Wednesday, 31 October 2007

Salmon Slapped

Salmon slapped him on the head.
Couldn't tell the fish was dead.
Took it home and fried it nicely
Later--feeling very dicey.

Eyes were whitish--calloused over
So he sprinkled parsely clovers
But this herb was not enough
To make it into finer stuff.

Then the doctor had to say
Shouldn't fry your fish this way.
Look, this fish is out of date.
Think you fried it far too late.

Preludes by T.S. Eliot

The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.

The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.

You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters,
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.

His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

Cosmo Cups

Press the Cosmo Cups title above for details on the Cosmo China Shop

1. My name is Kiss
The creepy Kitty Cat
Dead mouse guts in the kitchen?
I know nothing about that.

I am Sardina
The cake lady
Where is my kitty?
Help me find him please.

I have one hundred
Candles on my head
I have to move slowly
The doctor said.

(two hours: Sardina the cake lady
took too long. She has candles on her head.
She is very detailed. The cat is the opposite.
He was painted in five minutes but has
a fresh look. With graphics Kiss written sideways
and upside down. )

2. My name is Fred
The frozen cat
I often freeze
Don't wear a hat

I am Linda
I am shy
I'll come out
If you bake a pie

My name is Tony
Kinder than a pony
Lunch tomorrow
I'll make cannelloni

The name is Norm
My troubles are few
If there's a storm,
It's just a light dew.

My name is Lou Lou
The luscious city kitty
I'm dating a poodle
He thinks I'm quite pretty

(One hour but better to do one poem per cup.
Negative space cat faces on checker board pattern.
Poems written in white space. Colours red and brown.
Brown has red spots and crosses in the background.
red rim)

3. I'm a black bear in the woods
My tree is full of chocolate puds
You wake me from my dreams I might
Grab you with my paws and bite
As I'm a black bear and I need
My chocolate puds indeed.

(Bear needs work, but this cup
takes half an hour and can make a
series of animal poem cups. picture
could be a bear and some
chocolate puds...or a tree trunk full of
chocolate puds)

4. abstract leaves...pattern
purple and gray wash.
brown leaf stems on top
partial bleed.

(This is a different non-text theme
or could put some stanzas from knotty oaks
on this cup series.)

Tuesday, 30 October 2007

Foiled Words

No Stars out tonight
Only aeroplanes and satellites.
A rising wuf into the sky
The fireworks of fourth July.

But then again this is November
Fifth is what we must remember.
Bombs that failed the parliament
How Fawkes disguised his armaments.

Three British Catholic Gentlemen
Gunpowder in their plot against
The reigning Lords of government
Unfair the ways the laws were spent.

Lord Monteagle's interception
Of a message---his protection
Read to save one thousand more
And then Guy Fawkes was out the door.

With gentle tortures passed the clock
Until he met the gallows block.
A hero now, but never then
His foiled words are in ascent.

When you unwrap the foil from your rocket.
Think about the governmental pocket
And tell yourself that now we have the power
To stop them if they're seeming somewhat sour.

Light it, watch it rise and fall apart
Like empires taking other countries' hearts
And buckets full of hands and Belgian waiters
Singing over rotten mashed potatoes.

Monday, 29 October 2007

Talkin' Laundry

Be careful ladies
When yo backstage with my husband here
Don't trip up
When you're gettin' that autograph of his...
Make sure it ain't a phone number.

JCM: What you doin' here honey.
We're behavin. Just strummin'.
N: I'm here cus of the laundry.
JCM: Laundry ?...But the washer dryer's at home
N: No this dirty laundry.
Dog pulled something peculiar out from under the bed.
Well-trained. Tend to think he on my side.
Found about 18 pairs of underwear.
Would have been OK cept for the fact that they
All different sizes.
But don't worry.
I've already taken them down the Salvation Army.
Put um in the pile---ten for fifty cents....
Seein' as they ain't washed.

JCM: But honey--there's an explanation for that.
I thought I'd take on some extra work doin' laundry.
Seein' as Jackleen lets me use her machine.
N: Jackleen and her machine...
Ain't been working for the past couple years.
She does her laundry at the laundrette.
She was sayin' as she pulled one of your socks
Out the dryer.
It were clinging to her pantyhose.

JCM: Ahhh. That's where my socks are....
N: Don't try to change the subject.
JCM: What subject? We talkin' laundry here.

Dark enough to see

I thought that you would look again.
I thought that you would turn your head.
I've got five seconds left
Look again or I'll be dead.

The shapeless winds that shape the time
I kiss them all good bye
And wait to feel my mind
Shatter--double yellow lines.

Leaning too far forward
Into the future
Shaken by the need
Of knees needing sutures

The tyre marks still on his leg.
He didn't look although I begged.
Flying over top of a taxi
Rolled and landed on my knee
Occupation change to be
My new name--"Stunt Girl Maxine".

So I had a cup of tea.
And I left it to go cold.
And sat there in the square
The gardener--a hold.

The pat of his hand as I walked out the park
A focus through the blur--a mind gone dark
Dark enough to see through the fears
It's not my knee. It was the years.

Of limping--then the builder saw
And bandaged me once more.
More real than reality
Another cup of tea.

"I will be more cautious" I write fifty times
With humbled chalk on blackboard lines
Scrawled in Caution--scrawled with care
Smallest portion to beware.

Sunday, 28 October 2007

Lovely Linda

Linda...that Lovely Linda.
She creeps right up my ass sometimes.
Comes over.....wanna borrow some baking soda.
Do I look like I'm hooked on the gourmet channel?
Put your pans away. I don't even have cable.
And if I did, I'd strangle you with it.

If she can't borrow it, she use it.
Can I use your bathroom?
Sure...long as you don't take it home with you.
You know where it is...
Same place you lost your cards last week
After losing at the casino.
Talk about a losin' streak.
Triple loss if you include
The sorry man who sprinted out the door
After that scene.

She in there over an hour....
What she doin'?
Deliverin' a baby?
Or milkin' a water buffalo?
Don't have no need to knock the door.
Can smell the scent of fifty perfumes
Seepin' out the keyhole.
I look.
For shame! She ain't sprayin' that bottle.

So I knock.... Just a minute.
Been fifty honey. How many more do you need?
Just powderin' my nose.
...and a big nose that is.
Looks more like inhalin' than powderin'
But then her ass is much bigger than the keyhole.

I conjure her out with some pizza.
Cook it up nice and hot
Until the fire alarm's ringin'.
She come out.... I shut the door.
Tell her I lost my keys.
Finally, she go home....
But bein' so kind and all...
Wants me to come to her house.

I ain't no teenage slumber party beauty queen.
I done with all that.
But we end up watchin' a movie
And phonin' a locksmith.
I go in the bathroom,
Dial the locksmith....tell him I found the keys.
Then, I tell lovely Linda that the locksmith has arrived.

Thought that would be the end of it...
No no...Lovely Linda don't want to miss any
Wants to see how this lock and key situation works
She like him enough, she'll be losin' her keys by the end of the week.
Quick thinkin' me--I tell her he the husband
Of Winnie who runs the laundrette.
Winnie a big woman.
Don't mess with her machine.

But no....she still on continuous spin dry.
Next week...Lovely Linda goes to the laundrette.
It a laundrette/hair salon/saloon.
Ya'll can do your hair and fill your hangers
All at the same time
Even end up with a hangover
If it a permanent you're gettin'

Winnie--she the owner.
She don't do no hair no more.
She just observe...
Inhale the fumes.
Think it's what got her off a drugs.
Inhalin' all day--it a busman's holiday
If you do it all night too.

Linda notice Winnie don't have no ring on her finger.
Makes a subtle inquiry....
So you ain't locked up then?
Last name ain't Mrs. in Lock?
Ain't you got a key for that lock?

Winnie--she just shake her head
And blame it on the fumes.

Pants in Flight

There once was a man whose pants were tight
He loved those pants--both day and night
Including torso--quite a height
In the door and out of sight.

Got thinkin' make his own website
To show his pants which fit just right.
Built it himself-he was so bright.
With animation--pants took flight

To google ladies'--mass delight
Computers crashing--what a plight.
So if I toss and turn at night,
May dream about those pants I might.

Double Door Norma's Bed and Breakfast

My honey and I--we in business
All kinds of business as you may or might imagine..
He's so skilled......
Top tools in his sack
We do everything together
As I got my own position in his company
And I got my own ways of labourin'.

He got the skillet.
I got the eggs.
Hungry? We kill it.
And it comes with a bed.

That's our Bed and Breakfast motto
Bed and breakfast--porch swing beers
You don't have to win the lotto
Because there ain't no chandeliers.

So come down an stay a while
Rest your head--kick off your shoes
People come from miles and miles
Just for clickin' off the news.

Ain't no news round here I say
'Cept the crickets rubbin' legs
It seems they aren't the only ones
Once ya'll get tucked up in that bed.

Goin' fishin' in the mornin'
Takin' breakfast afternoon
And if you like that gravy,
Well then don't forget your spoon.

