grey
heavy feel
will it rain
summer breeze has turned to chill
did you bring my cardigan
i have a headache
it feels clogged in the air
its very uneasy in my chest
i cry because i feel homesick from myself
i cant replace myself
i cant tell where i am
where my legs are
where my scent is
where my mind is
i knew where i was in the straw hat of summer
i know where i am kicking leaves thru the wood in the autumn
i know where i am round the christmas tree in winter
but now i could be in space
i am lost
floating around motherless
i have nobody to turn to
i dont know anything because i cant place myself
am i still myself
i am just drifting and it feels bad
i want to home again
uncomfortable, uneasy, stifling, homesick, anxious are the words i would choose...
i feel them as i sit here on a late summer evening

if i lose you now

if i lose you now
i will never be able to move again
this moment will freeze
and so will i

if i lose you now
i wont ever tell the time again
i wont know when we fell in love
i wont recall anything

if i lose you now
i wont ever see my hands again
they will be forever over my eyes
my palms over my cheeks

if i lose you now
i will atrophy
i will turn creased and brown like a wilting flower
and never bloom in the spring

if i lose you now
i wont ever sing again
you will be stuck in my throat forever
my breath wont get past you

if i lose you now
i will stay awake forever
in case i fall asleep and dream you're here
and wake up to horror. horror.

if i lose you now
i'll just sit and sit and be a thing
the matter, cells, or form of someone
inside someone else.


there were three women on a bus
one was an oldish whore, another, a youngish pretty girl, and the last, a nun of uncertain age
the bus stopped to let people on.
a woman got on, green and yellow in her face, out of breath, very old and clearly unwell
one of the three women was bound to offer her their seat.
the whore stood up so that the sick woman could sit.

why are we even slightly surprised by that?

Monday, September 19, 2011

squishing insects

i killed one, guilty, on my screen
but, wondering what might have been
perhaps he would have turned out mean...

the nobel prize for fruit fly peace?
the chief gov of the fly police?
a vocal coach for ducks and geese?

an drunkard barfly thief and crook?
the bookie fly who bends the book?
a pervert fly gimp mask chains hook?

will i be punished then this time?
or have i stopped a far worse crime?
who knows God's plans? i don't know mine.


creamy shiny
perfectly formed
just as you are
salt adorned
oyster treasure
hard shell hood
weeping seafood
God is good

Sunday, September 18, 2011


stretched out gum
a dali yawn in the sky
breathing so stifled
everything slow, diazepam snail
crawling shuffle creamy frail

slurred eyes, slurred words
i'm scanning idly
the pointillist floor tonight...
arms heavy, trying to breeze...
don't stop my stretching, please...
it is my right to want to fight it
pull from the top and carry the light..
like a christmas lantern bringing mulled wine
reaching sky up from my poke thru hips
push-swoosh ballet flips
my legs are pushing
pushing it away
perhaps it's the
pendulum sway
a see-saw set for flakey players
all so slow in pastry layers

i acknowledge my utter impotence calmly
i can do nothing so i take the tour...
strange sultry pleasure in striving endlessly
for utterly assured ultimate failure
it doesn't hurt because nothing hurts...
i can't get going, but i won't get hurt

levitating girl
watch her float.
ophelia flowing on a reedy note..
give her figs and chocolate leaves
and watch her swim 
forward, out of the frame

falling backwards, feather-gently...
grey film over everything now
sludgy scented blissful mallow
all of your voices
are carried on the air like ghosts
polyphonic wavy sex moans
washing machine cries of nothing
nothing as aimless could ever have been more...
my hair is flowing, i'm not moving
i'm not anxious
everything is simply drifting
pushing towards what...
everything's in place...
for i'm not there yet
i'm not anywhere yet
everything is painlessly slow-mo...
i'm normally much longer than i am right now
rubber band
honey drip
cream stream
smooth move
eyes dimmed
tongue limp
sheets of muslin over my ears and
one love swimming thru the air
watching my body catch up
am i a bubble, or some other something...?

no i'm emma.
i'm just tired.

