Wednesday, November 30, 2011


look at your hands
put inside them
all christmas goodness

decorations, spices
carols, myrrh
mulled wine, charity

squeeze them together
sob for an hour or so
and look inside your hands

are they empty?
or are they full?
and if so, of what?

you made that.

Monday, November 28, 2011

cloak in november

you are naked in some far off place
trudging thru the snow
you are gorgeous
your penis hangs down like a long female arm
so graceful
so powerful
your hair is jet black
and it keeps it all warm down there at the tree trunk
you have no chest hair
but you are not cold

i made you a pair or fur boots
and covered you in a fur cloak

it took me two months to make the cloak, thru july and august
too hot to hold the needle too!
slipping all over my naked skin and
stabbing myself
releasing pain
bleeding over my thigh
double whammy
so hot, so hot
and you would suck it off and swallow
and lick your salty lips
and spit down on mine
my smooth cloudy ones

and then it was finished,
your cloak.
and today you wore it
to protect you
and you lay on top of me, naked and freezing in our tunnel
where nobody can find us
not in a zillion years
they wouldn't have the first idea
where we choose to stay
or in which century
and you kept me warm
just form the light in your eyes
when you called me your queen

i just want to be with you
i want to anger people by worshipping you
i want to annoy women by serving your wishes , having none of my own
i want to push buttons and make them all put out by the old fashioned adoration i feel for my man.

you are my king
you are worth my salt, my death

all those that can't swim stand on chairs....

one places 6 chairs round room
tears in black mascara offer themselves to you
man human
like a pretty well spoken virgin with big breasts
fluttering her eye lashes and arse
take me
i wasn't even wearing any?
this charcoal must be coming up
from decades ago
a girls who is a weakish swimmer
needs protection
but i still need freedom
i must have freedom
so i change chair...
i stretch out, like a ballerina
from one to the next
me and 6 chairs
girl guests
women dancing, stretching, breasts, arses, naked, stetched out, hanging on
begging for help
6 guests, all me,
and an ocean in the kitchen
streaks of long wet hair everywhere

take one down the throat

i have deduced
it's the only way
to tread new ground
and do it new
and get there first

shit won
again and again
and again and again and fucking again
its not possible
not when my flower is open
so brave and delicate
in this crack whore world
and scenting the room
with the truth
and with mercy
with grace
and with beauty

and you trod on it
snorting cocaine
as you network
and go on about your golden balls
drinking and sniffing, your hand down your balls
then subtly sniffing when you think nobody is looking
i never missed a trick
not ever

and my work is acclaimed
but not bought yet so much
i couldn't pay for what you paid for
you married a millionaire!
amazing coincidence...
yeah and M never fucked him til they were engaged...haha
must have been gagging for it
you books, copies moving
cos you buy the buying
you pay to be bought
you pay life to love you
live loves me for free

i cant stand it
all i can do
is be real to myself
i trust that old icon
the goddess in white
the statue of smooth female marble
no colder than marble

so we pose for an awards photo
and agents are in there too
and my accompanists
and my easel maker
my paint brush makers too
those who draw me naked
and those who record my songs
ghosts who wrote gorgeous pieces for me to sing all over the world
and those who knew i led much of my life in bed or hospital
those who recorded me and told me the truth
about my ability
elated me
those who filmed me
those who tired to sign me

i am
in tears but with a big strong face on
bounce back queen
so i can only do one thing
to take my place i earned...
i helped enough people for a million lifetimes
i helped for hope and joy and marching on defiant
i did it for 8760 days
enough now mummy

its too much
i am tired now
i lost my youth
my babies
my sex
my back log
acute crippling daily pain just isnt sexy...

he'll keep pushing me
because of love
he is an angel of butter and bone
we will be together for all eternity
but for now....
i'll take a hard bang down the throat
of this wagnerian singer that never was
and should have been.
never was anything.
and so should have been.
and never will be now.

do you know, i doubt golden balls would even notice the bullet
he would be so busy banging on about himself
so loud
talking at bono or dylan or some other total cock (probably himself)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

zero fun

i wont forget
you never do
my sheer dismay
and chagrin too...

when mummy said
that for a treat
we could have
this special sweet

all the shops
had just invited
... so excited... !

so after school
well, there they were.
and i was... just
in sheer despair

to little me
there was zero fun
in making
already smallish

even smaller?

i saw a KILO of M&Ms at the airport shop

round ish
like baba papa
was it father
or the mother?
is it red
or green
or blue?
will it be one weird
or two?
feel it
in your fingers now
twirl and curl it
stroke its mouth
stroke your own
it's not enough
pavlovs dog knows
when to ruff!
would i buy
a 45g?
a 185?
or 1 KILO?

