Monday, October 31, 2011


i know a man who hurts so much
he's distracted, he goes deep
he gets so low
but i see in him the truth, so much
that i always comfort him
he says that i always comfort him

i just say this;
'hush, my darling, there's nothing to stir you up tonight
rest your troubled head
and lets ride that stallion sleep together'

i tell him fighting himself must be wrong
he says i feel what is mostly heard
i say 'can you relax for me, be strong?'
he says i soothe him with my words
he says that i soothe him with my words, with my mouth

i just say this;
'hush, my darling, there's nothing to stir you up tonight
rest your troubled head
and lets ride that stallion sleep together'

he says he has no home to go
that his vision is lost, from fear
he says he's lost
so i say 'i know
but there is always room for you here, you know?
i tell you,
there's always room for you at my hearth
in my home'

i just say this;
'hush, my darling, there's nothing to stir you up tonight
rest your troubled head
and lets ride that stallion sleep together'

and then he holds me
so desperately
and in the powerful dance
the transformational blue source of the firelight
he's a woman
he has become a woman for me
reaching out as far as women will reach for comfort

Friday, October 28, 2011

become home

rose coloured early morning love, the smell of golden croissants caresses my small nose, as i walk past mamma's every morning... the smell of heavy brown thick coffee knocks me out.
i more or less feel a push backwards... the kids there are laughing and taking in as much nicotine as their still upright lungs will physically admit... talking so fast, spitting food at each other ,legs all over the place,skinny jeans or death, pasticceria or death, 430 mobile phones ringing at the same time, loudly,
they let them ring on n on.,nobody even looks!it;s become home. i love it
this no stress existence just shatters my nerves though.i am ready to kill the nearest accessory.
it will be a doggy (they are essential, with diamante tags, like their beloved croccodile handbags)

oh kids, kissing behind the pillars, tongues still in and out in front of us all, before they go in and stay in,
it's all a matter of time, the paint by numbers increments of sexuality kids today are hilarious,
but have a much harder time, no innocence allowed too much information,too much responsibility,
and they have to weigh under 40 kilos by law, we just had fun and ate sandwiches and strawberry mivvies

the coffee bars make me wonder about life, those snatched half hours are a massively important part of life; write lists. poems.listen to new italians words sit on your own, see who'll want the seat sit and inhale 45 fags just in 28 minutes she'll come and cuddle you she have flour down her shirt i guess she is ''mamma''
she'll call you bella when you look like shit she is home.i love her.

oh slut italy, why must they taint the perfection of their 'crema' with a powder artificial orange? it ruins it. you over egg the omelette so very often dear itay.why would you have to? you are already perfection. confectionous custard is heaven but so is the gently slightly stretchy tearing of a cornetto still half in its napkin to the dance of laughing pierced roller skating students.

i will go to the supermarket and get squigley sausage and bread and red wine and we will make food become fun tonight
claret coloured late night love.nice


I comfort him
dig him out of the whatever he's in
he brings me things that I have given up
since I last saw him
I try to bring some hope
my acting as if I can cope
and I tell him smokey things
about our dopey heroes on their coke
and my heroines

and life goes on
for him
he goes there
and says the same things
every time
I suppose we all do

and when he comes to me
he'll really weep
he says its' because I give so deep
but I only do as any friend would do
and then I bolt my door to him at night
but I just can't sleep

I am his shoulder
a little softer he says
a little older
but it sure seems to me that just as I get warmer
life gets colder

well, that's the way it seems to me

pull and push

don't look now i'm quite still
for once i'm not faking, not shaking
well, maybe a little
and that's just like you, to see right thru
whenever you come around
I catch me, so ugly
I am gagged and bound
but you could set me free
touch me
You could set me free form agony
or you could choose to cage me

well whatever we say or do
in this game there's one thing certain
that's that nothing's certain
but this pull n push desire
I have to touch you
do you want me to?

The heat and the tongue swallow wine
just makes me more fishy
more feline
make you take your time til your waves crash down
and mix with mine
oh, hello.
And in my arms is a tree
between my hips the moon
my legs the sea
raw energy
push thru me.