Friday, September 16, 2011


lying on the bed of cream petals and foam 
white iron swirls and the promise of security
virgin bed for virgin love light

i am given coffee from some exotic land
looks like an arabian knight in cream butter muslin
and he presents tiny tastes of sweet things
all arranged in patterns
made of yellow honey and white mallow, yes
fit for a princess
and i am she
...and surely some potion for desire, too
as i see him opiate surging in my chest
hot and heaving, barely in control 
his sleek curved back as it bends down to the harem
like a golden bending feather
from some tall and stately bird

we lie, sleepy in a still stopped -moments haze
i see things thru subdued light now
calm and creamy
slight and slowly
sweaty and smokey
from life's delight

we hear them march outside
occasionally a romanian, german or an english croak
guttural and senseless, rigid, bench
stiff and starchy crust-curdled cream
stamping over the rose that is the word
grinding it with their heel
til it's juice spills over the paving stone.
The glory that is the spoken flower.
so when i hear italian sounds
my rest is here again, oh Lord.
how i love to laugh at them,though
lying, thieving, and san remo! 
i don't care to dwell on piffle
there's perfection in their souls
they know the glorious game of life
they know how to live their uncounted years
to love their families and to celebrate.

i am not two metres from them now
in our feathered nest and in silence
if they reached right up on tippy toes
they could peck and they'd find cream

so we have layered sounds of
chic bologna, red arch Heaven
non stop orchestrated cell phones
they have their ring cycle now
students laughing, church bells throwing
strange distortion to their tones.
when we rest i know i'm cream
and i know that i'm safe at last.
wine and water? yes my love
lets drink it while i
burn the past.


there once was a skinny young model
who starved to reach the runway toddle
but she was so weak
that she just had to eat
now she's off work, on drugs and the boddle

Thursday, September 15, 2011

turning the wheel

earn it, win it, or inherit,
money's everything, you know,
everything you own you bought or,
someone gave you (or you stole)

money's nothing, that's a lie though
glorious jewels and clothes and chocs
jaguars, an easy life and
gifts arriving in a box!

would you rather win the lotto?
who's the champion? you for once
that's your claim to fame, sweet dreamer.
million's great, the rest is bunce 

would you rather just inherit
jewels, your home, your every thought
might be fun to sit there knowing
nothing in your pad was bought

would you rather you had earned it
give you healthy self respect
(mum and dad were knackered teachers,
reader, what do you expect?)

when my mind and age were younger
what i dreamt of was to earn it
feel that pride, be independent 
make my own big wheel and turn it

then you take some years of living
want and pressure, rent and tears
made my light of ideals dimmer
months of debt had turned to years

suddenly my thoughts were desperate
didn't know which way to turn
pushed by fire with the need to
be resourceful and to earn

my conclusion's not to do things
feeling that one need or must
then things blow up in your face and
what you do have falls to dust

then you see your friends enjoying
all of their ill gotten gains
and you want what they have sorely
jealousy, though, leaves its stains

then a friend's great aunt will croak
and they'll inherit all her stash
and from being mansion owners
now they'll surely drown in cash

hang your morals for the moulah.
and what makes me puke a bit
is left wing preaching prancing rock stars
managing to suffer it...

nobody will mind some extra
nobody refuses that
we've got lots to work on 'giving'
'to receive' we've got down pat

if i'd married into money
i could not be satisfied
also i'd resent the hand-outs
damaging my sense of pride

think that to inherit's mindless
think that lotto wins are gross
think that getting gifts is dreamy...
not the option i'd like most

what i want to do is earn it
to delight in what i've spent
and i want a miracle
so I don't die in the attempt

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


my funny bones aren't funny
my open eyes are shut
my empty purse has money
my shuffle is my strut

my flowing water's frozen
my impotence is power
my time of birth was chosen
my shit's a fragrant flower

my laughing's just my crying
my pleasure is my pain
my landing is my flying
my let-it-go's my blame

my nonchalance is minding
my living matter's dust
my losing is my finding
my calm disdain's my lust

my hatred is my caring
my mania's my sleep
my reticence is daring
my lion king's my sheep

now...trying to reason clearly,
as we know pink is pink
how many of these are really
much closer than we think?