A stranger when you come
Passin' friendly days with ease
And if you don't come back
It's because you never leave.

Friday, 26 October 2007

Foot To Stomach Aeroplanes

The pond--the reeds, the tallish stalks
Rustling-- no need to talk
Lapsed alert about her eyes
River winding out of sight.

Back inside the earthen tick
The tweets of sparrows pitched and quick
Isabella--dress so fair
Swings below the branches bare

Strolling are the poshest ladies
Roll the perfume of the babies
Searching for a shadowed spot
Holding head--unbutton top.

Windy walks, I tread The Heath
Kites are pulled from underneath
By happy smiles of young and old
As couples kiss, the benches hold

As do the rains for hours more
But then betrayed, begins to pour
The muddied earth beneath our feet
Alas we back to warmth and heat.

Bubbles clasp the heels of bath
Water spills--a child laughs
Echoes on ceramic tiles
For miles and miles and miles.

Fingers eye and says, "my ear."
Little red--my little dear
Come to Mummy--kiss it better
"B" for Benjamin--his letter.

Candle held awaits a light
Sing the "Happy Birthday" rite.
Foot to stomach aeroplanes
Falling down- " Again, Again."

Plastic bag on Teddy's head
Take it off--he'll soon be dead.
Not for naps--the jumping bed
The latest scar-- a shiny red.

Pulls my bracelet, "Come with me."
Chocolate milk-- a top-up needs
"Quiet please"-- a gentle phrase
Becomes "Shut up"--by end of day.

A saviour in the form of Tony
Bearing gifts of Cannelloni--
"Come on Ben"--again to park
Find some trees--take off the bark

And bites of days delayed by needs
Another tissue-- wipe the sneeze.
Disappear, the day is free
Thank you for this luxury.
Keys and coat--the cartoon cloister
Shopping list--a tiny oyster.

Flowered suitcase to entice
Never go the same place twice
Paths we lay--they soon grow over
Honeysuckle, bluebell, clover.

Thursday, 25 October 2007

Winter Morn

And so it is a winter morn
With coats and hats and woollies worn
The buses fumes become a cloud
And beats the traffic far too loud

Against the wind and ear drum
I fall into the racing hum
Of taxis black with meters running
Pedaling my heart is humming

Now we off to ballet school
Of deep pleies and bending rules
And little torsos all tutued
In pink and yellow pastels blue.

Yesterday, it was so warm
With t-shirts clinging in the swarm
But seasons change and so must we
Thicker socks to soles of feet.

Oinky Oink

I'm a black bear in the woods.
I'm dreaming of some chocolate puds.
You wake me from my dreams so good,
You better run, you should.
'Cause I'm a black bear and I need
My chocolate puds indeed.

I'm a zebra in the Serengetti.
Won't stay for dinner--don't like spaghetti.
Just like a horse but stripey so
I gallop and my hoofs do go.
Black, white, and stripey like a flag
You've never seen a horse this glad.

I'm a piggy oinking oinking.
At my belly your are pointing.
Look at yours. It's just the same.
Is my bacon and my pork to blame?
With eggs and beans and buttered toast.
Pull up a plate and make the most.

I'm a penguin gliding through
The icy waters oh so blue.
I flip flop when I walk--it's true
My waddling is nothing new.
With legs so short--they're barely there.
Into the water--please don't stare.

I'm a tiger--growl growl.
If I bite you, you will howl.
Sharpest gnashers in the jungle
When I roar, give out a rumble.
Longest teeth and claws that tear.
If you see me, you beware.

I'm a snake--an idle slither
Of my tongue and you will quiver.
Snoozing in a curled up maze
Poison puts you in a daze
So stay behind the glass and gaze
To keep alive your ways.

Long-legged patterns of giraffes
Nostrils orange snorting laughs
A graceful gaze and whip-lashed eyes
Survey the scene from such a height
While lucid lips--they graze on leaves
And languor in the tops of trees.

I'm a horsee in the meadow
Galloping to catch my shadow
Free I run in windy fields.
Breezy strides that never yield
To bridles--then what will I say?
I'll toss my mane-- a neigh a neigh.

Wednesday, 24 October 2007

Knotty Oaks

Knotty oaks bloom all the year
Their seasons have no flowers
Bare their souls devoid of fear
Their years are mearly hours

Knotty oaks adorn the field
The white through branch then twig.
Jagged cuts in skies that seal
And roots so firm can't dig.

The slumber of the sun surpassed
By ages made of bark
And when the moonlight gives us rest
A soul of quiet stark.

Knotty oaks don't reach but curl
Around a wintered heart
Letters carved--a boy a girl
In trunks that split apart.

Knotty Oaks--they shelter tombs
Mossed over long ago
Faded names in empty rooms
Without a friend or foe

Knotty Oaks outlive us all
And tell us of before
If we would only listen to
Their leafless whispers more.

Tuesday, 23 October 2007

Talk or Sing

operatic poetry eve trib to millais. Biked past the houses of parliament down to st. john smith's square. dress caught in chain. SJSS/ Gordon Beal. Comp tickets request. Put surname in all caps upper case. Like This venue, but prefer cosy wigmoer hoall. many beers i think this evening...not thinging. Don't like opera actually, even when it is free. next time, I will see if I can get paid to go there. Opera I think is good once every....give or take five years. I like piano though and I think I like lots of instruments. but Opera. What are they saying? talk or sing. don't do both.

Monday, 22 October 2007

Blood But Where's the Love

Been rackin' up the reasons for appointing new relations
Although we share a last name, there's no other fascination.
Too much silent conversation--hit our forties--still not friends.
Interrupted a volcano--quips of lava--can't pretend.

Would you like to see an office from the inside?---workaholic.
You spend your time vacationing- a partial alcoholic.
Daily, I vacation--watching Thomas trains collide.
Pancakes and complaining when I will not let him fry.

Call her twice a year--that's two calls more than she calls me.
Stopped with leaving messages--hang up before the beep.
Reddened shoes like Dorothy six thousand miles away.
Sprawled amongst the shoppin' malls--the city with the hay.

Come New Year, I will see her if I want or if I don't.
Her hubby slug will be there but, the mistletoe it won't.
Trippin' over presents that her lovely--he has bought.
Me, I'll get a pencil case--somewhere to put my thoughts.
He bothers with the neighbors--smiling, pours the best of drinks.
A drop for Mum and I? Our glasses never clinked.

They're livin' in their bubble. Let's hope it doesn't burst.
It could do but, it's slim that they have time to read my verse.
Tv, job, then Costco, then a restaurant, and tv.
Ain't got Jack to say to me. Don't share the same routine.

"Joanne?" She draws a blank--five years of paintings on her walls.
This one to upstairs bathroom. It really is too small.
Couldn't you have asked? "But I've framed them"--so emphatic.
"And you don't have the space for them--your tiny little attic."
Your hubby slug's observant--says it's just like "Rich Man-Poor Man."
Guess he's done some reading--better treated by a doorman.

She thinks I'm doin' nothin' with my miles.
Counts the dollars as she sits comparin' piles.
Blood, but where's the love? I've givin' up to think.
Sinking ever further on the brink.

(Actually, rereading this years later. I got on my with sister and we didn't fight. Then again, she had a cough.)

Lookin' For Leisure

Where's the telephone number?
.........In the phonebook....
Where's the phonebook?
.....where you left it...
Where'd you leave it?
I don't know. I wasn't the last one using it.
...There's a new phone book somewhere...
Came just last year.

Thing so big---
They gettin' bigger than bibles.
They be replacin' bibles altogether soon....
Even more useless.
Answers so many questions---
Questions you didn't even think of askin'---
Like what exactly is the size of Alaska?
I don't know. I was lookin' for the number for Pizza Hut.
So big...the phone book nowadays---What all else is in there?

Ten other uses for vinegar.
The weather in Argentina.
And fifty other things you can do with your vacuum cleaner
If you got the right attachments.
Picture of the local fire station staff
With their emergency if you really hot.

And last but not least--- Few Barbara Cartland novels in the back
Sixty of her most saucy situations all sucked down into fine print.
Some joker (long-libido bibliophile) knew he could get away with it.
Nobody reads the phone book anyway.

And who's in there?
Two seconds of fame for being in the phone book? Keep it.
Do I need to know them?..... No
Do they need to know me?...... No.

Do I need their telephone number if I don't need to know them?
A+B=C in my book....That's an algebraic No.
Just in case... ? case of what?

Got a sudden hankerin' to talk a Mr. Chee Chitty Chonk?
Howdy Old Chonky....What up?
Nee how Madda wow eet han han geeng?
Can't hang on for too long.
Bored already--put in a call to his brother--
Mr. Watta Madda Dadda.
Hello Mr. Watta Madda.
Watta Matta Dadda.

But really.... emergencies aside...
I had a genuine need for the telephone today.
Tried to put a question to the YMCA.
1-800-YMCA...Doesn't work...Ain't enough letters.
1-800-GAY-YMCA....that works but it the wrong number.
1-800-FUCK-THE-YMCA...too many.