You could set me free from agony
or you could choose to cage me.
What'll it be?


Sunday, October 23, 2011

you dont get owt for nowt

whenever you find life a battle
you take hills of pills and you rattle
then what happens next
is you get side effects
such as playing canaster with cattle

swimming man

swimming man
crown down
dolphin surf
filthy earth
coming up for air what
why do you do what you do?

would i not stay right under
under those up and downs
and smell the hot salt
drinking it
purge myself
and spit it all away?
piss under water
show em what i really what
water lock open
slow thru my beautiful hair
see the struggle bones poke thru my face
and pull the longing to stay under
meet the mermen, neptune too
more male marvel would excite me
talking to coral about sea wine
the finest dew upon the weed

would you persist
in reaching for what
an about turn in the air?
taking in rotten seaside life
and roads of muck
and white burned fat girls
why would someone want all that
artificial bright ice suck?
swimming man
you saw it once
you saw it twice
you saw that light
it wasnt white
motionless and jack knifed
limbs pretty much
a thing of the past
doctors,such ways with words
screw up pages of joyce yes
masticate, then crap em away

chair life image
could ya' sex it up?
water dragon you
not for you what
you have seen
and yet you wanted more
over the pink!

that is courage
that is manhood

swimming man
doing what you can
so push me push me
show me, do
illuminate then laminate me
make me all that they can chew
sicken them with a glut of me
make them groan 'who the hell is she'
so laugh and have a fine malt frisky
knowing yes your work is done

swimming man
you know you can
dont be another fan
who opens like a little clam
then leaves the way he came

swimming just in training for
the speed with which you'll swim away

Thursday, October 20, 2011


push me well or pull me badly
i will orange rage you madly
cranberry and blood for passion
fighting fleeting hook fly fashion
slam your weight stab on the table
crack it hard, remain unstable
i will choose so long you'll scream
break the brulee, taste the dream.
touch the pink so sink-soft tender
waves wont wait but slide surrender
hush inverse my eyes all wet
weird concerto where we met
i can smell a state of art
purple skies fall from the start
when the door went it shook fire
scratching shooting ever higher
but in bluebells it gets stronger
more secure and lasting longer

spent too long at computer

i just read 'simple template' as 'shirley temple' oh gawd. so ' would you like to use simple template?' became 'would you like to use shirley temple'.  no! God save us no. not for anything! never did want to. never will.

post cuppa ping

if i could do that
i would be happy
if i could be happy
i could do that

missing souls

where are all those missing sailors
if they'd known about the monster weather
then they wouldn't have gone

and there'd be fewer missing souls
fewer broken hearts
for the ones left behind

where are all those missing soldiers
had they heard the drills pneumatic sickness
sewing machine of bullets not seen
rat a tat tat his red on the green
just a kid, kid with a locket
mum in his heart, girl in his pocket
then they wouldn't have gone

and there'd be fewer missing souls
fewer broken hearts for the ones left behind

heavy sighing and repining
wont bring him back, it's no more
but there's just one thing
months on months later
long long letters from good men
saying ''I didn't know, mum
I didn't know, mummy
but love'll live on thru disaster.
I'm your one, your missing soul.''

Love lives on thru disaster.  

hide and seek

in this game of hide and seek
I guess I hide the most
and if you swam all enveloped by sea
i'd walk along the coast

but its alright now
I think it's filmic somehow

when you find me
i've been in a storm
i'm tense and i'm soaked thru
you ask me why
I mumble some cliché
but I want you to know