when M&Ms are mostly fun is
when one's joined on top of one...

wake and sing

pretty boy
lying here
gazing at me
we are two
we need you
its all spent
all well meant
wake and sing
early morning
silly things
six o clock
tick tock
lovers knot
mini-maze. stop.
then you start to
knead my heart
tears will drip
you might slip
rock me baby
make one maybe
stroke my hair
make me stare
i cant ever look away
perfect angel dancer sway
this is real
i can feel
it getting tighter
diamond brighter
we so want
to wear a ring
we can't buy me
i am yours
your are mine
do i want more?

not this time.

lovely gorgeous desirable living men

all well dressed
clean pressed
well groomed
good looking
good cooking 



bouncing being

snowballing feathers
never forever
down and onto a long ice clean
gleaning screen
skating down there
long loose hair, bare
thighs and bottom smooth
don't groove, naturally move
marching thru it all high fast
how long can bouncing being last
i bump along from one stroke of luck
and right into the next.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

ghost to rest

you have huge long blue curling talons
you believe you look striking pale faint
but they're just great big burped up gallons
of grotesque applied gypsy paint.

cross your palms, do your thing yeah, then piss off
you make me strike icy and wary
i feel your stuff coming up, i want to cough
i could predict you know, so don't dare me

you came up here. i didn't ask.
you found me without warning.
i didn't see your human mask
until that crispened morning.

and now you leave me one more time
so different is the measure.
i feel i have put right the rhyme.
cos i stole all the treasure.

just another doctor (i hate 99% of you all, uncaring egotistical cunts)

''now relax, dear''
easy peasy, with a total stranger, in a dodgy suit, halitosis...
supercilious expression
and patronizing commands like
''pop your things off''
''pop forward a bit''
and ''pop your feet in, that's the ticket''

i had no idea what he was looking for or at
commentary was there not
might have been watching a dvd of the football in there while i was wincing as far as i knew
but then i would be wincing if were at home and they were watching footie on my tv

...and while i am popping, what will you be doing, i wonder
setting me on fire inside perhaps?
leaving your instruments of torture in there, as you did before?
causing adhesians?
curing me instantly...hohoho
who knows?''
you are being silent.
one cannot know.

he deigns to speak; 'this wont hurt (me) at all...'


'i said it wouldn't hurt, silly billy!
that was not a normal reaction'

'oh...i'm sorry'

then i thought HANG ON. no.
that is the last time i say that
not again. no more.
after 25 years of apologizing for my mistreatment and being paid
not to be cared for
the uncaring profession

'no, but it did hurt.
i wasn't reacting for fun.
i trusted you that  it wouldn't hurt then ...
it did.
my jumping was a normal pain response.
to the pain i was feeling.
how fucking dare you level that at me.
i wonder if people with 'normal' pain reaction
can sing butterfly like i can.
or write like i can.
or paint like i can.
or look like i can.
or move people into fits of laughter or tears within a second like i can

i don't have a low pain thresh hold. i am tough. try me.
it is not a personal failing.
and don't look at me over your half moons like that please.
i didn't just fall out of the sky.
i am in rather a vulnerable position here
you are in between my legs
i dont like your manner
i am in pain
and after all you are a man.
or so i was led to believe''

i had had enough pussy footing round fragile doctors egos
in case they might be able to help me
when they cant.
saying i feel a bit better, when i don't.
in case they might think i am imagining it
as they did when i was 17
and they didn't know what it was then either
i am still i recovery from the personal insult.
when doctors don't immediately know what the cause of very clear real suffering,  they try to  tell you it's in your mind, and probably give you antidepressants
because they think it will convince everyone that they themselves are not falling short....
it is you who have failed
its not that they just....
don't know their job.
beware. watch that tactic. its commonly used.
i wish i had know that at 17 the course of my life would have been so different.

and he actually said
'ooh we have got a feisty one here'

wrong moment to say that to me, sadly.
i said
'no, we haven't, not feisty, just one thats been in acute attacks of crippling unexplained
pain, daily, for 24 years
and watched it ruin every aspect of her life
and lost everything to it.
career, money, confidence, social life.
and hidden it, and fought it.
exhausted herself
led a double life
and who is tired of being hurt inside, by limp talentless men
who tell me to pop this in and pop on that.
not feisty, just seen it all.
done it all.
you are just one more.
number 261 actually.
i am not a feisty one, just one one who would would give the devil and all his henchmen
a blow job to get my life back, sweetie darling.