the most fantastic thing

i do believe that tea Is god like. it brings healing and calm to everyone who ever has a cup. it is simply a naturally glorious thing. it grows on its own. it seeps into a natural substance and matures giving off a wonderfully mature golden brown colour. it does all this stuff on its own. it is indpenently a wonderful experience. hot hot hot is how emma likes it. as soon as it cools even a tiny bit i lose interest.if am desperate for a cup, say i am eating biscuits mid afternoon then i might enjoy it so much i drink it warm not hot. but if i am filling time or making it for the enjoyment of making it (a ritual) i like cup after cup of strong tea. it heals me. it really does. and i believe if more people drank tea in this way ( and if more people were offered it) the world would be a better place. because, you gather your thoughts and decide on actions while drinking tea. also you feel your feelings clearer because they come to you when you are relaxed (tea is a great relaxant) know how words you have lost in your mind come to you when you re relaxed? ... well, its like that. tea has made many a good political call and has more than likely made the queen communicate better (lord she needs to get some vocal coaching poor woman, and not sound like an ENT posh disgruntled outpatient nasally challenged seagull, and doesn't she look fantastic for her age?)not to mention while drinking tea people have decided to bite the bullet and leave an abusive husband or indeed propose marriage... tea is the source of straight thinking. it is also good as an accompaniment to good biscuits or cake. both excellent sweet life affirmatives.

Not political

I am not a political person but as I get older I feel more passionately about things that are going wrong with my own country... England, my land... I feel we could be the reigning glory of the world... I truly do, look how much we have to give...all the beauty, the history, the people, the art the talent the music the order... But we fuck it up, our leaders mess it all up for us, every time, and the queen looks on, embarrassed as her family screws about and her chosen political heads just make us all cringe then angry. How I want to approve of what they do but to anyone who is not them, it is obvious they are all bleeding heart idiots. I have had enough. I did not come to Italy to escape our political situation I came to Learn how to sing bel canto but to be honest I was getting fed up of it all. How bad must it be that I come to a country that is more expensive and full of thieves and cheats with no order and of course the mentally ill hitler figure that is berlusconi. Voted in not one but a horrifying four times cos 'the family' threaten Sicily to the extent that he has all of Sicilys votes, for a start, not to mention what else goes On. Anyhow... Then I found my love and we made a home so it worked out well. Oh but its all a mess a total mess, even apparent to a not very political person.i mean i am more or less blind but i can feel. and we feel the hard end of it don't we. we don't to the GP and say, you know, i feel really good now. i reallly feel so well and sunny and happy. we go when we have a problem, a complaint. we feel the negative .and i suppose i am complaining to my imaginary political GP now. gruesome politician.
i have moved. i am still moving. i think it might go on forever. but its exciting in many ways. tiring. i do feel tired by it all. the bed drama goes on endlessly... we will sleep in a bed tomorrow night finally, we hope. after being here two weeks and two days. ikea has become our home from homes. fucking place. i hate it so much it has inspired several poems. however, it has served us pretty well actually, and i get a kick in having been there. looking back. like so many things in my life which i fail to enjoy at the time but look back on happily and with fondness. like the school i went to and where i was abused. i had really good times there and i looked back on it happily even today.
it fees strange being here. with a man who loves me...his reason? just because i am me! extraordinary. i know all my many good points, and still hate myself with a loathing. but he knows few of them and still loves me. with joy. strange, frankly. i cant understand it. i guess in that way i am truly fortunate. note to self, must not fuck it up. i have a knack of pushing away good things in my life to punish myself (from what, who can tell) ... i have made a mental note not to do this. he is an adonis. the most physically beautiful person i have ever seen. we love each other. he is funny, clever, witty, stylish, fashionable, artistic, the only person with hwom i ever shared the depth of music i feel, he understands things he cant possibly get at such a tender age, a callow youth indeed, haha, he is , to that end i suppose, a savant... a great cook too not to mention the fact that he does everything for me. he wants to. he literally does everything. he knows i have it tough and he cooks, cleans, plans, does my hair, makes the bed, makes things for the houee with his delicate sensitive but capable little hands... he refers to me for grown up decisions! it is hilarious to watch. i gaze at him for hours. all the time really. as he is slowly sliding round the house going from one job to the next as he cooks and is just like a little kitten messing with his little paws and peeling garlic or sprinking parsley or grilling vegetables, i look at the side of his face and more often, his gorgeous bottom. it is just exactly like a babys. like a little peach. much nicer than mine. we laugh a lot of the time. he mimics my laugh. i didn't know what my life was like but he does. and when i tickle him mercilessly he is hysterical and begs me to stop. but i just cant cos he really smiles and laughs out loud. usually he is a quiet character. often not speaking for hours on end. busy doing something, or nothing... and then he will play some chopin and his eyes do this thing , he goes straight to heaven, it is moving to watch. i am crying now. so i will stop. it is very unsettling moving. i have been on my own since i was 21, its a long time. this is my first go at cohabitation. i am doing well so far. because of love.
i worry about everything, of course i do. its my job. it was in my life contract.
i cant want food today i don't know why. i made all these gorgoues aubergines and courgettes pan cooked in garlic and oil and they look stunning but i just cant want them. i had a yoghurt. it was nice but its not enough for a girl who needs to be strong..
apparently my poetry is ok and i should send it out to publishing companies but really, who can be arsed to do that, it will be such a faff.
christ almighty how wonderful will it be to sleep in a bed ...what if it were tonight? oh my god i would be so ...well now, would i be happy? would a bed make me happy? very doubtful but it would make me relieved. very very relieved which is good enough.
i am going thru a low. i don't know why but i am. it will pass and if it doesn't i will get help. its not hard, even in italy. plus people do speak english. i watch all my french and saunders and not going out and little britain for comfort they are my comforts.Facebook used to be but its not really much more. i have networked and its pretty boring. i have a made a few friends i should like to meet and they are all over 50 how weird is that? two are old!
i will see my dad next week and i will see my mum the day after we get back. its fab and i cant wait. though i cant do big eating any more so it will be a challenge mind you, my mum eats like a bird. a small bird. a ladybird.
what a boring fucking entry this was.
i want to be rich. i love luxury things. i don't mean have enough money. that is now. i mean stinking filthy rich. i love jewellery. leather. fur. mmm. i shall mke it happen, i wonder how...
over n out. if anyone reads this, you shouldn't have. it was a waste of time. now that did make me smile honestly. i do make myself laugh. humour is your best friend. well it is mine for sure! tee hee