I want you to know
that I feel the same way too
sometimes it gets me thru and then thru

but I still hide
and I think
i have to

you should let down your hair

hey girl
settle down
have a walk
take a breath
read a book
have a smoke

you know your horizons
they can be anything you dream

and so
here we are
less is more
take the heat
feel the beat
find your feet

you know that tomorrow
and tomorrow will creep on

and the doctor wrote on her prescription
'what this girl must do is party more'
all he gave her was a cup of his wisdom
'such desire will defy any drug, so
you know
you should let down your hair'

my star

so here we are
falling off our cliff tops
into each others arms
and here we'll stay
leave our troubles at the door
and find another path way
the lovers way

and everything I wanted it to be it is
and everything I wanted them to be you are
my star

and this will last
you came out of the ether
from behind your camera
it happened fast
even for me
and I will pray
cos jericho is calling
all my walls are falling down
into a rosey inlay

traces of love

she's in the centre of her room
her life
plates with cream left on them
on the floor
but with rubbed off make up
a trace of laughter can be tracked down
in an empty glass

pale woman
try not to sing the same tune
blue after blue
alone at home

she knows he felt for her
when she spiraled down so
still, she feels uneasy with her own thoughts
but the scent of lilac
the feel of springtime
though just ghostly
mauve after mauve
they are still there

washing thru her wiley hair  

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

red peach night

tall unusual garnished glass
no to be toyed with, tipped back fast
not quite red, nor yellow nor pink
certainly not what i'd usually drink.
there it was on a silver tray
this heady scorching sunny day
by the beach, bernado's bars
passing bikinis and crocodile scars
diamond ladies mutton loves lamb
thirty years back they were hot stuff and glam
then we pierced the olives skin
and licked the flesh and sucked it in
the mini plates of crudo sticks
the good salamis and tooth picks
then they whooped up cocktail calls
watch the barman, rainbow falls!
blood of oranges, peaches squeezed
amaretto, strawberry freezed
granulated, just invented
pouring smoothly, summer scented
taste the melon on the side
when the moon pulls at the tide
cherry bobs each sip you tease
searing heat begins to ease
i never tasted anything
as subtle, sweet and interesting
it was joy within a challice
maybe i had shrunk like alice
i felt tiny and as one
with everybody having fun!

she knew

he raged at them softly
the crowd just inhaled her
sucked her right down to their boots
as she sang

then she stood motionless
looking at touts.
this panorama of ants, here
these are just some of her fans, here

yes, making them cheer more
with her every breath
all the young dudes
reaching to touch any part of this temple
they try to snatch
a breast rub
or a stroke

then the young women
who think that they are her
she'd understand all their angst
that they know.

then the all-timers
that saw her grow up
and out of experiment into establishment
year after year, her work growing finer
losing the twenties, the thirties are memories
into her forties and fifties, still soaring...

look at her, knowing.
embracing her wisdom
and turning the wheel
of fortune she made
the lovers she called on
the kids that she helped
the star that she named
the players she hurt

and cell phones are flashing
and trousers are twitching
the girls are loud sobbing
this woman just carries it all off in style.
the voice is more full now
the curves they are gentler
the clothing more subtle.
the love is sincere.

and her authenticity calls her the one.
that's what she had that the others...
just didn't.
she'll pose for their pictures
then they'll go home happy
and wink at the press
so they know that she knows.

she still writes it all out
and they're all still ravenous
changing of seasons
and decades of drama.
we wonder who's next and
who's touched with this something
and we only know
that she knew.

she just knew.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

diamond dots

diamond dots are flecks of joy
happy skinny teenage girls
arm in arm here with their friends
groups of kids in cafe bars
cheap jewellery, and crap tattoos
fake one glistening thru her nose
laughing about their bad weekends
and all about the boys,

diamond dots are ivory brides
yearning waiting passing time
this is your moment, zenith woman
waiting for the long night now
mouth the words unquestioning
oh,that will make your lipstick smudge
i am so lucky and happy to say
we. that word is here.

diamond dots have may-queen pride
swirling youthful open wide
waiting for your mum to see
and against the other wall
waiting for your dad to see
just how lovely you are.
my brother sneered and failed to see
my sister sent some flowers to me
it becomes their moment. not yours. you see.
and even though they split apart
and then they split much more, for sure
and dappled round the earth, and stayed
my family's all love
my family's all love.

