Monday, 31 March 2008

Will Young...All Time Love

"All Time Love"

Sometimes you walk by the good ones
'Cos you're trying to hard, too hard to see them
And sometimes you don't find the right lines
'Cos you're trying too hard, too hard to hear them
But you know what it feels like
'Cos you're like me
And you won't give up
'Till an all time love
'Cos nothing else is good enough
I want an all time love to find me

Some days you're too set in your ways
And you forget to shut up, shut up and listen
And some days you just have to misplace all your mistakes
Somewhere that you won't miss them
So stop lying that you're fine
'Cos you're like me
And you can't give up

'Till an all time love
'Cos nothing else is good enough
I want an all time love to find me

I don't believe that it's a failing
I don't believe that it's a fault
'Cos if everything were plain sailing
Oh tell me what would there be left to exalt

But an all time love
'Cos nothing else is good enough
I want an all time love to find me
I want an all time love
'Cos nothing else is good enough
I want an all time love to find me

Late Advice

Don't be late for a date...not too late anyway. Five or ten minutes is fashionable. However, anything past half an hour is no longer considered "late". It's considered almost "not showing up". And when you do finally arrive, "stuck in traffic" will not cut it. If you are over half an hour late, you must come up with a really tragic someone jumped infront of the train you were about to get on (however, not a good one as this can be verified later), someone mugged you and stole your bus pass so you had to walk(always better to blame it on someone else), or... you were standing on the traffic island when a bus breezed by and caught your overcoat nearly dragging you under the wheels of the bus. To make this believable, you would have to rip your coat and put some tyre marks on it. Ripping and marking up the coat's gonna take time, so be prepared and keep a ripped raincoat in your closet for those really late occasions.
What's the real reason? Can't decide what to wear. Easily remedied. Just bring the outfits that you would like to wear with you. Decide on the way or when you get there. Still can't decide? Have your date decide for you. It is ok to bring one extra outfit with you. However, if it is more than one outfit, bring a suitcase. You can always say that you just came from the airport.
Other remedies: Set your watch fifteen minutes early. This is your new time zone. Or...Arrange your clothing in "outfit order" rather than separate skirts, pants, and shirts.

Sunday, 30 March 2008

Rue Du Refuge



Now where is Lucile?
Haven't seen her for ages. Not that I should care.
She's my husband's "cousin", cept if you check at the town hall, they ain't related at I just found out.
It a small town this.
We folk gotta watch where we be treadin' in this small town.
Watch the tread, watch the walk, watch the talk.
Pretty soon, you be watchin' yourself so closely, ya'll don't have time to live.
Course my husband, he go in the opposite direction.
He figure, everyone so nosy about his business....
he don't have to watch himself as they watchin' for him.
Clever man....but he all clevered out that his cousin ain't exactly a relative.

Saturday, 29 March 2008

A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L.M.N.O.P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. A. B. C. S. E. C. R. E. T. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. I. S. S. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. J. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. U. V. W. X. Y. Z.

The Cowboys They Couldn't Kill

(A slightly wilder than usual evening at Climate of Change)

What happened to industrial fishing net girl? The black-lipped/white-faced girl from the Pin Wheels making jerky doll movements while she screamin' "push me---- brake me--- push me---- brake me " or was it "break me?" Never seen an industrial fishing net used as a tutu-skirt before. Orange, but it worked. I'll try it at home.

Gadget--a man who is constantly recieving messages from the universe, so he has a dictaphone around his neck to record it all. Otherwise, he gets completely swamped. No, he doesn't do personal readings.

Ecuador the magician producing rubbery poos...not from Ecuador at all. If he wants to be from South America, he should start with a name like Edouardo...not the whole country.

Edouardo---the Jean-Michel Basquiat of Columbia. Wearing a shirt reminiscent of French bistros with their red and white checquerd table cloths, he seemed more Parisian. He dances a very tight tango and an even tighter salsa---so tight, he hardly moves. His rhythym is top secret.

Callum lying in a pool of blood with a tree trunk through his torso....and a Mercedes Benz "can I help" you name tag on...with his last breath, "give me the cheapest champagne you got...the cheapest champagne you got. where's my gold pin? I wanna die with my gold pin in my hand....22 years....22 years here. Can't anyone hear me? 22 years. " An appropo performance for an ex Mercedes showroom.