Kids off school for a week--gotta put em somewhere.
Here?..... Will he fit in here?..... Over there?....
What about the neighbor? Never the Y.

(In squeaky high mid-west surburban girl voice)

Sorry--no. Due to the recent overly-subscribed need for our
creche and babysitting facilities during the school break,
we have had to curtail our services until further notice.
As we can not provide for the greater population in our community, we will be closing the babysitting service over school break in order to enter into discussion with the community and parents on how we can improve our services. We look forward to hearing from you and providing you all with a fair and fulfilling experience of excellence in excercise.

I ain't looking for excellence. I lookin' for a swimmin' pool.
Fair and fulfilling?....To who?....You "Due To" tart--
Experience my ass.

And to think....
what I had to do...... just to get the phone number---

Swimming--no not under "swimmin'".
It ain't called swimmin' no more.
Underwater exercise--aquatic aerobics.
To health clubs---no not there.

See Also---Also See
Fitness--leisure centers--spas--pools
It leisure? What's so leisurely about sweatin'?
Man's standing there huffin' puffin'
Nearly losing his teeth he can barely breathe.

Hairy Harry and Lean Larry-- more leisure lovers
Them two--they strokin' the water right out of the pool.
But I ain't lookin' for leisure.
I just wanna go swimmin'.

Sunday, 21 October 2007

Phone Chords

N: Someone just called.
F: Who were that then? Do I know 'em?
N: I don't know.
I can't answer the phone.
F: Tied up?
N: No.
F: Why not? FBI?
N: No. Nothin' so unlikely.

Phone's missin' daaaamn phone....
Telephone....where in the devil's deserted tundra is it?

Ain't missin' the whole phone--just part of it
Just the part you put to your ear.
Part you hold in ya hand w' th'all the buttons n' numbas
Honey--They all pressed now!---- All pressed.
Been to the moon seven times--and back
Just lookin' for it.

F: Think some thieves broke in?
N: Unlikely.
If they know anything....(didn't leave their bleedin' minds behine)
They know there ain't (Jack) shit in this block of flats worth takin'
Wastin' their time....better off dealin' drugs.
Unless they real stupid----just wanted half a phone.

R1: Can't get it---it's plugged in.
R2: Well unplug it then.
R1: Don't know how to.
R2: Ya'll ain't comin' with me again.
N: See? My tv's still here. Hopeless. Don't you want my tv?
Too stupid to even steal a tv...or too snobby--
R2: We only deal in flat screens.

I reckon the cute little culprit is a little more local...
And ain't more than three feet high.
My son......he into ALL crime.
Can't even book a three-year-old for a misdemeanor these days.
And he knows it.
Toddler detention---yet to be invented.
He the black hole of Holborn--that boy.

Boy: Don't like My Mamma talkin' on the telephone.
My Mamma---she needs to talk to me.
Think I'll just throw it over the balcony.
Ooh. Door's locked
Have to put it in the bin.
Ooh. She takin' out the garbage now.
Mamma's throwin' away her own telephone.
Poor woman. I'll have to protect her from herself. (shakes head)

Now I wouldn't have this problem if I tied him up
But I don't have a phone cord to tie him up with.
Wouldn't have this problem if I had a normal phone
Phone chord--umbillical contraption.
Keeps the phone holder and the hand set connected.
Together like.
Some couples--it be a good idea for them to get a phone chord.
But you can't even buy 'em anymore.

Shop boy---greasy headed nobody from Neverland...
Spent all his money on hair gel
Lookin' at you like you out of style. (if you ask for one of them phones)
Want some Bell bottoms with your telephone Mam?
That's how come they call it Illinois Bell.
Least it used to be Illinois Bell.
Think they out of business now.
"Illinois Boot Cut" didn't sound right.

Still see them tangly telephones on Charlie's Angels--two in the mornin'.
Farrah got it all fussed up in her feathered hair.
Where's your mobile Farrah?
And get a hair cut.
People used to get murdered too with some of them phone chords.
Peter Falk limpin' up to the body shakin' his head. (tut tut tut)
Don't use that phone chord stunt for strangulation anymore.
Too low tech.
They be switchin' back to bare hands.

Where's my phone?
Now I gotta buy a new phone.
All the things I was gonna do...but I gotta get a phone.
I was gonna get a new organizer for my shower.
Go to the salon--get my nails done---sick a clippin' at home.
I was going on a cruise to the Bahamas Baby.
But not now..........gotta buy a new phone.

(Warning the rest of this is a crescendo of profanity.
Stop here if it hurts your ear. A very big apology to anyone who finds this offensive.)

Every seen people when they lose their phone, the wallet--the keys?
Where...... did I put my keys?
Where are my keys?
Where the mother fucking hell are my god damn fucking keys?
Where the feather mucking fell are my dog blamn trucking fees?

Heard you the first time.
They ain't here.

And if somebody lose their wallet--it a sorry moment in history.
Where's my wallet?
Who took my wallet?
Who the hell took my damn wallet? my God----Damn---Wallet?
God--help me find my fucking wallet.
Who the fucking hell took my god damn fucking wallet?
Who the fist-fuckin' god-damn bleedin'- black-assed-bollocks....

It ain't here.

(Spoken Time 3:47)

Two Soups

Tired of being healthy? Want to bring on some diarrhea? Try this recipe:

Big-ass bunch of 'sparagus
Boil it.............salt
....wash it first....need to tell ya?
Always do that...wash em first....
and after.
Don't want a load of dirty vegetables around.

Take off the rubber bands and keep em for something crafty
Put them in the drawer...
Use them as a hair tie if yo bored.
Not bored--- hair too short...?
Get all your bills and tie them up in a purple rubber band.
Put them under your pillow and bring on the tooth fairy.
Ain't got no bills--?
Whatchya doin' with your time? Go out and buy somethin'.
Do a dance for the tooth fairy....
Tooth fairy comes---she busy--she late
Just gonna laugh in your face
I only do teeth--she says.
But it's worth a try.
May get her to pay the water bill
You use water to brush your teeth.
She only pay half?
Change your postcode.

This recipe I was tellin' you about--
Better if you eat it on a Friday or Saturday
Because--ya'll are gonna have to be
Constricting your movements ---
Between the tv and the toilet.

And there will be a lot of movements--trust me.
So many--ya'll would be wise not to flush every time.
Wait til it's just so....kinda soupy.
Get a ladle--that be the one you serve
To the very special people on your guest list--
Need I say? The ones you don't like but invite anyway..
Just like the relatives ya'll be trippin' over every Christmas.
Can always refrigerate some for them.
Add some spices to it--may be a little bland.
In fact--you should really curry it up.

Now the asparagus is ready--
Take it out and mash it up a little.
Throw in some butter and the left over juice.
Now you got a soup--It plain, but it good.
Bored with that? Throw in some greek yogurt.
Still bored--put some ketchup to it.

Saturday, 20 October 2007

Minky Maiden Margareete

Minky mind of concrete.
That maiden Margareete.
Sometimes--little chilly but, otherwise, she sweet.
Some would call it more like sweet and sour.
But I reckon, deep inside, she is a flower.

Her bubbly hugs of giggles ain't complete
Until she slaps you with a saunter down the street.
There was a time in Lago Como--took the train.
She fancied singin' out some opera refrains

So inspired by the scene
Of the mountains and the green
Other passengers? So shocked they dropped their jaws.
Margareete---she sat there waitin' for applause.

Didn't wanna get a ticket
She on holiday so stick it
The conductor didn't like her singin' then.
Fine was waived by an Italian speakin' friend.

Some people call her Maggy...
Moldy Maggy's far too haggy
For this lady with her diddy boom ways.
Moody Maggy--always goin' through a phase.

She's got a talent for designing fine braziers.
Tight and lacy--gotta zip it--get the sheers.
She could have her own label
If she wanted 'cause she's able

Cut the corsets---kickin' off a crazy gaze.
Lace up one of those--she get her own ways.
She can't help it--girl is always causin' stares.
You know the men--they like those underwears.
I should ask her--cut a pattern up for me.
She's a master--even got her own degree.

Ya'll could eat that Margareete.
She a microwave in heat.
Set the dial on ten.
Ain't done? Press again.

She fidget with her sandwich in the cafe.
She brought it in from home--ain't gonna pay.
She a member of this club
But the fee--it cause a rub

So her bottle under table she does pour
And her giggles cause the waiters to ignore.
Just what we needed--do you want a little more?
Meet her later--she will be there on the floor.

Some people call her Greta.
Little Greta--Like your sweater.
"My own label," prides the maiden, Margareete.
Nine stitches every time--very neat.

Margie--please don't take this sonnet,
With a bee up in your bonnet
As so carefully, I've penned this one for you
Our frigid friendship--a toast is overdue.

Rue de Bustle Boom

A zim bah don't ---a zim bah doo
Cacciatore vindaloo.
Ever had that dish?
.........Ain't just a fish.
Ever heard that song?
........Zazz zithers on.

A song you only hear in places far too hot for trousers.
The people play--their banjos--are much bigger than their houses.