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

but if

i love designer dresses
and matching handbags too
and antique jewels and cashmere coats
and fine exquisite food
i'm made for it i long for it
I know it will be mine
i'll stay at home creating art
the balance will be fine

i want to sing, and very loud
so that should get a mention
i want to be salome nude
i guess i want attention
i want public hysteria
when i am being funny
and when i'm acting all deranged,
eyes wet and noses runny

it would be nice to sit in church
and be so lost in prayer
i wouldn't hear a cell phone or
feel someone pull my hair.
but if i've helped one person cope,
or made a dark hour light,
or made a sick child giggle, then
life will have been alright.

Love on the sea

come to me
love on the sea
come back sea foam memory
float your driftwood
moon pulled dream
roll it overboard to me

come to me
mermaid green
neptune had a fantasy
my arms are open, heavy now
can't stay awake
don't let us drown

come to me
starry sea
fools think
it's the enemy

come to me
beautiful ease
cool my brow
your salty breeze

come to me
the pull and push
it is to breathe
the ebb the flow
lime-bitter taste
the netting float
the rusty can
the bottle tops
faded crisp packet.
sea gulls squeaky desperate cries
wedding rings
and lost romances
People lost.
people found drowned.
bottled messages, i can't even write it,
undelivered, undelivered
the angels' voices melting sounds
her gentle coral smile
that only the sea can sing...
only the sea can really sing.

so, come to me
love on the sea

The joy

I cannot do it anymore
Because I am with him
I sometimes want to
But most control it
want to but I cannot now
I try to keep my word

And I see the light
Thru the gap in the tree
And it sears thru me
Like an arrow of White heat
A little one, tiny almost
Just enough to make me fall
I can't do it because of this idea
That I just can't put into words
I would Love to

The wind is in from Africa
And washes my hair with sand
I bend and dance freely
Thru the waves
And run around away from you.
Then you can't go away from me

I am a piece of a mermaid really.
Not the whole
Just a piece

I smiled when saw a little boy
Who giggled dribbling in the store
He smacked a strangers bum for fun
She didn't even notice him
He wiped his nose and looked around
And only I was looking there
We had this secret and we knew
The secret then of life
My heart was full of joy
I'm smiling as I write

It was one of the three times I ever felt true unrestricted unquestioned unfettered joy in my life.
I touched my centre
I touched god.
The joy, the joy, the joy.

