Ballet Fun

A little bit of ballet dance,

A little bit of dancy prance,

A little bit of prancy run,

A little bit of ballet fun.

A drop of music in the air,

A lot of colour everywhere,

A leaping hop, a graceful flop,

The ballet’s in the atmosphere.

For Tess

Silent Speakers Sit Close in the Dark

Silent speakers sit close in the dark, on

Cold damp stone steps a gulf apart.

Shadows of figures slink past,

Oblivious to silent speakers in the dark

Chill air soaks through their skin,

The night runs wild, gleefully tantalising.

She feels lost, empty- back to where they've been,

His touch soaks through her chill skin

Drops of sadness falling from the skies,

The loneliness that couldn't fall from their eyes

She’s dry; an aching dry pain, there feeling aching dry rain.

The cry of despair is trapped inside,

Punching at rebounding walls-

She can’t escape and the angel falls.

Give me Strength

I am a Warrior. A Queen.

I stand here today to lead a battle for what is mine.

To guide a revolution for ev-ery child.

I thought I was broken but I’ve always had the strength,

Let’s get this job done, I’m here to represent!

My conquests to date are just a bit of proof,

That if you mess with me, I will hit the roof.

I have been accused of slander and treason,

But my voice is loud and I scream “it’s reason!”

You used sorcery and cunning; a traitor to commit a crime,

Oh stupid imbecile! You picked wrong this time.

I fought through the doubt and the social condition,

My mind is stronger than the poison and infiltration.

Don’t be fooled by the burns on my skin,

They’re not a sign of weakness but a fire from within.

My conviction rages on, gathering speed and support,

You’d be a fool to fight with me, with all the battles I have fought.

You are the weak, the coward, the detested.

I am the truth that rules the contested.

I am a Warrior. A Queen.

You’ll see that in my heart, in my eyes, my dream.

For my best friend. 2013

The Speed Feeling

It’s like the oxymoronic sensation of a

spinning top. Triggered

                by one

                determined

                snap of the fingers and it sets

                                you spinning

                                                fast and

                                                dizzy

yet so clear and steady

                externally cruising across

                                the surface with such peace and

                                                precision, yet all

                                                the time

                                                wildly

                                fast. One pin prick

                of a point away

                from losing touch

one pinnacle of pressure keeping

                                surroundings a blur.

                                                How

Long does this last? Until a blip. A fall.
                A Stillness

Until the fingers snap again.

Addicted

I just wanna live on the wild side,

Flying where the birds fly.

High in the ganja trees

Stuffy air and hazy memories

Whirling laughs make the glue of this dancing cocktail

Bottles clink and swish and I’m hooked.

Hollow breaths and I inhale strongly,

Clouded dreams spin around me,

Silky smoke swirl lingers

Warmth of a paper bud pressed between my fingers

Chatter of comforting voices I know well, morph

My eyes glass over as my mind is lulled.

When you’ve had the bud,

You don’t wanna hear the beating thud of all my crud.

Slide into a state of bliss and miss all of this

Waiting for a passing kiss.

Hanging on, you can’t avoid the throng

Of others passing it along.

Or just sit there alone on the end of an empty phone

Line. It all passing by like the end of time

What a way to unwind

Feel the razor blade tense against my skin

Scratch to set free and I’ll let y’ in.

If when the trickle flows

You watch it run, catch it before it goes.

The dizzy dark room closes in around me, Blinded,

My fingertips find you and together we’re safe.

The devil brings you glee,

You bring the devil out in me, chuck it away finally.

Kill engraved on my flesh, in dried red- it’s the best.

Nah you don’t wanna forget

Beautiful like art, contemporaries tear it

Apart, not like Kocoschka

He drew my psychological portrait it was fate

For debate my life on the line

Drop by some time, why don’t you?

2005

On Our Floor

My night was great.

Feeling peckish though. I decide

that warm toast and melted butter will be nice.

In goes the cheap bread,

I’m hopeful anyway. perfect setting and it will be just how I like it.

Then I see

Cardboard crust.

It’s lying there on our floor,

Accompanied by yellowing lettuce and

Drying tuna

Sticking to the bowl.

Other islands of meal debris linger on our floor

like puss filled spots

eminent and erupting

over the surface of your face, on our floor.

It was there when I left

And it is there now

This display of rot and decay

Teasing, tormenting, tearing my patience

No milk.

It’s not like my expectations are high.

I will not give in though. Someone has to break first.