That's why the folks are living in la rue de Bustle Boom.
The instruments that shelter woe are taking all the room.
Elated habitation in the street.
Engine running--kiss the people on the cheek.

They stop their cars for very long hellos.
Imagine--this were London, broken nose.
Could call it dedicated musication
Voices I adored while on vacation

Singin' to the music that they live for
Midnight melodies on steps of door.
And kiddies cruisin' makin' noises sweet.
My neighbors here--they never could complete.

How come you all assembled in the road?
The weather here invites--it's never cold.
Tonight--a sunset movie--outdoor screening.
From my seat, I eye the sea is teeming.

Minarets and steeples slice the view.
Peeling pastel building magic hues.
Tunisian boats and Corsican cargo.
Travel on to ports--the waving slow.

Tonight we go again to stroll the port.
Come with us--our friendship's like a fort.
Famed "Le Panier"--older than Marseille.
We reach the beach to spend another day.
We seek to teach you life is full of play.
So humbled by the clouds of London's gray.

Psychaedelic Salad Makers

(To visit Mary on the farm, press the poem title. To learn about wilderness training--google the teaching drum.)

Mary strung her bow for a while in the woods.
Getting back to nature--as naked as she could.
Road kill and berries supped over fire.
Rat racin' super malls and markets on the pyre.

Made herself a yurt out of sticks and plastic bags.
Keepin' out the rain had a few little snags.
A hole in the top to catch snow and melt.
Grassy cup of tea and a shower when she smelt.

You gotta to wait for rain just to have a cup of tea?
Sippin' up the drips is not a brew for me.
Miss my milk and sugar if I lived out yonder there.
Not to mention biscuits--I ponder when I dare.

Gotta melt the snow just to wash your hairy pits?
Don't want to have to think--how she did to take a shit.
Once, came a bear---she was squatting in the dew.
Broke the yellow icicle--aimed and threw.

"See ya!" said the bear. Her archery was stunning.
Belted up her pants--then belted off running.
At times, she would shower in the petrol station.
Way she was livin'--you could call it a vacation.

Made and played the drums in a circle made of beards.
Healthy outdoor lovers but, some folk were kind of weird.
Howdy. Name is Jed--out of jail--got a spoon?
Feelin' kind of pale. Thought I'd hit your commune.

Pseudo-camping in the woods--can't always pick your neighbors.
Psychaedelic salad makers come in all flavors.
Berries in the bushes, that's the way it goes.
Me--I get alarmed if my tv blows.

But after three years, turned from livin' to survivin'
Stuck up in the woods with a truck too broke for drivin'
So Ken came to get her--"This life no longer fond."
Now, if she miss it, she got her own pond.

Always tell her "leave the pond and try the ocean for a while."
If she did, I think she'd love it as adventure is her style.
Shake hands with the Bonobos--a Congolese canoe.
Trekkin' in the forest. I'll pack my rucksack too.

Diggin' up for Farmer John--so angelic--so organic.
Mary and her tee-pee---she still gotta save the planet.
Tapping on her drums--cross legged does she sit.
Posing in her moose dress--such a nice fit.

Friday, 19 October 2007

The Karma of the Suit

Perhaps your pad is running out of paper
Playful ink that's thinning to a taper
Littering the cities of the heart
Typing tangos many miles apart.

A gentle walk to somewhere new
The softest crush of leaves
The bush is beaten bare and blue
The branches open seas

A careful prod to push it off the cliff
A falling splash to stop the wishing if.

Not to entertain this any longer. Slow to think.
The cork still on the message in the bottle full of ink.
Your answer seemed a very loud abyss.
Clear the board without a lettered kiss.

The queen begins to checker with a touch of hate
When moved without a certain checkmate.
As this game is on a paper we're not using
Play your pawns. The wait becomes a bruising.

Alerted by the tamest phrase
A single word--a hope is raised
But truth has killed the waiting pains.
The truest cleaner when it rains.

Betray the self with far too biased leanings
Changing the arithmetic of feelings
Triple-whipped up over innocent ice-cream
Not a cone to lick-- just a wishful thinking dream.

This had to be the closest I could get to you.
Between the lives--embraces overdue.
It melted into blood and then I bled.
A thorny cone just dripping--now it's dead.

Should I edit more before I press the send?
Fuss with where to put the "F" in the "friend"
If I bother, only have to wait again.
Move on to other things and save my pen.

Couldn't know the man I used to know.
When I knew it all and everything ago.
Perhaps I didn't know you very well
As I didn't know myself, I can not tell.

With distance, my imagination lies.
I thought I saw some miles in your eyes.
And so to end obtuse oral movements.
I'll steal away to poems for improvement.

Fly so high
Fly but why
Feelin' the words
Fill in the words
They're just words

Sight of night.
Flight of flights.
Fill in the words
Haven't you heard
The world's warm stir
Out of all of everywhere
The world's worst whirrr.

The Polish Hotel California

This poem comes from a true story--
My experience with Hans and Carol Kalliwoda of
Europartrain--Amsterdam to Krakow 2000.
To learn more about the Europartrain,
click on the title link above.

The Armoured King Recycling
Own castle in Gdansk.
Converted scraps the masses leave
Prop pleasures for his dance.

This dance involves some stage fright--
The audience--not him.
Pierced---not his ear
Hung from meat hook chandeliers

Breast and nipple--- rips so slim
While trumpeting. It's grim.
He showed us a video on this.
Free ticket--would you go? Might have to miss.

His castle many--roomed
The stairways lead to air.
He found abandoned--left alone.
Only he did care.

He troubled with a candle
Our steps on hollow stone
To light our tresspass through his home
The courtyard overgrown.

One room he has for bottles
One room for bits of tin
One room he has for plastics
Recovered from the bin.

The foundry with its armour...
His costumes for the stage.
It's there he plays his trumpets
His passions on a rage.

So Hans--where did you find him?
Not "find"--no--I was told.
To seek the lonely trumpeter
In the castle old.

A motorcycle bar with men
"His ways are strange some say
But he drinks vodka just like us."

Later-- engine tarries at the gate.
Hans pulls---two hands--to open--not his fate.
Then he comes one-handed....Rogolus--he prys with ease
The iron gate ajar and sweeps us in, "But Please..."

A quiet midnight tour with lighted candle.
A broken tiled floor---a door---no handle.
A light bulb for his guests--a cup of tea
Floats above his bed brought from the sea.

Conversations with Tony

I see them, I don't feel well.
I took my niece to one cafe in Soho...
She say, "Why you bring me here?
The men--they kiss"....Soho no good now.
Used to be--50 p--put in the slot---see the girl...
Now.... it take you fifty pounds---only buy one drink...
And then she drink it. Manage
It no good...don't go those doorways.
Dress nice---ladies no good...dress stay on.
I tell you-- sheep in the clothes of the fox.
I don't know friend--he tell me this.
We have coffee. He have catering business.
He give the job the Russians--the Poles.
He keep one lady aside---she not for dishes.

Thursday, 18 October 2007

Grocery Robots

What is it with that Tesco off a Tottenham Court Road?
Sorry little painful scene...that is...
I tossin' Tesco?---Yes g'rl.
I seen twenty little pre-sorted tucked up folk
Laid up in line
Got the goodies in the beat up baskets
Graspin' at the last of the nine dollar cheese--
Family size--too yella to eat.
Truck it up. Truck it up.
And who be doin' the loadin'?
Your local little low wage nobody--
Ain't from here--ain't from there...
Sittin' there pickin' his teeth with a five inch grin at the til.

I wanna say, "Honey, Don't rain on my day...
I done my job. I just been shoppin.
Don't get paid for it niether.'"
It your job to ring it where's all yo' friends?
Gone home already?
Damn Pandora-ed the boxes...
Break in the back--chuffin' on cream puffs.

Don't point me over there to that electric machine.
I ain't here for that wicked vibe--do that at home.
What I'm spose to do? Ring it up myself?
Ya'll better help me else I reckon half of this ain't gonna beep.
Bring on the staff and fetch the manager.
I don't have no barcode tattooed on my ass.

(If you don't like Tesco's new automated check out system, dial this number and your call will be directed: 01992 632222 Head Office)

Unnatural Fashion Destination

(For Grazia Magazine Oct. 22nd)

Sofia--This dress could win "most dowdy" at a funeral. Oh how embarrassing-it's a tie. She's wearing the same dress as the corpse. On someone bigger boned, perhaps it would add whimsy, but on her--it's a big and blousy drown. The too-busy fabric pattern blows the entire dress, but could send a casual chic growl if reassembled as baggy jungle pants.

Sophi Dahl--Again, another funeral frock.The slant of her underwear is spoiling the view. If you're wearing see through mesh, don't be messy--be dressy. Is that her red bag in the background? I hope not.

Victoria--Move over Mrs. Jetson! She looks absolutely chemical in that surreal teal dress. A space-dust cocktail and a pair of thin red specs the colour of Mars would compliment this scientific but otherwise too-sharp-to-compliment ensemble. If you're going all the way to Mars, I suggest you cover those legs as your fashion destination doesn't seem to be that natural.