diamond dots are understated
gossamer amour
i'm braver now but marvel
cos i'm softer than before

black patch

patterns, not patterns
strange shapes on the wall
straight concrete hards-hands
ticking clocking call

how can one be certain
in just joy-despair
when all that pretty red round
starts achieving square?

scream if you want it louder
do you have some wheels or
do you drop your heavy head
and see how this one feels, now

shudders at your ship wood door
paint a cross then fast
is it smashed up or ignored
and is it like your past

roll your eyes and loll your head
someone there to catch
laugh away the symptoms yes
of just another black patch

Monday, October 17, 2011

razor reverence

Looking up to catch at your ankles
with my my pounding heart
if they touch my head, your eyes
i'll die of start. stop. start.

you on high wont let me die
to keep me live is worse
hot-razor-tight, the fist in me
so kick me some more first

what do you like with your cup of tea?
When were you last in italy?
who did you always want to be?
if I were before you, would you see me?

and should you once acknowledge me...
I simply could not ever be
so rainbow joy snug wonderful
swirling sugar fire and free
smiles and rocking, cuddle myself
invisible baby clinging to me
holding on to myself and laughing
gushing great gobs of glee.
a pointillist dot of approbation
one word would stone me, see?
stony stony little nothing
poor pathetic flea

you wore a hat. you own a flat. you did a show. you never know. you wrote a song. you dun me wrong.
you pierced your tongue. you died to young

whichever you were, of many mine
I'll sing the same song every time
you were not worth and never knew
the reverence I piled upon you


glamorous daylight and designer streets
classical nightlight and sleek satin sheets
shop windows flout butter leather or bras
even the pharmacists look like film stars
swaying thru sidewalks and flipping their hair
crocodile handbags are legally there
the all season sun tan and eye stinging bling
the manicures, hairdressers, oh everything.
they look like they've bothered and like they have pride
most english women look withered and dried
i think italians walk in full bloom
in confidence, arrogance, i call it zoom

Sunday, October 16, 2011


just woke up and thanked the Lord that i had slept at last.
then suddenly this light explodes, the outside world's ablast
all foliage has been flipped around, gold leafing thru the dawn
like coy young girls in maypole dancing round, all ribbon worn

and struggling to show their faces handsome kings in green
who reigned over this seasons kingdom, stoic, proud and lean
but beauties ,yellow, orange, red and flushed princesses dance
and anyone with half a wit is stuck, seduced in trance

and sliced and diced i witness this mathematic book of joy
colours playing hide n seek, my little autumn boy
and here i lie, on slabs of white, so clinical and bare...
that moment was a masterpiece in life, and i was there!

was what

thought i was what
needing, heaving, couldn't cope
flames and cat wire
thru the soft cell
scrub inside the gentle olive skin

thought i was what
bent over double
stab me up there where what
not to have been
not to slice there
open my mouth
and go there too in the name
of aid

thought i was what
desperate woman
make the moan
and make those noises
cannot stifle
hand over mouth
bite thru finger
grimace and wear wrong wrinkles on
once lovely luminous latte skin

thought i just can't take anymore
it hadn't started yet.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

diary; complaint

people in hospital tut and sigh at you for writing (all of a light tickety tackety) on your macbook when they want to go to sleep EARLY (about 8pm) and tell you to turn your bed light off... and tell you they are tired form their illness (well yours has been 4 days, mines been 24 years, so screw you) and then THEY keep YOU awake snoring and gurgling... now, what's that about?
the injustice of it all.
makes me laugh. really cheers me up that sort of thinking.

am laughing under the sheet on my own n the dark like a mad woman... they will put me in quite another ward if i don't stop. hope i can cease the hysteria at my own thoughts before they come round to wake us up to take our sodding temperatures.

oh dear, the moaning minnie is choking now. if she snuffs it i will feel a bit guilty.
and will complain that her death and my guilt are keeping me awake and i need peace cos i am ill.

but complain to whom? discuss.

seeing a tree thru some shutters

i just woke up and thanked the Lord that i had slept at last.
then suddenly this light explodes, the outside world's ablast
all foliage has been flipped around, gold leafing thru the dawn
like coy young girls in maypole dancing round, all ribbon worn

and struggling to show their faces handsome kings in green
who reigned over the seasons kingdom, stoic, proud and lean
but beauties yellow, orange, red and flushed princesses dance
and any human with a wit is stuck, seduced in trance

and sliced and diced i witness this mathematic book of joy
colours playing hide n seek, my little autumn boy
and here i lie, the slab of white, so clinical and bare...
that moment was a masterpiece in life, and i was there!