I cannot do it anymore though
But not cos it's a sin
I cannot end my own life now
Because I am with him.

conversation with a shepherd

you might feel the urgent
burning desire to be an astronaut
wanted to all your young life, your dream, your exams
when every book in the whole world 
tells you to go for it, whatever your limitations
you won't be one.
but you might break your heart in trying
and i don't think we should ever suffer

they tell you that chasing your dreams
will make your pain worse.
but Master, if i don't express that
for the sheer expression of it
I might have to break a promise...

yes and trust in God, they say
if i trust enough it will all come good
so if you don't get well, you've failed
Master tell me, is that really true?
and if you don't diet on papaya and thyme
and sit in a field of a rare strain or corn virus singing kum bay ya for 5 years
you wont get well?
a get-out clause for the 'health' fanatic bigot zealot bastards
i've done it all !
I know the score.
so now you have the pain, the death sentence, and the guilt to deal with
the wholly-bitter trinity
i knew and its an industry.
Master say it's not like that.
why should people have to suffer

Lord let me tell them, let me speak
punish me after if you will
sufferers, listen, don't have tests
don't waste your life searching
don't see a shrink, don't pay their bills
love your life or what you have
in this moment, I know,it's not what you want.
even if you are hurting and railing, bleeding, on fire.
feel the pain, and feel everything.
if you want to be dead, then honour that wish.
God knows, you had so many wishes you couldn't...
tell them in writing how it really was.
make it your death wish for us all to know
get really rich after death (i am laughing)
get fame sorted posthumously
swing your hermes bag in Heaven
even pathetic crack whores are deified after a young death, remember that
it's a gimmick, you gotta have a gimmick.

don't sully your perfect rose, rose darling
you are complete now, as you are
you cant see it, but it's real
you are so lovely, rose, darling
A perfect rose in a perfect garden.
Master, isn't her beauty divine?
Let us call her Mary tonight

do you have voices in your head?
do you hear the facts today?
are you ill or just very sad?
do you just feel you're in the wrong show?
is it strauss or is it sondheim with you?
how are you today?

oh and, how am i today ?

Monday, September 12, 2011

Who dunnit

A teen beauty queen from Quebec
Made plain little poll's life a wreck
But before she was crowned
The bully was found
with No heart beat and wire round her neck

Chat line

Three times I tried to call
Three times I'd got the gall
Three times the signal said
"This is wire, you'll end up dead"

Friday, September 9, 2011


Blank everywhere
I feel nothing, a faint sickening fear maybe
Underneath the workings out
And pencil markings
Comfort love
Thank god for that

But blank... New for me. New things.
White puddles are the wildest thngs
That ever could be
In these surreal surroundings
You said it would be and so it will
Thank god for that

But blank is everywhere
A biscuit embargo in bologna
Quick quick One two!
Let's fill that space before we miss
The Italian stallion and the straw mall
That guy always has a smile for me
Every day
With his crappy job
In his crappy logo-d apron
And his grey white wheel chair
Happy as anyhing
Happier than celebrities with their legs and money
Gutter snipes with gutter lives and gutter press
It is always those who have less
That appreciate it more
Less to confess
Less to mess
Up.up and awayyyyy...
I think I am a pretty decent soul
I think my heart is basically true
I look at you
And feel it beating
You are honest
Thank god for that

I don't think I'll ever get over ikea
It shook me up so terribly
Normality just for four hours
Affected me and
I felt sick
He calmed me down
He stroked me brow
Maked me tea
And smile Again
Love to laugh
It poured on us!
Thank god for that

It's pretty blank today
But needs must and you do what you have to...
To make time for beauty
Time for pain
I look at your long spine
With brown flesh so smooth
And wonder how in the world
We fit but we do
You bother for me
I bother for you
And so is love
Thank god for that