I'm not that bad with pets
Although some don't last long.
I don't have no regrets
Don't mean to do them wrong.

They sometimes choose just not to stick around.
This cage too small--I'm gettin' out of town.
A suitcase? No--but let me check the weather.
May need an extra coat--the one with feather.

Chinchillas--they're as nervous as they come.
Have this for a pet--you'll have just one.
They jiggle and they jump--you try to touch.
A cuddle in the lap is just too much.

My chinchilla's name was Pample Moose.
He's teething at the bars--I cut him loose.
He lasted half a year and then I said,
" Ain't nervous anymore--perhaps he's dead."

Tried to pick a spot for him to bury.
But couldn't dig the frozen cemetery
With earth as hard as ice--it was too tough
So threw him over fence--it was enough.

Fluffy was the sweetest pet of all--
My guinea pig who liked to play football.
Dyed his hair some green and purple strands.
The rodent's set--a punk from other lands.

Dogs and cats--you take them out for walks.
But guinea pigs--they are not into sports.
So put him in a shoe box with some holes to let in light
And pulled him round on string attached to back of bike.

Excitement was the reason for his lengthy age.
Eight years went by, but then he couldn't turn the page.
One prankster put him in the fridge beside the milk container.
Poor Fluffy died very next day with case of pet pneumonia.
Buried in a shoe box in the yard.
Poor Fluffy--letting go was rather hard.

There was a jazzy bluesman with a golden fish.
Experiments with ambience--put candle under dish.
Forgot the fish--the way that we were feeling.
Laid back to watch the shadows on the ceiling.

The slow gray moody movements of this goldfish tail
Were beautiful to watch but, by morning, paled.
Alarm goes off--he's swimming upside-down.
The gold fish bowl had heated into frown.
I tell you how he ended, it would spoil it....
But Goldie's burial was via toilet.

Wednesday, 17 October 2007

Emmit Steele

Twas a man called Albert who lived for a time
With a man called Emmit. This ain't gonna rhyme.
They lived like a couple in the usual way.
But then old Emmit died one day.

Had paintings galore from the attic to the cellar.
Klimt and Klee---all the famous fellas.
But how to divide the estate was the pain.
An historical moment for Albert to gain.

He saved them the trouble
By loading up his truck
This one-- I'll have a double.
This print has upped my luck.

So Johnny Doeringer--- executor of the will.
Was up cataloguing and up taking pills.
The house was for sale, but Albert wouldn't go.
Stock-taking too--gonna have his own show.

(more later on this true tale)

Another session gone

The atheistic vicar's wife was in the pool today.
She isn't one for prayin'--To God--Not much to say.
We stopped a while in shallow end-- a brief chat 'for we launched.
Her chatter--it was short and sweet if not a little raunched.

"The pool--it is so crowded--doing sums...
I've had my head up several people's bums.
I really wouldn't mind it if they weren't all gay--"
Then she put her goggles on and swam away.

Verbatim--take no credit for her speech.
My lane--it weren't the water brushed my cheek.
An accident? His hand was firmly planted.
He came up for a "sorry" as he panted.

Must be foggy goggles--quite a few.
I left my specs behind-- a blurry view.
My hat--I have to find--for it is raw.
My hair I think--is turning into straw.

Morning mothers in the pool
As the kids are off at school
As the grandmas and the uncles entertain.
We're so happy to be stealing this refrain.

Then, The Speedo lady in the deep end--met today.
She says, "You're Benjamin's Mum"--my AKA.
I'm Evan's. I recall you have a bike.
My son is only two. He has a trike.

Her son thinks that my son's enthusiastic.
Polite she is---his devilism's drastic.
He will karate chop in two
If that toy belongs to you.
Tantrum toting as he's mashing up the plastic.

How do you find the weaving in the traffic?
My husband was a messenger--so tragic.
Though he's still alive today
Broke bones--more than I may
Like to recall.
Don't take a fall.
You can't replace...
The little man on back
With his sweet face.

When saying our goodbyes, gave my first name.
She noted it and then, she did the same,
But already can't recall.
We are mothers of them all
And so "Hello Evan's mother"--she'll remain.

I shower. Then I put my helmet on.
It's nearly twelve--another session gone.
As I am racing to the gate
Making sure not to be late
Her words ring out as clear as telephone.
Slow down. You can't leave Benjamin alone.
If you faltered, would not survive the blame.
That woman...Oh Rachel was her name.

The Other Coast of Skye

(In process)

The day the music died, I was alive.
Ice cream--no American Pie.
Instead, it melted
And stayed there for a while.

The day the music died.
It was a lie.
It was a five hour feat.
But he still arrived asleep.

He was born on the other coast of Skye.
Land of tides that reach
The Northern Lights.

Somewhere in my stomach, there's a meal.
I still have not digested.
Don't know why.

Dad just like the dummy at the Y--
Annie Annie can you hear?
Annie Annie can you breathe?

The vicar sat to help me hold my mind.
But his quiet little words--
My ears never heard.

He's moved on to the other coast of sky
With its nine mile beach.
You can have one seashell each.

Put it to your ear when you cry.
And you will surely hear
Your father very clear.

You wanna view the body one more time?
Couldn't move from my seat.
As they rolled down the sheet.

I'd rather keep his laughter in my mind,
Than say good-bye---What would I feel
If I thought that this was real?

Some days he had so serious a smile
He had to hide what's underneath.
Every breath he had to squeeze.

He's livin' on the other coast of sky.
It's got a nine mile beach.
You can have one seashell each.

Scattered in a garden grown for wine
But the glasses, they don't clink--
Grapes too young to drink.

Frozen in the bed--so late it's light
So loud I couldn't hear my dreams
For all the sighs and the screams.

Still looking for him there so late in life
Sometimes at night, I can see,
But the ladder doesn't reach.

I'll see you on the other coast of sky.
And until then, I 'll try to feel
Like this life is truly real.

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

The Man from Tennessee

What about the man from Tennessee?

I'm Spiderman

I'm Spiderman. I'm Spiderman....And now I am a tiger.
I'll grrr you. I grrr you. I jump into the eiger.
Now I am a lion. I'll brush you with my mane.
Swish you with my tail--until you are in pain.

Catch me. I'm a doggy--crawling out the door.
I'll bite you--excite you. I'll scratch you with my paws.
And now I am a froggy hiding under table.
I'm summer-saulting freely as my mother is unable
To capture me and put me in a cage.
I'm not a blinking psycho--it's my age.

I'll get away with this
Until I'm four or five or six.
And then it will be time to be a man.
I'll be a man at seven, that's my plan.
And if you think that seven is too early,
I'll grab you by the hair. It is so curly.

Monday, 15 October 2007

Mind the Gap

There ain't nothin' better than ridin' on the train.

Don't care the destination--it's when I know my name.

The little man inside me--he rumbles down the tracks.

I got my Thomas train boots and my wooly tartan slacks.

I can have my own seat. Don't sit me on your lap.

You sit over there. Don't worry--Mind the gap.

Train is reaching Holborn. Doors open. They get off.

Come on let's keep trainin'. It isn't time to stop.

On the escalator moving lower up to higher.

Three hundred feet of people look at me and they admire.

Little boy is standing on the stair next to his mother.

That's the age to be--so cute at three-there ain't no other.

Sunday, 14 October 2007

Domestic Dark Abyss

Ash in glass and apple eaten
But not to the core.
GI Joe and Thomas Trains
Clean the kitchen floor

Before you slip on tracks and blocks
assorted puzzle pieces,
Reunite the lonely socks
And put away the peaches.

Tidy up the teddies
As they're finished with their picnic.
Blueish hue--uneaten lunch
And crushed up chocolate chicks.

Separate dried weetabix
From top of kitchen table.
Soak it with some water first.
Then scrape if still unable.

Keep scrapin' with the crayon on the door.
You don't him not to do it anymore.

Recycle all the plastic
When you take the garbage out.
Hoover up the marmalade,
Then defrost the trout.

Washer to the dryer--
From the dryer to the bed.
Bed to drawers and closet
For tomorrow, start again.

Tobasco Boy's at park
With Uncle Tony, he insists.
Now's the time to start
On this domestic dark abyss.

Saturday, 13 October 2007

Organic Trip

Please now...don't tell me you organic.
All caught up with greenin' up the planet?
Say the smoke goin' up in the air
Gonna block out the sun.
Burn us all up.

Well. As that's the case,
I reckon oughtta have a barbeque first.
So Saturday last--
Got the smoke cookin' all nice...
good friends and foes all round

Except for one lady--- she sit up too straight.
Wrong kind a neighbor.... She a neighbor without a hood.
Look like Mrs. I'm too good.
Peculiar way she wear her clothes
Mid-summer..she's got panty hose.
That only reach up to her thigh
Cus of her shorts, can see the line.
Kind of gear a girl wears strippin'
This woman dance? No. She only tippin'

Visitin' some long lost half-adopted relative
happened to be our Julie down the street is where she live.

Just a one-off thang. We hopin'
She don't come again--especially as they broke in
To her car and stole her grin.