then he started to behave better.
'right i think we are ready.'
the nurse gave me a look as if to say
you dared.

he told me 'spit spot i don't have all day' from his desk while i was changing.
i said, ''i am wiping the ky jelly from my vagina, labia, thighs
and everywhere else you smeared it with your alien eye.
i will then put on the pad you gave me the size of france
 to fit into my g string the size of a bounty bar
into my knikcers and then my tights
and my suit
then i will be with you as soon as i can.
and i am paying you for this.
not the other way round.
you are here to serve me
you did the bare minimum. possibly less.
it has cost me £275, this fifteen minutes, of you and
your mary fucking poppins gynae exam.'

thats the least of it.
the very least.
thats nothing.

just another doctor.

Monday, November 21, 2011

not sixteen

i see my face
and every trace
of terror, laughter
tears, after
the point i made
can't ever fade
made myself hurt
that needy dirt.

i am a cruel jailor.

i see shades of molly just under my eye
i see them together hypnotically, why
my lips are pure christopher yes on top
masses of lip lies below it thanks. stop.

my body is changing
i love it this way!
it's fun rearranging
whatever they say.

each line i have worked for.
each crease i have earned.
it's true there arent many
i did stuff on earth.

i am not sixteen.


if you look at me once more
i shall manufacture such a surfeit of bile
that my mouth will become a big claw.
as you approach me and i smile...
a spray will free flow before,
disfiguring you for ever
from the sacrum, the plexus, the core
to your skin dropping off in bits, wherever.

so don't look at me.
not ever.

Thursday, November 17, 2011


you'd have me lick your boot
so you can steal
a piece of the sky
of which i own a lot
a lot!

you should beg me
plead, offer up bribes and plea in desperation
and yet you would have me lick away

you pip!
you loser...
i am so glad i know the truth

i have never felt so good about myself

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

just jump

you know how things fizzle out?

i never had that
too hot, too aflame
too intense
too wonderful and perfect and energetic
i loved you both so much
why all my life had you not been there
when you were there
and roses bled all over our knickers

oh girls, in general you are too too wonderful!
if only one could marry you
with your large pert breasts and deeper understanding


suddenly things crash around us
and everyone gets decimated
dirt and dismay everywhere
like a lorry losing its lumpy load down a highway
too fast in a single lane
listening on the folk/country station or bob effing dylan
who sings as if the pain of the whole world were coming out thru his nose
keep it in there. sneeze it al into your sleeve instead, codger.
the stores are all out of cigarettes and wine
we had no escape but the disparity of words, chanel lipstick and skinny jeans
i close, shut, cut off, hide to avoid to things said
it all goes in though
every single door bell .
i still shiver from a sneeze it did 8 months ago.
that, they say, is deep sensitivity
i live in fear
i never pick up, never.
and they get hurt cos they feel its the highest insult to be ignored
they are right

what is my choice?
to hurt someone who'll get over it in time, or be decimated forever?
i know they will suffer less. ok. they told me.
mine is an act of kindness.
and i can say that before God on my knees.
surrounded by pink roses they generously adorn churches with here, where i live.
a perfect place to sing. a spiritual perfumerie
i am fulfilled here
and roses bled all over my knickers

ashes. still smouldering still on fire though subtley torturing
still burning gently up my thighs and rubbing into my hair
and right back between now
and oh how this agony reminds me of him
to introduce pleasure into pain
and change my life from
suicide bids
to words, giggles, and fun
trust, it must be impossible... trust.
just jump

ashes make me smart.
they are still alive!
they live!
little grey memories of acute agony
they know
they knew
they gnaw at me there
want me to say it?
they will always know and love me for knowing
fools think they are grey dead, but they are alive
grey has a lot of life in it still, i told you before
never say you know for sure
you didn't know about me
let it lie now

but those memory cells still give, on and on and on
a glorious cleansing, a confession, benediciton
pain but pure beauty it's not what you think
i touched my anima, i touched His
when roses bled all over my knickers...

miss diamond

oh she, miss diamond pure as snow
nothing can touch
nobody can harm
infinite virignity.
no, not imperfect wretched miserable humans
can sully her not quite white.
shine like a tear of love afterwards
or a trickle of joy during
or glassy eyes a moment before.
liquid miss diamond, this jewel
this perfect reflection sex
withstands the knocks and scrapes of time
the horror of unexpected disaster
oh, you mirror the moment the moon was made!
with joy with joy with joy!
like love, she lives on thru disaster
he told me that
and so it is.
pour your mined gloss and paint on some class or terror what.
miss diamond withstands pain fire and
mental torture
smashing, razoring, cutting glass.
it is not something out of reach
you may reach this perfection even now
as it is on my finger.
God made it
thank you, both.