If this blankness goes on I will wither and die
Then I will be born again
And like new hair be stronger
Nature is so good to us in this way
That gross grey thing becomes the butterfly!
The food here's so great
The colours so vibrant
The earth spins faster
Yet i see blankness
While making a home
The blank will become red and may make me scream
and scratch
My way into a massive crisis
that nearly kills us all...
Then there will be smooth lines
Clean surfaces
And lots of light
With icons, a black bust and ancient picture frames
An easel a piano and paintings from england
And olives from lucca
And melted down fear
And tears wiped away
And walks to the towers
And hanging out washing
And saying goodbye
and then run down the pavement
In Nightie and jumper
and crying right after
"The devils here daddy"
"So say hi and bye
And continue your day
Relax!my darling
Relaxations the key"

It wasn't blank at all
It was waiting
Ah, waiting! Just waiting!
Red becomes pink then and...

Thank god for that.


There once was a horse called ignatious
Whose stable was perfumed and spacious
Though now we would say
That this pony was gay
back then they just said he was 'gracious'

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The right way

Oh you, complete skinny jeans
Your life is plainly what it seems
Thick make up is your uniform
And in the winter keeps you warm

Simplicity will be your friend
From now until the bitter end
You'll sit and smoke into my face
And then expand the human race

I saw you in ikea there
Behind some shelves and unaware
That I was watching you once more
And much more closely than before

Your fingers running everywhere
Then running thru your greasy hair
And wiping snot from babies face
Then fingering a teak bookcase

You're nice, I like you, pretty too
I wish I could live more like you
I wish each second didn't try
To challenge me or wonder why

You're perfect made in stone complete
You'll last, you'll weather well, you'll beat
The problems, trials, all the strains,
The buggery or life's refrains

I watch you envious and sad
Cos every second drives me mad
I ask myself if I can cope,
Or if there isn't any hope

There isn't anything I take
And just enjoy for it's own sake
I always question any joy,
Or take the edge off, or destroy

And so the thinking man it seems
Will question those in skinny jeans
And watch and listen and observe
The right way, it's a learning curve.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Nothing real

if you look in the glass and see a nothing it's because you are not able to see something... Not blind just impotent... I don't know what i mean... I can really smell whiskey...think it out properly... Think thoughts thru emma.. If you can't see what you thought was there, then it doesn't necessarily mean that what you thought was there is not there, just that it is not here for you, apparent at this moment... Do you see... I thnk I am wont get a gift if you don't roll your sleeves up and open your hand to grip it, nothing happens if you have your hands by your will drop and probably won't bounce unless it was a ball, and only small boys want that, and I am not sure how much of my audience is made up of small boys, though it would be great... No I wouldn't want a ball... So, if you make a cake without ingredients, when it comes out of the oven, there won't be a cake ready to enjoy. But you still have made sure it came out at just the right moment and fretted and stood close to the oven... And the oven smells were so good and it was all going well...oh,only...that it was all in your head... You imagined the oven smelled good and the real smell you enjoyed was simply that of the empty oven, not even other things you had cooked and has spilled over onto the floor of that important kitchen appliance but also the expectation... You experienced what your mind anticipated but when you look in the glass and expect to see yourself and dont... Is it a trick of it something real or nothing real... Did I. Just see myself I a glimpse after all... Argh I can really smell cigarettes, or burning wood or something, I am thinking about the cake thing, maybe it's burning cake I can smell... I made him pasta with zucchini and black pepper and expected it to be good and it was, but that has nothing to do with it does it... When I was in the streets of ancient bologna today wanting to buy a toothbrush holder I had a fever... I looked in the glass but it wasn't glass it was a door way into another room and saw a punk walking along off his face eating a croissant...