Hamburgers---is what we had...
Nicely burned--th' weren't too bad
But then she a posh rude way
"Is this organic? " ---Had to say,

"Organic lady? This hamburger....
Hamburger from a cow.
Cows can not be planted.
Cow don't grow in the ground."

I do know what organic means.
I've seen the drama on tv.
The one on channel five at noon
We'll all be puffed up real soon.

Organics grow in pure dirt scenes.
A dirt so pure that it is clean.
One hundred plus percent this dirt.
You touch it and your hands won't hurt.
Just like an addict not on drugs.
Not even mixed with water-mud.
No shit in it.
Hell, you could even bathe in it.

People go for miles just to find that piece of earth.
The seeking and the searching is the reason for its worth.
You can't even touch it once you find it. Once you do,
you'll get your hands dirty. Then the dirt will not be true.
Touch it again? the dirt's dirty. Ain't that the rub.
That's how come organics are such expensive grub.

Ya'll got organic carrots, organic potatoes, lettuce and so on... basically... just double the price of the vegetables..
put em in a different package.
See what fools buy them.
I'm so fancy, got me an organic car-- 'Cause I'm on an organic trip.
Damn..I wish I had some organic gas to go with it.

I heard that word already too many times for my own likin'
And the kind a people usin it..i don't like em
Not happy with payin three dollars a gallon for gasoline
wanna pay more--got any organic sir?
Not happy with a aten dollar haircut.. got to be atleast 50 if not 100
ya'll want small meduim or large scissors.
I can cut up your wallet with either one.
Want an organic blow dry with that?
I'll leave on the dryer-press reverse
and suck it up---credit cards and all...
Want an organic permanent?
Won't get your wallet back.

Safe Volcanos

Know Lance, a man I chanced upon the net...
We penpals---ain't no more--to my regret.
Or was it that we met while in New York?
We skip to drinkin' cyber wine uncorked.

Won't further dislocate this odd acquaintance
In case this story's losing you your patience.
So Lance is lately looking for a place
To celebrate his weddin' date with Grace.

He's thinkin' of some Carribbean Islands,
Just not the office--hmm-no ties in Thailand.
He says that Monserrat has safe volcanos.
Way Grace and Lance vacate, I bet it blows.

The Yucatan, another possibility
Those sandy beaches slapped by tides of sea.
Another rainy day exotic joint.
But then again, the weather ain't the point.

It ever burns and bends to the agenda,
The buzz of dusty mopeds with their fenders
Be cruising watchin' ships from hilltop views.
A towel round her waist-- a private pool.

That tie around his neck, is barely loosened on a Sunday.
He takes it home to do, he will not leave it til the Monday.
A family man and then a sailor too.
It's docked upon a sea of midnight blues.

In the office all the day, a life of fixin' boxes.
Ain't got time to play. Stress ain't reduced--a lack of foxes.
Pulled in one too many odd directions.
Have you got time to finish these connections?

He can karate chop police
Within the law and out of reach
As in his class of ten the local force attend.
Choose a partner he can spar with til the end.

And then---what he's doin' nightly
Ain't no business of mine rightly,
But some parts of it, so finely has he penned,
That I take the time to read it once it's sent.

This an under-cover story
That I thought up for the glory.
I'll disclaim this information til the end.
Be dishonor if I broke this confidence.
And besides, if there's a cyber disagree--
I think, by chance, he's got some things on me.

Friday, 12 October 2007

Procrastinating Preparator

Don't eat the eggs of river trout. They are not caviar.
Go up and talk to strangers if you don't know who are they are.
Don't drink and draw. You may go off the page.
Too young for your free bus pass. Act your age.

Mange enough to keep your stomach able,
To pull a chair, set plates upon the table.
Don't fuss with stuffing when it's only you
I'd rather roast a bird if there were two.

Black and blue no slumber
With that ever present number.
Shake some pepper in that room
Before you kneel at salted tomb.
Before it boils.....soak it overnight
Patience the ingredient so light.

Don't stay up late with poetry. You need your beauty sleep.
Turn lights on if there ain't no fridge for torrid thoughts to keep.
Chase the ghosts of summer from your bed,
Those twilight conversations never said
You'd lay awake trying to forget
An ever downing sun that never set.

Press the velvet dress and strap the stair.
Go out and meet the crowd--they'll all be there.
Lavendar the hair an hour later.
I tire of going out for something greater.

I may need two shoes the same
More smartly footed for this game.
If I am gonna leave the house
Imbibicating pints of Grouse.
Dressin' times a pain--it's lost the writhe.
Stiletto under couch--it's still alive.

Need a driver and champagne to get in motion.
Here I am lost between the liquids and the lotions.
Eight pairs of panty hose and all with ladders.
By now, the party's emptying its bladders.

Far too procrastinating preparations.
I'm feelin' far away from destinations.
It's after nine-the current hour showing.
I still have to decide if I am going.

My kid's screwed up my lipstick.
There's the last of it on sink.
This ruby shade ain't too chic.
I'm scrapin' off the pink.

If I take the bike, I'll get there soon.
Check the lights--You can't rely on moon.
Not in the mood to force a social life.
But don't sit home just makin' up these rhymes.

I got lots of little coughs-perhaps a cold.
Feel a little tired--maybe old.
Go out and meet a man in my condition?
I think it's gonna be an extradition.
In the end, turned out, I didn't go.
The plot upon the stage, we'll never know.

Don't want to leave my boy
'Til the wee hours of the morn.
Mid picking up his toys,
When I interrupt his yawn.

I leave the door ajar to take my boy from Uncle Tony.
A smile in your eyes tells me just how you want to know me.
A cup of tea with one last Scooby Doo.
Thelma's chased by ghosts that hover too.
A little scooby snack before you go?
My dinner's in the oven thanks, but no.

(Spoken Time 3:12)

Built for a Kilt

You stroke the pool and glide another length.
You stop to take a breath and gain your strength.
Don't know you, but you seem like quite a gent.
We chat, our eyes have met, the message sent.

Dishy man in sauna. Do not know your name.
Steamy rocks of lava. When will we meet again?
What prompted you to ask about my goggles?
A better chance to glance my wibble-wobbles?

You noted that they had a gold reflection.
I noted, through the steam, a slight direction.
You further pointed out the golden glare.
Got ones like them at home- a matching pair.

Do you know mouth-to-mouth rescucitation?
I think I'm gonna drown in conversation.
Or what about the Russian next to you?
At this point, any chromosome will do.

Where'd he get his "Y's"? Can't be from this YMCA.
He's checkin' out my thighs--my membership is up to date.
Oh no-- he's seen my radar dish for dishy men.
It's all wired up---the frequency's on ten.

It's beeping--how embarrassing for me--
Should'da left it in the locker under key.
Perhaps he's thinking now that I'm a spy.
Concentration on his face---it doesn't lie.

Your lap---don't mean to stare
Just seen your radar sittin' there
Your chit chat don't fool me.
You're on assignment, I can see.

He's telling how they're beaten up with birch.
Sauna, batterred, cold-pool is the church
Of men who take the steam up in Siberia
He thinks of this routine---he's getting cheerier.

Russia in the north. I'm from The South.
Cut the stupid details--tongue in mouth
Sizin' up the branches while he sits.
I'm thinkin' how I'd birch your naughty bits.

So beat me with that birch of yours all tangled up in dew.
A shame the sand has slid so fast--there won't be time for you.
Oh how degrees have climbed since we've been sittin' gettin' wetter.
A shower on the cold side after this will be much better.

Inside the Moscow Metro, they've put funny chandeliers.
They there to add some ambience 'case war goes on for years.
And what about Diana and that Dodified disaster?
Sortin' out world troubles in the sauna--he's the master.

His flexing pecs---taste the sweat that's dripping off a him.
"Where do we begin?" is thinking my internal grin.
But this is not the reason for the steam--it's for my health.
Just call it window shoppin' as I'm slow to spend my wealth.

Country Boy. This Norma's quite particular.
This booty don't chase everything testicular.
I try to keep a handle on my hormones.
I'll keep a hand on yours if you're alone.

You had a wide selection-puttin' questions to my bloggin'?
So you be askin' "who is next for Norma and her snoggin'?"
Careful with your queries, Country Boy, It could be you.
The guidebook's inside section on the things to see and do.

So tone it down----I'll tone you up a touch.
You weren't so far away, have you for lunch.
You're listed every day on my meal planner.
Rip your packet with my teeth, forget the manners.

Hungrily--I'd lay you on a plate of steel china.
Bed of feathered lettuce--down the cellar for the wine..
Bottle after bottle--even barrels oaked with time.
Then ditch the knife and fork before I dine.

Lift the waiting glasses from behind
The cupboard door.
Clink them with a chime
And then you pour.

Second course--a luscious length of neck.
Followed by a juicy round of chest.
A beer with that? Yes Please. I'll have a Becks.
Hard to say which part, by now's the best.
How sumptuously seasoned is this course.
Life without this recipe---remorse.