It will not be me.  

I’ll flick on the kettle. Chamomile tea is what I need; Tranquility and warmth.

Butter. It’s out already. My butter. The lid is off and across it a knife

Lurks, hour old grease, crumbs clinging on for life

Mold is life.

It’s too much. Flick. Off goes

The kettle, just like the aerated and abandoned scoff.

The toast lays forgotten, to join in the degeneration of

Our floor.

She

I’m biting my lip to keep from crying
Holding back the tears of fear of anger, frustration
Constantly fighting with the people that make them
The pain in my throat is tightening from trying
To push down the sick like a kick to the core
The answers aren’t good enough; I go in for more.
This is the problem, what I see now
These are the things for which I didn’t allow:
Ideals shattered by family incest, deluded shit stirrers that thought they knew best
Childhood secrets of abuse, perverted vicars and alcohol misuse
Mental breakdowns and social collapse, self-harm of the arm and then relapse.
Confusions of truths of what went on, one person talks and the normality’s gone

My friend was abused by her father the priest

You don’t think of stuff like that of Surrey, the south east.
No wait what am I saying? You don’t think of stuff like that in a church
A friendly community or worse
A religion that professes to love and do good,
When what they do is not what they should.
The hypocrisy and lies is what forced her to cut ties
With the evil there but that meant her friends too.
“I won’t come down, there’s a lot of chance-
I’ll bump into someone else who’ll ask,
’where’ve you been what’s been going on?’”
When behind that friendly facade they knew all along.
Or had their own ideas at least
As to what when on with the family of the priest.
They speculate about adultery, divorce and who hates who
“I heard she was a witch” said the bitch at number thirty two.
 
The distance she’d come shrank more and more
Then the places we’d meet became obscure.
A greasy café here and there-we’d have to find a new street
To meet as the paranoia increased.
I wasn’t allowed to know the place she called home
It was a secret from her friends and family, to keep her alone.

We spent money to make us feel better, had a bottle of wine over dinner

And with barriers broken, talking without tension knew we were onto a winner.
So we sourced out a local that had in its heart
The best intentions for us, to return to the dark
And drink by the river until we struggled to deliver
Ideas from the mind in the head into speech of the mouth
But anyway we laughed all the sadness out.
As the red liquid drained and the night became cold my thoughts grew bold
To say things I’d told myself not to say in case it came out the wrong way.
Confusion came nearer and life became clearer; where was my friend? Why had she changed?
This whole situation fucking sucks it’s deranged!
But at least we kept in touch when she felt good
I asked up on her like a friend should.
It was all going okay given the circumstance
Until I got that call from the police asking to give evidence.
It wasn’t my friend’s fault! I was the first she’d told
Been an eye witness to some of that old
Perverted man’s thoughts and desires like how he’d taught her
His own daughter, to use a vibrator
Stuff like that which I’d kept an account of.
All she wanted was as much collaborative proof as could be
To fuck her father up for eternity
So for that she came to me. She came to me a friend in need.
Knowing still how she felt alone
I sent one last text and deleted her from my phone.

I took her of that social networking site, that one that everyone made a fuss about when it did a mass conversion from an old interface to a new where now each user has to have a massive photo and one little extra one and things are now put into chronological order and you wonder profusely how suddenly pictures from when you were 12 and had caterpillars for eye brows and teeth like a piranha and was fatter than that boy in your class that farted a lot with his arm fat  got on there- you know, that one that rhymes with basefook?

 

I just broke as I am hurting too and have no one to talk to who can understand, first hand.

No one to tell me where my friend has gone
No one to explain to me what’s going on.
No one to say it’s ok and when she’ll be back.
Who is this alien that has replaced her? No one to tell me that.   
This girl who covers herself in holes and ink
And ignores me most of the time until I’m on the brink
Of insanity, eyes wide in the blind silent room.
 
I'm biting my lip to keep from crying
Holding back the tears of fear of anger, frustration
Constantly fighting with the people that make them
The pain in my throat is tightening from trying
To push down the sick like a kick to the core
The answers aren’t good enough; I go in for more.
This is the problem, what I see now
These are the things for which I didn’t allow:
Ideals shattered by family incest, deluded shit stirrers that thought they knew best
Childhood secrets of abuse, perverted vicars and alcohol misuse
Mental breakdowns and social collapse, self-harm of the arm and then relapse.
Confusions of truths of what went on, one person talks and the normality’s gone.

For my friend 2013