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

diary; here comes the pain

well, mr p shone like a good 'un today an still shines on.
i don't sleep here at night . i am retaining my sense of humour but only just at times. today was one of those only just times. having been up all night in pain and on a permanent magnet and pulley system track to the bathroom so i didn't have to be awake cos i had passed out at about thru exhaustion from being so sick during the day ) anyhow, after all that, i had the most excruciatingly painful operation and now am ''in recovery'' apparently. so...he brought me french bread and finest coppa, and an illegal coke (ooh la la, like bonney and clyde, we are ) and some biscuits cos i was such a good girl about all the pain... but i keep re feeling the sensations i experinced as they took some biopsies today. it was just outrageous and i screamed. i found some marks on my hand and i am quite certain they are from when it was so awful and i dug my nails in to my hand to help me to endure it. while i been in recovery, i am noticing more and more... you know love is the ONLY thing that matters. he loves his sleep. and he comes in every morning early and sits here while i cry or scream or sleep or eat or laugh or whatever, and saunters about the place with feline gait going to get me help, getting me food, asking for a sleeping pill (for me, not him. he doesn't need them, being exhausted and also of a naturally calm disposition) (just like me ) (or...not) and you know, nobody else here seems to have that. i mean people have someone every so often, even sometimes a whole family will come in, but for an hour or so, once... there was a man who sat by his alzheimers ravaged wife and loved her so hard every second, while she had not a clue who he was, and he fed her and watched as it all rolled down her face and put it back in slowly...and i keep saying and thinking it, that is love) but nobody else has constant love and attention. how lucky can a  girl be. its so easy to look at our lives from the negative. and if one side of your life has a lot of negative (my health for example, and i am coming out of the closet about it FINALLY as there is no shame in it and the pressure of leading a double life outweighs saving face at this point after hiding both it and myself for 24 years) it is so easy. so very easy. then, you see others. and still try in your own mind to bitch about your own lives. then you are faced with the dilemma, but can i still turn this into a torment call of how i can prove that my life is still worse. well i think they might have other tales to tell about that.
always at my best after anaesthetic, good company, relaxed, you see. cant really do relaxed . its a work in progress.
so they then tell me just at the moment i have a fever and feel suicidal, that i am going to be in for at least another few days. for more tests. my heart sank. but on the other hand its great that they are being so thorough and that they are looking after me, but... :-( oh dear, more parma ham, penne al burro and vitello escalopes and 24/7 care ( we had turkey with porchini in white wine today, v nice too) ... and pain and stress. hopelessness. vulnerability. well. lets put food first. when in bologna...
ooh here we go, its 2130...''they come, they come, i see them, they come!'' you put your left drip in, your right drip out, in out in out, shake them all about...''
why is that on my mind so. well, one thing is for sure. resist it and it will stay in your mind forever. it will get worse. rather like pain.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