Ingredients for third.... requires knife.
Logistics interrupt and so does wife.
Mustard with that ketchup's hard to do.
Have to chop you up and make a stew.
Tomorrow may be breakfast, lunch and dinner.
They say that meals like that will make you thinner.

He mentioned that he studied at St. Martin's.
As arty as the Scottish wearing Tartans.
I wonder if he owns a Scottish Kilt.
That kilt would be in fashion--way he's built.

And so she comes here only twice a week?
I'll have to come in more--my muscle's weak.
What time? Which day? I'll have to get specifics.
A rendezvous like that would be Pacific.

"What line you in?"--another line he tries.
"The line for you," I'm thinkin' bein' wise.
Considerin' we share this occupation,
You'll have to check my studio location.

So come one day and stay to see my art.
Wrapped right around the corner of my heart.
Your school's around the corner--throw away.
I pass it on my cycle everyday.

I smile when I replay our conversations.
They are nice but far too brief in their durations.
A logo maker hailing from East End.
A very tempting template of a friend.


And so we meet again--an accidental rendezvous
Chattin' 'bout the Russian as we take a second view.
You said you do your "warm down" in the pool.
You mean "warm up" or "cool down" sillly fool?

An animated talk on animation.
I tell you of the themes in my play station.
Would you be so friendly to advise on techy tools?
Please show me--I've done my time in schools.
You said, "Doing freelance, it is better to get out."
"But I'm good at being inside," the double meaning out.

The name is Lee and yours? Got a facebook.
Just give me the address---I'll have a look.
My blog address? This poem then you'd read.
"Discretion is the better part of valour." That's my creed.
You wonder how this Norma is with liqour?
Drinks at The Dove--ain't dimmer lightin' chic-er.

(Spoken Time 5:09)

Thursday, 11 October 2007

La Guerre of St. Lazare

St. Lazare, the patron of very long scarves
When he throws a party, don't do things by halves.
What time is it? Well now, in Lazarov's zone....
He wristwatch is stuck on the "ain't time to go."

He's been teaching English ---Bulgarian folk.
But what he gets ain't worth a poke.
He lives for The Classics. He'll tell you them all.
The Wildes and the Worthings---his library tall.

The Somerset Maugham of Sofia...
Not a colorful life without fear.
Didn't like how he painted his veil.
Whispers tempt his nerves to fail.

Unhappy with marks from the previous year,
A footballing student, set in reverse gear,
Lodged a complaint against Laz's profile
Based on his wardrobe. They hoped to defile.

High-lighted his preference for his better half,
Demonstrated by wearing sunglasses and scarves.
I won't take advice from these colleagues of mine.
They actually think that I ought to resign.

A meeting was held with one hundred and forty.
For digging around...Oh, the battle was sporty.
Lazare was in danger of losing his license.
The parents--"This pervert."--They really were frightened.

But evidence finally seemed to suggest
That plainly, the students don't like taking tests.
Decided in minutes--Ministry of Education
The hammer came down in careful elation.

The nails in the ball of the football player.
"Out with a hiss!" said all the nay sayers.
Next time your diploma needs higher marks,
Try turning the light on--can't study in the dark.

Oven Chip Man

What is that crackling? Glad I'm not looking.
It's me and my oven chips--process of cooking.
Oven Chip Man. So where are your fish?
How will you eat them? Do you have a dish?

I like oven chips. They're so easy to make.
You can fry them up, microwave, boil or bake.
Nice with Premium Haddock in Light Breaded Crumbs
And I finish them off with my pickled onions.

But My Oven Chip Man, tell me where are your peas?
My mother's not here so I'm skipping my greens.
Is it wise to neglect so essential a color?
Life with just oven chips has to be duller.

Course you can't think that I only eat chips.
If that were the case, I'd have 48 hips.
The grease would rise up and bloat up the whole body.
And after a while, I'd be looking quite shoddy.

You don't look a chip-eater? Look in the mirror.
Here's some spray cleaner so it can be clearer.
Don't let that dust on there spoil the view.
Then go give your treadmill...something to do.

Please pardon if chip advice causes a sting.
But, I know you can take it--- like Fisting King.
Fishing King--Fisting King. But which one is it?
How do you do that? Do you stand up or sit?

Helpful Hints

Ya'll probably don't realise, me being such a celeb pretty, that I actually have domestic skills of my own. Yes, It true..... I have several maids about the house, but I still do some of my own detailin'. Move over Heloise. I got some advice of my own.

If ya'll are doin' laundry--Take the tea bags out of your trousers before you put them in the washing machine. I think it explains itself. Most things do.

And if you find that the entire load of laundry comes out steeped in a brown shade of orange pekoe, look on the bright side---It all matches now. Beige is always in season.

International Dial

Some friends of mine, they live so far away
They barely can hear what I'm tryin' to say.
Don't speak the same language--Swahili, Chinese...
The mental exhaustion can bring a brain freeze.

I'm eatin' my lunch but it's mornin' for you.
It's midnight for me, and your dinner is due.
Press forty-five numbers before the phone rings.
Lose count at thirty--start over again.

There should be a school---International Dial
Teaches how to connect over too many miles.
Set you up right with your own country codes
And show where to put all the double zeros.

I remember ago when they had operators,
Just press the "Oh", she'd be there minute later.
But she went to lunch and she didn't come back.
Now it's an auto-press-this-and-press-that.

Press "one" if you think that you're going to speak
To one of us here by the end of the week.
Do you really think we'll pick up the phone?
Noon, we already home.

Press "two" if you have even more time to waste.
We're charging for this, so there's no haste.
I'm a machine--no voice-no face.
We'll put on some music-- the very best taste.
This tune is hip-hop set in a waltz beat.
We like it, and we hope , you find it sweet.

As the Swittish phone system's a bit overpriced,
I guess, 'fore we chattin', I'll have to think twice.
Writin' down what to say in advance 'cause it's live.
Talkin' eighty five miles....not thirty-five.

So you won't be hearin' the liltin' sensations
Of my lovely voice which is in hibernation
Unless there's a skype or a phone card nearby
Where more amicable charges apply.

Johnny Cash Money

"Where's my poem honey?
Ode to Mike and not to Nick?"
Your old Johnny Cash Money?
The wound's too fresh to lick.

But Johnny, he were funny.
And he played a mean guitar.
Couldn't strum a note in fact.
His tunes were quite bizarre.

He's standing on the table
Doin' Jagger's melody
Still up for those who able
To imbibe at Geraldine's

He partied like he's twenty
But his age was twice and ten.
His vices they were plenty
As the venues in East End.

His coat, he had a leather
Which he took to take a stride
Over shoulder-- what the weather
Or for colder times-- inside.

It fit the mood, it made a groove
He jangled as he walked.
Cowboy booted hero in the city
Was the talk.

Gentle touch, a gentle voice
Never waivered with his friends.
And after some tequilla
There'd be gentle touchin' then.

In every way he was a gentleman.
"Every?!! Now Norma--
Lost me and your memory
Don't pretend."

I Know I may be dead now
Let's not gloss over facts.
Ya'll weren't just my stage-wife
When the band laid down them tracks.

Don't serenade with organ music
Of "He was so nice."
If you recall a thing or two
You know I had my vice.

Vodka Blondie had the task
Of fillin' me with time.
Listened as we'd share a glass--
Lips of starry moonshine.

Liquored up with ladies
Lonesome Cowboy guns and gals.
What is in that cocktail?
Pour another for me pal.

Don't reckon it's a mixture.
It too dark in here to tell.
Lighter? Read the label.
It a Hundred Proof Mescal.

With Old Franky, he would tip the bottle through.
Skankin' down the midnight avenue.

Chat-joke up on his balcony
This net ain't for the birds.
It's too high up for tennis balls.
And then the bigger word.

I reckon it's got uses
When my mind is not at ease
It's to contain my suicide
For days I'm on my knees.

I put the smokin' jokin' to the side.
And gave some frank advice 'case he don't lie.
I'm tired of makin' friends and then they die.
The sadness is a hassle--make me cry.

I've had friends---moved away.
I prefer for you to stay.
Don't tell me you'll be jumpin' off this ledge.
Can't add you to this list. You ain't a guest.

His knick-knacks needed dustin'
Then we tidied up some beers.
And what about this light bulb?
Let's put up some chandeliers.

His apartment had a view.
The kind of view you don't look down.
Some twenty stories up
One day he flew to hit the town.

The last time I saw you,
Knew I couldn't pull you back,
Eyes a glaze of sunken worry
Blanking out the chat.

And so Nick, hope you're happy
With this slidin' rhyme to thee
In case you think it's hokey,
Just come back and hit delete.

Wednesday, 10 October 2007

Don't Drink and Draw

He didn't want to marry her.
And so, what made him do it?
Through the door, he carried her.
Through the door, then through it.

Looked into her eyes
But couldn't see beyond his glasses.
Not be hers for life...
Two years of midnight passes.

So organized he was--his weekly lessons on the desk.
He looked a bit like Superman. We called him that in jest.
His parents were in Sweden--hadn't seen them for three years.
Stoic with his mannerisms--not a one for tears.