it is done

Monday, November 14, 2011

the second step

starting to move on again.
like light rain on springs first crocus,
its soft sweet exhalation,
damp relief on His floral cloudy cobalt.
the sudden moody skies, what will they deliver?
if that is a flash of corn-gold sun coming hither...?
if so i will run, bare footed
and gather up all the village kids
my golden hair hanging down my back
like the flax...
and we will do a rainbow dance!
all of us together, singing, jumping and playing,
our little feet drumming on a grandure of grass,
whisperings of sacred belief
that God is here

turn over the pages !

this is not the only page of my blog. please realize that a blog is a diary. there are hundreds of pages. how can people not work out you need to search for a specific thing? hahahaahah come on people! for fuck's sake. turn over the pages!

the cord

lost in woods known as '20 years mine' to me
i leant against an entirely unfamiliar tree
wondering how the hell i'd gone astray
so late in my walk, on this particular day.
and when my wellington boots turned, hello, I found
a yellow bird, right there, proudly looking up, no sound
wagging its tail 'come-hither-ly' (and strange, if ask self,
for wagtails love fringes, water, open spaces
not shady thickets, horrid hemmed-in places.)
it turned and swooped away, coy backward glance,
and so i followed suit, in an avian-train trance.
and flitting onwards, veering left and right
that robot baton and brief reiterated flight
conducted me towards that cramp relief of light.
and soon i sensed that we were nearing
a sky light in the trees, thank God, a clearing.
as i burst free, it flew away! an end that was not.
why had i been led to this particular spot?
and yes, why, on this particular day...
and then i heard my mother talk to me.
my mum, long silent, spoke. she spoke! only
a modest welcome note, the cord, but then... i knew.
that i was free, that i had been found. i was forever 
safe, and never more lonely nor lost. no, not ever.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

''ber-lusc-on-i ''(to tune of hallelujah chorus) a limerick

the fact he had underage sex
and both caused behemoth effects
on italy and worldwide,
he constantly lied
then the loony got silly hair next!


not only have i just finished my first book, 'girl on fire', firmly intertwined with this blog, but we just went out to the 'osteria dell'orsa' round the corner, to dinner, very uncharacteristically, lovely, too... and i found myself having a limoncello which i never do, and we come home, get into bed early (cos its cold and we are tired and have no sitting room anyhow) and...omg... dreams come true... berlusconi is going. HURRAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! celebration indeed :-)



Thursday, November 10, 2011



i am very excited to announce that my book, girl on fire, has been finished. it is now with CPI publishing. i am thrilled wiht the front cover painting and the lovely picture that elisa took for the back. i want to thank my love for spending his whole life on my book recently. and looking after me always.  and thanks to my other proof readers who are devoted . mum n dad. i look forward to telling you who is stocking it. enjoy !

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

it is done

you took away everything sacred to me
my mother, my home and my security
you grunted and shoved out a three year old's life
you took what you wanted but stayed with your wife

you flamed even more onto fire misery
when two teenage boys hurt me sexually
what i remember is her on the stair
sobbing, full make up and beautiful hair

my still from the film is her pleas on the phone
begging and sobbing for you to 'come home'
and nobody noticed it apparently
the onus for feeling her pain was on me

so tuesdays and thursdays were hell for me clearly
when i broke my arm, you know, it was yours really
throughout the surrounding pain , i was ok
what goes around comes around, or so they say

you pissed over everything i said and did
i pissed on your tooth brush then put back its lid
she told me to make you a coffee at two
and i always made it, and spat in it too

i hated your hands, and i knew where they'd been
can't speak for you mate, but, my slate is clean.
so. now i look after you, now i just care
like you do for an old person who's not quite there

you ravaged a life and you tortured a youth
but my spirit couldn't be touched, that's my truth
my mum and my dad stick together, we all do.
i hold my head high. it is done. i forgive you

Saturday, November 5, 2011

blue cafe

there she goes every day
blue girl, blue cafe
she's ordering her usual
decaffeinated latte
what could it be that is making her look so sad?
what could be so very bad?
this blue girl

she's filled up a whole postcard now
that's her normal pattern
the waiter smiles
he does his job, he says
'cheer up love, it might never happen'
one of these days she'll just up and run right away
she's always been drawn to sweden, or maybe norway

she's falling in love ,this child
is losing her soul
and when the papers all screwed up,
she'll go home

she's moved on now to serviettes
its a lengthy session
she hates the way she's lost control
it was her prize possession
what are the chances she'll meet her prince some sunny day
what are the the chances he'll be married or gay?