diary; sharing a loo in hospital

now, i am, as you know, highly sensitive BUT sharing a bathroom in hospital is, i don't know whether you already are savvy to this sickening fact, a fucking nightmare.
most tests or interventions or operations either , oh dear how to write this without writing certain words etc, block you up or let you fly loose free into the wild white yonder and essentially, it stinks. they are regularly cleaned but they stink. they might not have been used but they stink. and even if they don't stink, they stink. they are dirty even if they are not dirty and there is, and there always is, a whole big pot of someone else's wee. even if none of you put it there, it grows there. it is part of the bathroom.
i am in italy, and the hospitals here are another story. the bathroom is shower, sink, bidet and toilet all white. brand new, extremely well looked after, cleaned very regularly and just generally lovely. but i am so not enjoying it. i cant stand to hear other peoples number ones let alone number twos let alone someone who is ill's number twos and noooooooooooo to vomit noises.
i cant stand going in there after they have been in there. i cant stand the fact that i am sharing. i find it really hard to go at all if i think someone can hear me so i put the tap on full blast.
i dont' actually admit to going at all, i am like the queen in that way. oh and i have two birthdays. so in two ways. but at this point when the bathroom has been a large feature of my morning, i am fully experienced and highly traumatized by the whole thing. (also the light in there makes me look like a strange ancient lion stone phallus with wrinkles)
three is just no excuse for having to share ever in ones life EVER .trains? kill me. i just get sick from not going. planes? the same. omg. someone else's house ok if i am alone and its a posh house. but even then i panic. and i KNOW its not just me so don't be doing that 'you're paranoid' thing. its such a private thing. hey, why is it called sitting on 'the throne' if we all know the queen doesn't admit to going.... mmm discuss.
its such a dismal subject but i am not the queen and therefore am sharing it.
you know, this ward which is the womens emergency ward, is spotless, modern and there are only three of us. well actually only two of us it would seem there have been no emergencies in the last couple days, and its really, ''nice'' and the food is superb. all this parma DOC ham, packets n packets of it. veal escalopes. bread. grissinis. sorry if i am repeating myself but its just incredible. fresh salads. fruit. but nice fruit. it is extraordinary. they want you to be well. the caring profession IS caring. fancy that!
oh goodness me. i cant stand it. emma, be reasonable...there are sick people in hospital, and sick people bleed, vomit and poop. fact. they cant help it. one has to consider that, at the point when one has put off going for 6 hours. hold your breath and just get on with it. think of roses, hotel suites, good music, great food, no, scrub that one, anything but where you are. think pink. think walrus. think spas. no, scrub that. think mint. yes, mints a good one. thing is, if i breathe thru my mouth so i cant smell it, then i don't like the atoms going in thru my mouth. no win situation. and i lost 17 times so far this morning in the name of some test or other. i am like someone doing the okey-kokey, putting my left foot in, my left foot out..deciding i just cant face it.
sharing loos is just not on. in or out of hospital.

Monday, October 10, 2011


you saunter out of the jungle
ready to wink at one, then eat one as meat
your yellow mess of a hair fall
seduces one
seduces me
i have to approach you
mane, mane my mane
we could lie around each other
roll around in green
nobody could tell for a moment
not in a hissing or a calling of the air
if the mane were yours,
or if the mane were mine

i want to be with you
i can't go back to camp
i want to watch you more, leo
see how you own your territory
how to know
how to hold fast and stand firm
flicking your tail at the withering world
just to rub it in.
to show the losers once again
your power over all that is.
your cool sexuality
your air.

golden fury furred evil boy leo
your boldness turns me on
i wouldn't have you tamed
so i could be your girl
and play with you and heavily pet you
for myself, for daring pleasure
but i would love to watch you change your vicious speed
and eat some lesser beast and watch your dagger teeth
and lick my blunt little spades
looking on in shame
of how pathetic I am
but i have cameras for eyes
and i can dart and dodge 
i smell benign
i am benign
but yes, you rule the kingdom

that is, The Kingdom


people have often asked me ''how can you have faith in God when he clearly doesn't exist?'' and i say ''well its really hard work, very, but that is why it is called FAITH." which is believing in something you cant prove. faith isn't a gift. its a bloody life sentence.i work at it and fail often. in fact mostly. its not something you are born with or not. well maybe the great saints but not the normal (ish) singing writing reflective woman. i get so pissed off with that question. and then when people ''prove'' that God doesn't exist or do any good (haha) because it's not about proof. i cant prove many things that exist. many people far cleverer than i can't prove it. only God can prove he exists. and so the circle goes on.