Our last drink--it made me think--it's only two o'clock.
He called the waiter over--"take out the vintage stock."
Called in sick to cancel class--don't make the people wait.
350 students in the lecture celebrate.

He said some things to me that day that sounded kind of final.
Is this a sign of...? No. That's not like Michael.
"You'll always do your art,"
Why's he talking like he's dead?
You'll always travel far.
So poetic what he said.

And then we switched to riddles for a while.
My pencil rests its fiddles from the pile.
There's a man with a machine---Niagara Falls.
That pops out duck-shaped hotcake balls

For tourists--sells them peanuts everyday.
I wish my life were simple just that way.
I'm not like my brother--he's at Saab.
I hanging off the world in this dumb job.

Not this never-ending ferris wheel
No karaoke circus so surreal.
Can't find the button--can't press stop.
The man's on break. I can't get off.

"Don't drink and draw," he said to insert a little humor.
Not at lunch--unusual--sickness is the rumor.
Still no sign of Michael at the party end of week.
Alison, stab ran to me. Her face, no need to speak.
As planned--to Riski's for the cake--our hearts are all deflatin'.
His mother calls,"Someone died, so we ain't celebratin'."

I made the tea without the bags.
Hot water for his parents.
Add a little sugar
To the words of disappearance.

You had to go. You couldn't stay.
Your friend, he died a sorry way.
Too tall to hang in hotel rooms.
He took some pills to kill the zoom.
Two months in Honolulu was the cure.
I watched the surfers burn the sorrow pure.

The Dog Like the Chicken

(Just to let you know, this is a true story (hence twisted and quirky) about my years in Korea97-99. This poem abbreviates the first six months. My 1997 Korea Diary is in the Victoria and Albert Museum, but it's mis-catalogued as the Japan Diary as the Librarian has been drinkin')

Green as tea to Korea--suitcase for furniture.
So I picked up a dog--attracted to his fur.
A one-way ticket on a thirteen hour ride.
Left the scene in Chicago--part-time art--let it slide.

Nodding bows with the driver---black hair--black glasses.
Seedy Love Hotel---"tomorrow is classes."
"You know the game here? It ain't too tough.
But the first six months can be kind of rough."

Black footed dog--we shared kimchi and rice.
Bit later, my own kitchen-- everything nice.
Got off the the classroom next day.
Teachin' some kids to say "B" "C" and "A."

A cow becomes beef and pig becomes pork.
Lesson two-we move on to the knife and the fork.
"But what does a dog become?" --Rack my brain.
The dog like the chicken--they stay the same.

This lookin' to be---a real comfortable gig.
Break time at three---time for a cig.
Seoul a big City---at times a backwater.
Did you see what he did to that woman's daughter?

He only eighteen if he that and she younger.
Businessmen loosening ties in wonder.
Stopping to watch her kicked fetal in street.
Just walking my dog--the people you meet.

I didn't walk I hurled a brick
But sadly the little man's skull was too thick.
What's this Yankee girl doing--hollerin' and yellin'?
He took a step forward to give me a tellin'.
But I couldn't understand--his mind or his speech.
Give me some time mate. It's just my third week.

Boss heard the story and then she don't like me.
"Don't have enough students to keep you," politely.
You don't look right either...not fully caucasian.
Oh? Got to be white to be teachin' you Asians?
But I only just got here..and you bought the ticket.
Very little money and nowhere to stick it.
I've got enough for a kimbap roll...
For Wednesday and this Seoul?

Take a plane to Japan. Now get yourself seated.
We'll pay you when you get your work visa deleted.
Hogwan jobs like that come a dime a dozen.
Luckily I didn't have to call my cousin.

Got a new job---the very next afternoon.
With a man called James--he had four rooms.
One for the kiddies and one for adults.
One for the housewives and one for insults.

I'm teachin' businessmen how to sell pizza.
Pick up the menu. I'm not gonna eat ya.
After the lesson, karaoke and drinks.
They gonna get lucky they startin' to think.

Add a six a.m. class for beginners at Kia.
I'm starting to have an affluent career.
Lost foreigner bit part on tv bi-weekly.
After it airs, don't the people get cheeky.

Next gig a high-school for the girls only.
Trip on the train -it start to get lonely.
James say a tourist visa works just fine.
I'm startin' to tread a very fine line.

The visa police--at the high-school arrive.
Teachers on the roof pray for their lives.
Lucky that visa I smartly distrusted.
Got out one week before deported and busted.

One night I'm up late at the Seven Eleven.
I'm in the mood for some chilified heaven.
Sit at the noodle bar--customers starin'
What's the matter is it something I'm wearin'?

A Meegook Saram. It's a Meegook Saram.
The name for American--I understand.
A businessman toked up on gallon Soju.
Takes one look at me and has something to do.

He begins to recite some unusual stuff.
"Upstairs, downstairs....." but then that's enough.
I guess that's the only English he knows.
But then he starts counting on fingers and toes.

What's your favorite color pretty lady--pretty lady?
It's my own damn business.Wanna Talk? Have to pay me.

Then on to another cowboy situation.
BCM College-Kimpo Airport Location.
Won't take the apartment that comes with the job.
I get a hotel. Not a fool. Not a snob.

Just want to get powered for the hours I keep.
You bend the rules--our contract's skin deep.
I'm givin' it back like I used to receive.
He's getting all flies on me.

Five foot two in a polyester suit.
Wonder if his wife thinks he's a brute.
Slow down little man and stop the fake grinnin'
I'll slap you so hard, you'll be needin' new fillins.

The students are giggling housewives so fun.
But soon, they start askin' too personal stuff.
It's not in the lesson we planned for today.
These are the answers I don't want to say.
Where's your husband and where are your kids?
Let's stick to the book. Why should you give a shit?

But the questions kept coming. Don't like to be queried.
Some parts of my past, I prefer to keep buried.
So brothers and sisters I start to invent.
My family's too small for a lesson that length.

And I told them my husband--he in Indonesia.
Studyin' insects with that Toxic Amnesia.
Sound so convincin'--they start to believe ya.
I got my relief, but I had to deceive you.

Next thing you know, I'm part of the family.
Teachin' their kids..eatin' rice with the Granny Lee.
Leave the hotel with the teachers behind.
The Lee family---they're far too kind.

Plane ticket for Christmas-- Go down--see your honey.
Vice Prez--Korean Air--small stash of big money.
And bring back a photo and get pregnant too.
It's a vacation, that's too much to do.
I don't have a husband--if they only knew.
But I took the ticket and down there I flew.

I've never been one to shake hands with marriage.
No white-gown girl--got a car not a carriage.
But I found a Temp-Dutchman so lost in Jdakarta.
Jungle photos with him--"other half/future father."

His collection of insects with memory loss.
We pose in his lab and we print it in gloss.
Monkeys and butterflies playin' in the sand.
I'll hand it over the moment I land.

(Spoken Time 5:50)

There's more to this tale, but it's gettin' late now.
Sejong University's Queen Bee Cow.

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

Free French Lunch

We got something to curb your cravin's
If you find out one day your flab's misbehavin'
Swallow our pills and we'll make it all better.
And no, you don't need a doctor's letter.

Ikea gift voucher--no cost now.
But later? You'll be payin' ---and how.
We got a couch that won't fit through your door.
It ain't a problem--just take out the saw.

Toyota says, "You are the winner!"
What did they get me? A rusty old dinner?
No A brand new car from Mr. Eric Clay.
Address and bank details by the way.

Darren's joined Pocado. You will like him.
He enjoys history, music, and writin'
But he's 35 and I'm 41.
He lives too far---No. He's done.

Voucher promotions-Fly American Free.
Hotel ain't included-so nowhere to sleep.
It still a vacation...just won't be so frilly.
I'd rather stay home. I ain't that silly.
Vote now for your destination of choice?
I ain't got the time to tax my voice.

You--Can't wait til your next pay check?
We're called Ceaseles Service. We'll put you in debt.
Spoil your children with our payday loan.
And when you can't pay it, don't pick up the phone.

Fashion Department--Free French Lunch.
Pea with a lime on the side--got a hunch.
Bunch of hopscotch in heat-- Win a thing?
No cruises, or lunches, or diamond rings.

No I won a chance to re-enter once more.
In case I got nothing to do and I'm poor.
One time I really did think that I'd won.
I stayed up all night and got up with the sun.

I penciled a list of my very best friends.
Thinkin' real big of the presents I'd send.
She won't have to share a room with her daughter.
Even a tip for the garbage porter.

No need to count coins from the teddy bear jar.
I was thinkin' I'd even take up the guitar.
Spend out on luxurious toilet paper.
Instead of the roll of anonymous chafer.

We'll get a home with sky-lighted ceilings.
Wow..what that ticket did to my feelins'
But the man who answered the number I dialed.
What a terrible voice--so tarred and defiled.

So many scams--couldn't keep with the pace.
He thought I'd called in for the pencil case.
I got one of those son--please--save your stamp.
Would da been happy with a livin' room lamp.