he will be gay...

well, which ever way!
she's falling in love, this chid
she's losing her soul
and when the papers all screwed up
she'll go home

butterfly girl
you're going to spread your wings and fly far away
leaving it all at the blue cafe

Thursday, November 3, 2011

big beautiful angel

he lies so dark and tight
in a cream roll next to me
oh and despairs at my third
lot of biscuits and tea
i love him when he glares so
i see the fire we built and lit
it's in his eyes
the eyes have it
sardinian climbs
and closed castles
oh! just look at his beauty
that angel of mine
the priest will know
that we are sincere
he will bless us
and i will cry

my grandma has her willow pattern tea cup
with rich tea biscuits on it's saucer
at about 04,30 every morn
now its 03,58
so close, nanny...
always so close
you are in the next room i know...
i know because you told me.

oh she is at liberty now!
(while i am still at sea)
she can sell her stash of fudge form harrods
give away the tiny bricks of turkish delight
keep, or sell her heathfield antiques
and walk out of fletcher's house
her seventeenth century english tea rooms
smelling of respect, power, humour, grace
and april violets

lets have our tea, then, nan
and feel how He
would want us to be now...
well, you're already there.

i long to hold you
take me up with you now?

Little bench

i saw a little bench in white
with large enamel flowers and leaves
i was en route to florence, free
for autumn had begun to freeze

shafts of sunlight made it art.
if i could paint it now, I would.
it seemed to speak to me somehow
i didn't hear, but it felt good

i wondered who had courted there
or who had wept for someone dear.
if it were me, how would i cope
when seating someone selling gear

so who has known this little bench?
oh, gentry types, oh, rats and mice
battered women, crack whore pimps...
kids holding hands, sharing sweets, being nice

so what has been will steel itself
and proudly will not ever turn
refusing abjectly to help
a nincompoop like me to learn

and history has seen the lot
and knows, thru hooting eyes shut wise,
that selling smack is sharing sweets
seen thru another pair of eyes

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

little birds

how many times
little birds in my head then
out of your mouth
losing things together
finding reams of paper
with hidden messages

how many feathers
i'm holding this note on forever
to get closer to you
touch me there
wings are beating
two are sitting on glue

little birds get homesick too, up there, they do.
just like me and you

how much further
we read together we find
we bleed and rhyme together too
a year on one letter
but i'm reading it better
and now venice is calling;
''little birds''

the hidden message is this
the hidden message is this
the hidden message is this


blue blue myrtle blue
pour me into warm you
exotic fruits and candied peel
lemon cremey liquor feel
melting watch me melt melt
dancing flaming how it felt
Lord, spoon drip me from above
it's not food it's making love

upon receiving joy

i saw the way he slightly moved his lips
with every word i sang
i felt his arse grind hard
into the seventeenth century ochre brocade chair
watched his hands flatten on the chaise edge
preparing for the knife wound bit
so i sang 'perche, signor?'

i saw the people moved, i felt the physics
i could feel the motion inside us tumbling all over each other
scrabbling for peace and resolution
it came thru me
i was the aperture wide enough to let the light shine in
on the human voice
on love

but with this expression
this gift of electricity
lighting up stations
they all looked not at me, with the stage lights thru my blonde hair
my performance, presence, sheer expression
they looked to him.

they were drawn to the communion.
but to the receiving
the transformation of a human, upon receiving joy.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

worte ohne lieder

this purple firmly but faintly bending over perugino
pushes that indigo cello from this chord into the next
the child will add pretty red because it feels right
the adult will add daring red because it feels wrong
i will add red with a big mouth and faint hope.


It was just a holiday
I went into needily
My daddy's playing some chopin in a minor key
Wouldn't he be
The heat serated me
I always burn so easily
Red burgundy blue centre piercing me
So I found myself some refuge
A little chiesa
I'm sitting and cooling here in this dream boot
He's not here with me yet
But he's here

My Tuscany!
You've burned a great hole in side of me
And I promise with the cord that joins us
I'm not a sunbleached blonde holiday romance
I'm not one of your girls
who will love you
Then Leave you
I know I'm going to love you for the rest of my life
Like my daddy

the lizzards, the glow worms, their night choir of cicadas
case me in as i sleep naked under the big white net
This basil it stones me out , then the chicory...
The olives are juicy, fruity
Out of adolescence, lewd, overt, ready for taking
And busting with life
Just like me
In tuscany

I'm going to love you for the rest of my life
Like my daddy