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Sunday shopping

We went to ikea today During a massive storm and it was so very strange... Not the massive storm, ikea... lots of families, young couples with babies starting up their lives together with new furniture, in laws and debts, and middle aged married couples re-doing their homes for the last long haul, grandparents with toddlers... but what was terribly apparent was that nobody seemed happy. Nobody. I saw no smiles all day...I saw kids overfed and unhappy and one woman in silent desperation with tears rolling down her cheeks motionless, step ford misery, and I was shocked. What these people needed was not good taste, or comfort, or style, they just needed to get in, get out, and get to the end of the day without suicide or killing each other. They had no... They were blank. Weird. Anyhow, the stuff in there... well, pretty reasonably priced on the whole, some fantastic offers and some ridiculously overpriced furnishings, but on average, a good deal... Ok. Now. Here's the thing. it was all modern. All of it. Contemporary. Red, black or grey. White, if you are lucky. Nthere no wood effect productcs as they are all in the warehouses having my bile washed off. No, but we got some good things a home needs: toilet brush, bath mats, towel holder, place mats, crockery, pans, a chopping board etc etc... All for about 50 cents but... It's all so terribly clinical. Huge barren Surfaces. Straight lines. No chance of ikea curving anything. It might show signs of morphing into having some sort of character, god forbid... And ijust couldnt be happy in an ikea home... With its sterile furnishings for clean living families with pristine requirements. Squares. Rectangles. Reminiscent of that box style hair cut bloody French women have. Thin black hair, straight fringe, short and angular, on boy looking girls, weighing three stone two... Anyhow ikea... It's this nightmare nazi regime of telling people en masse what good taste is. We are brainwashed. 'This is klimt and we hear it's fine art therefor we will buy this print a woman on her side with red hair and pay fifty because we want to impress people at dinner parties with our extreme refinement and art savvy.' It's trite. For me... Well, we are flooded in our bathroom and with wet tiles we're slipping over etc so it was a timely visit... We needed sticky oversized carpet slice type affairs and fast ...and for that, ikea is your main man... Pillows nice... Kitchenware nice... But anything that requires an emotional understanding of making a home, lived in by real people, with real issues and needs and problems...not people from adverts on tv... They just don't get it. Mnd you, with what I saw of the people in there... Maybe they get it perfectly...

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Chopin, no

I am listening to Chopin... A withheld beginning, coy, As if he is touching the face of a marble virgin, tracing her lips and cheeks and brow... So subtle his climaxes are like keeping quiet out of respect to other guests in a hotel, And he is so moved by it, watch is eyebrows crease, so lovely this boy, he may as well be called a demi-god the difference is neligable, oh chopin... Your trills are gentle and thoughtful, holding back outpourings of fire, we are opposites he is not on fire he is smouldering... Oh darling... I still smell of his zucchini pasta and hear him whistling and it pleases me for I never had it before, I never had stable happiness, joy for more than two minutes, I never had a whistling lover, while he fixes the tv or washes up, and yes, I will sing more in the house, as he likes, but then this writer... his descending scales are like a musical yawn, a sudden sigh an air of release, come on, write write, finish us off like in nocturne 27, 2 in surely, the definitive ending of all piano music... And when Chopin ends he ends us all too! The heavenly call of fluidity and reverence to God's own work.. I am sure Chopin is up there thinking how kids emoting all over the piano is not a compliment to his works... Even i Can see it's not meant to be like that. Take 60mg codeine wash it down with some mumm and stand in front of neptune in piazza maggiore and then feel how it feels not to be able breathe without chopin, hearing the angels. he is dressing to go out and singing tristesse, I managed to find a dress to put on in all the moving house mess, I may well look like a stick of liquorice in the final cut but still, it's only for a red peach or Singapore sling, oh mercy ! I hear Chopin and feel utterly gauche and de trop, blowsy and ugly like a pantomime dame in comparison to his sleek whippet Chanel coat hanger, snorting coke and looking like a spaghetta. Inhuman-oid. I wish that Chopin was aware of what it does to us. To hear it. Maybe he is aware... I wish I coud find my moschino couture... I miss my perfumes, god knows which city it is resting in now....Do you think it's ok to adore music so...? To the extent that i would rather listen to music than see people, but so often! I sit here waiting to go out and know that we will listen to more, maybe we will stay in all, dressed up and pour our the remaining champagne and enjoy our own company feeling gorgeous... I associate Chopin with slenderness... His understatement is seductive to a very heightened level. Up up up. Pull us in with yrour touch of genius . I am wrapped up in resistance and having one cheek turned away like the priest in a confessional, and so I am not totally seduced, like Eurydice. I won't shout about it, I won't talk im terms of coming. I will only say I love it,i respect these works of chopin. I revere them. Ravel gets my sex. Chopin, no.