Sunday, October 9, 2011


makes tea
makes cakes
makes art
makes love
makes sounds
makes sense
makes me

no skin

they told me if i wrote today
i must be feeling better
then they observed my lead was greyer
seas and storms were wetter
my leaves more orange than before
the torment redder still
my laughter gold and golden more
my tears can fall at will

they told me when one feels such pain
one's closer to the edge
and art sobs down much like the rain
and drowns ones window ledge
to have no skin some times good
so one should not repine.
but they don't see and nor they should
i'm like that all the time.

diary; i feel they care

so here i am... about the 70th hospital visit in my life...however... now i am in italy, in bologna to be more specific... where there are three of the best hospitals in italy... possibly europe... i feel they care. i mean i feel they truly do want me to get well. to calm me, find the issue , deal with it and watch me before sending me home... i really feel that. this is a first for me.

 in uk i have only had bad experiences of them giving me very little time. often talking down to me. in fact mostly. also clearly not caring whether i got well or not. looking at me as a troublesome patient if i didn't immediately fall into a simple 'broken leg' category they immediately understood. then when they saw me rolling about still in agony, on and off, day in day out (for 24 years) they sent me to a shrink to see if i was in fact imagining it. or doing it for attention. how insulting is that? 

here they can see ones character and mental health (or not) immediately. they are astute , on the ball, helpful, friendly (clearly some more than others but that is life, not hospitals in bologna) and i feel cared for. it doesn't make it less painful of course. but it's a comfort to see one is being noticed in ones pain.

however here we go. i have been put on  special diet before various tests and last night they brought me a crispy green salad with an apple, a packet of proper PARMA ham, grissini, and a veal steak. not difficult to see that food is very important to the italians and they just want to please you. they want to serve you, as they do in restaurants and shops. that is one reason i choose to live here. (AND NOT for the opera which is more or less totally closing down in italy, full of thieves, bad singers and highly nationalistic attitudes  ''you can only sing bel canto if you are italian ''  plus cash hand outs form the agencies for roles . OH YES all true. unless you are massive already, you will have no place here if you are english. i myself have experienced not getting paid for work in italy and being told before i sing, there is no way you could possibly sing verdi or puccini  because you are ENGLISH. forget it go home, back to uk and sing cannot possibly be able to sing puccini'' - erm, i think you'll find i can-  plus 60% theatres have closed thanks to our dear friend and under age kid screwer, mr. berlusconi) anyhow, the point is...i choose to live here cos people are NICE. day to day, people are nice. i don't care about politics. i don't care about opera. i am near an airport. i can fly to work. you have to live somewhere. and england wont ever have me cos i have got a dramatic voice. so, i live here. and the scenery is breath taking and endorphine giving and the art...gasp...

the nurses here are love comes here all day every day and sits while i roll about in pain til they medicate, each time, while i cry at my life of misfortune health wise, he sits and loves while i am ratty and upset and while i sleep . you cant sleep at night in hospitals for people screaming and needing comfort. lights going on and off while people get wheeled about for operations. so i sort of sleep in the day. i say sort of cos of course they poke you to give you medication and feed you and give you injections and take your temperature . once they woke me up to give me a sleeping pill. i do love italians.
unfortunately i have had a flare of my 24 year old condition in here too and caught flu and a chest infection so its not a party of fun but i am in the right place to be cared for. and they do.

i am glad i have a sense of humour . and they do love a filthy joke. and gosh i am so grateful to the italians for giving all this to me free of charge. i am grateful to italy for so much. for finding me the love of my life and the most splendid 16th century apartment and interior design to die for... how lucky am i? i have some big decisions to make here in hospital so...i will need a  few moments of calm but writing today helped me. thank you to anyone who might be bored enough to read this. most people will see its more than three lines long and ignore it which is good cos it sort of ...well, i want those ''sticker'' type people to have me. i am grateful. i feel very humbled by writing. i feel sure 99% of it is total rubbish but its ok. it harms nobody.