Friday, September 2, 2011


i bet you hope that it's great and I'm going strong, red girl, orange days, yellow luck and hair slides, kidding around, girlfriends, cheerleader teeth and showers together talking about bras, periods, chocolate and boys... jumping to the beat and space dust... come on teeny girls, you go out and take facebook pictures, fakebook laughing virgin dressed as whore puppets ,with your boast machines and cocktail smiles... but don't be fooled... this is and this is not a love song, when i go quiet, i am not ok, i'm plotting. and if you dared to tell yourself that I've forgotten... you'd be wrong. cuts tears in duvet days, no callers, stay away,  shield yourself from more of mr.p, feel so different... no grin no sundaes no hairdos no makeup puffy, but puffy ugly eyes, i can hear you, selfish fuckers, spit in your coffee, i need my mother, lock the door to scratch myself and screaming into a cashmere coat dad used to wear that he gave to me, can't bear to know what i know, and if i share it then it must be true and i won't have that... have to go down to get a sandwich hide i'm starving...will I see them, go down silently god... heart beats brown brown brown i hate brown i wrote a whole poem about it but hated it cos i hate brown i didn't want to include it ...your just about beating heart brown like beethoven, thump my eyes out and god he's coming up from the garden, spit in is coffee, you'll get yours mate, why should i make him coffee all he made was me is unhappy and scared for life, piss on his tooth brush doesn't help either, only, just so lonely i want my mother where is she, i've gotta smile at Christmas my favourite blessed grandma time, and where's my mother lovely tree and lovely curtains make it for me lovely presents lovely lovely lovely, are we all happy put a little bowl of crisps for him which he will eat so barbarically the walls tremor, I know what I want for Christmas, things before he moved in and I was more or less moved out and, are we all happy, brown again I hate that colour, a threshold of gross abnormality, are we all happy, is everyone happy, gifts at birthdays make it go, and tea and cocoa, where's she gone now, yes we're all happy just to stop the asking, who are we all? there are three in this house and if we're all happy then i don't count cos i'm not and you'll get yours mate, and I watch the same shows to shut noise out no i won't see them no, my friends won't come if i tell them i am busy, but i can't see them i can't cos i feel more isolated when i see happy people, are we all happy, damn you fucker, yes we are all flowers and ivor novello wallpaper, fake book family pics, where's my mother, down the garden, is he alright, would he like a piece of battenburg with a cup of sugary tea? can I whip down and back up and not bump into friends at all it's like an open bloody house here, i can't stand to do my suffering, my hospitals, my operations in public like a show pony, you made me do it, utter humiliation, can't get her alone, not ever not ever, are we all happy, smile it's easter making simnel and whisk some up so I can sense my own personal jesus risen again, and there were no mobile phones around then, please listen to me, please listen to me, cant you see my innocence is flying away, I hear my brother sneering when I speak now, every word he is there, every word becomes a visit from mr p, wheres my mother, you'll get yours mate, imagine the rest, you'll get yours I won't forget cos i'm the one, i am the one, and you'll get yours mate, and i'm getting my dues and its worth the wait when you get happy in a square or circular kind of way and... oh. Gosh. now you've got yours, i don't spit in your coffee, i look after you cos my mother comes to me now wants me there, i bet she does, and we all pity you, cos you can't remember what i'll never forget and as I take your coffee to you I see you cos what was brown is pink and pumping full of gratitude and low self esteem, well, right, i'd give my eye to help my mother, where's my mother here with me knocking on my door to listen to her at night, she knows she's pretty sorry i guess, she is my mother, anything she wants, anything, anything, i'll take her burden, pity you and love her more and you got yours didnt you, i knew it, i spoke to mr p. you know, when i bring you your coffee now, i bring you a macaroon with it.

Could I just remind you...

Don't be fooled by the rocks I got... I'm still I'm still Emma from the blog...

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Talking dirty

there once was a cunt from Calcutta
who'd never speak up but would mutter
so nobody guessed
that he was a sex pest
cos he carried it off as a stutter.

Unfortunate for a writer

A poet from near Indonesia
Developed a fearful amnesia
He'd start on a work
And then feel like a berk
Cos he couldn't remember