lunch soon. joy. i wonder if today they might serve me some claret with it.


someone in pain wrote this song for you
for you know who you are
i died quite well
but you're living badly
i know how low you are

then she said
pick lots of daisies and
make a chain
and wear it for me

someone on morphine said
do you want to know what i was going to be
beneath the sips
and the saline drips
there was a poetess inside me

then she said
eat lots more ice cream
and fewer beans...
and do it for me

someone whispered in clarity
never let your mother see you cry
she feels more pain than you'll ever feel
it's her script, she won't know why

you come from inside her
you are her!
you're her life's reward.
But with you, they never cut the cord
with you, they never cut the cord.

someone in pain wrote this song for me
for you know who you are
remember this down your charcoal tear mine
and your white smiling stable time
that love never dies

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


i was singing in a choir
you appeared in my space and remained
there's a place
for a life time, yes
gentle flames
and a blue blue sea
over the wine dark sea
it was on fire
you were the phoenix
rising up thru me
inspire one inspire two inspire three
i was just singing in a choir

the hand you write with
touched by God
arranging notes and quotes and love
pipes and percussion
and a warm earthy voice
the perugino colours
of timbres
and your seas...
she's striking up high notes
straight from Heaven
sending the spirit
as light thru the clouds
your siren calls
so write for passion
and squeezing sound
thru wet butter muslin
and a child's messy clenched tiny fingers

come in here child!
squelching it out
in tiny droplets
then great gushes of waves and foam

you wrote for me.
i heard what you said.
i love you.
you are dead.

it serves me well

"But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also." i take this to mean, when someone behaves unkindly and ignorantly towards you, just take it. offer up yourself for more abuse. say, go on, do your worst. hurt me more. because you are therefore in the position of power, also it shows you are more blessed. for personal abuse is a failing within a person. this serves me well.


if a poem is more than three words long nobody will read it. if a song has more than three chords to it, people will think its too complicated. if a piece of art is monochrome or free people will say 'my three year old could do better''. if a kid is sightly individual or different the other kids will bully them and go out to hurt them. if a health problem doesn't fall into an obvious category, they will say its 'stress' or ''all in the mind''. all insulting behaviour. when people don't understand something, they are made afraid by their own limitations. 

Monday, October 3, 2011

little tot

little thing, giggling
pink cheeks
face screwed up
mumbling made up words
to yourself
looking up at mum
and loving every moment
each day is fun
planned and stacked
with vivd colours
and going to bed in daylight
oh little tot, little dot
don't ever grow up
don't understand
or need to know
just stay you
little thing, giggling

old woman

i was approaching a zebra crossing in my car and there was an old infirm woman crossing the road... she was being helped by a youngish man, it must have been her son, or grandson perhaps. she was shuffling so slowly it was extraordinary to see. and he was helping her with each step so very patiently and bending to smile and talk to her... stroking her back warmly... step by step... and i thought ''that is the definition of love''

dearest dream

sticky colour over your eyes
as you look up it's dripping down
and onto your raised up cheeks.
your head lily tired
and lolling back.
arms outstretched,
oh, pretty rose heart.
dearest dream of sweet relief,
pray for it, sinner
pray for your loved ones
pray for the loss
of all senses now
and as you go down
as you drown deeper
red becomes cranberry
darkening now...
mulberry, raspberry
claret, burgundy
aubergine, burnt bits
bacchus' bitter feast
of your pitiful self.
thick, glutinous,
long, endless,
stretching, sweet
sickly lines
linking your jaw
to your pelvic bones.

a crown of thorns around my womb
to stop pain from getting away

Sunday, October 2, 2011


and so the palest breath of feathers
blows across the field at last.
that sigh as gentle as a baby's kiss,
winding, weaving thru your dreams.
tears that trace the purest path
salt-joy down a woman's smiling face.
poppy-follow forget-me-nots
that float and flow, ophelia's lake.
the exquisite lightness of a needle tip,
sweet water drop that punctures pink,
silk veils arrive with angels, yes
and sigh, and soothe it all away.