Yann the Berlinese Bass player in the reformation of the band Johnny Cash Money is actually from Hamburg and the bass--a rubber bucket with some sort of projectile coming out of it....altogether classic as opposed to classical. The name of the band has changed to The Dead Cowboys... no... The Cowboys They Couldn't Kill...and now Marco is involved. He stands at the side of the stage posing as the sherriff. With the 1975-look CHIPS mirrored sunglasses and enough badges on his leather jacket to prick a whale to death....he's a key player. He says that Decima gallery functions are a bit like Soho in the bordering on danger.

Fisherman Mike off to the offy with Geraldine, Gabriel--found a pack of cigarettes in the road which she generously shared, Anne Pigalle in her diamonte sunglasses sheltering herself from the flourescent lighting, arrived in a mid-length fur with matching hat. There was no comment from the tree-hugging vegans who had organised the event...too busy opening beers on the mantlepiece...too wrapped up in their own dreadlocks to notice and Diana went home early. Richard had the night off.

Double Door Norma has a few new lines: You there in the army fatigues....pretending to be a soldier......closest you've pra'lly been to Iraq--pra'lly a beach towel in Turkey. Roll it up boy..Take yo tannin' cream home.

Friday, 28 March 2008

Tonight Richard's List


Tinkle tinkle dingle doo

(Moody jazzy lyrics for a smokey throaty tune. for flute, bass and piano. notation to follow. There you go..Nutman plays piano. Nutman-Berwick st. market)

ba boom______________
Know who you're talking to
I heard you in the other room

synchopated invitation
to the afternoon

After afternoon

//ba baah b ba-ba boo..oo

ba boom________
The gypsy in the mood
She blew a flutey tune...

.......Flutey doo
Filled the room

(da dum da dee da doo)

W i t h her flutey ooh.....
A floooo dee-doo-dee dooo
only foolin' y o u
Flutey fooly fool
Foolin' y o u

(Ba boo00000m)
(//doo de doo de doo de doo de doo de doo de doo...)
(Ba boo000000m)
(//doo de doo de doo de doo de doo de doo de doo...)
(Ba boom) (Do dee do)
(Ba boom) (Do dee do)
(Ba boooo000000000)

Flowers filled the room
A garden and it grew and it ooh...
A pleasant flutely too....

Butcha ears don't have the roooooom
For this perfume

The present Me and you
The oddest of perfumes

A bottle made of fools
(da doo da doo da doo)
I've thrown away my jewels

bottled it for you______
bottled it for you______

And you are whom?

F i l l e d the room
(tinkle tinkle dingle doo)

Filled the room and flew....

Thursday, 27 March 2008

Wentworth and Rachel Ray

(Good friends of Double Door Norma)

About Wentworth
He were gone a long while
Long enough for Rachel Ray to find another man
And almost have a baby
Except that Wentworth came back
Just in time
No hard feelin's on either side
Wentworth and Rachel
Happy as they ever were...
Happy as they ever were
The other man?
He don't feel bad at all
He don't feel nothin'
He dead.

I ain't pointin' no fingers
Point your fingers in this town...
You got a choice....
Cut off or shot off

Dear Wentworth.....
He just came from a loggin competition
Northern Alaska
There's Alaska....
And there's Northern Alaska
Even people from Alaska don't go to Northern Alaska
What for? you wanna see more snow?
Snows the same down here.
As far as Alaskan men...and other men who just happen to be in Alaska
The odds are good....But the goods are very very odd...that's what they say

Now Wentworth
Ain't nothin' Alaskan about him
He from fine stock
And we ain't talkin' chicken broth
His name....could be the street his mama lived on
He may be named after one of his possible fathers

He on a fine track now....with Rachel Ray
Been datin' for ages
Parents own the diner on 9th Avenue and Main
First, folk were thinkin'
He only after the free ham and mash
But as the diner's been closed now for a while
and bein' they still together
Reckon it's more than pig and potatoes
It the long haul
Specially as he's done with haulin' logs

Survival Camping

Into the woods with a bottle of water
Light-weight tent--no porter
And a Monte Christo cigar
Survival camping five star

Designer Disease

(Double Door Norma's New Disease)

Hang out too long with the Japanese?
You be gettin' their designer disease
Not to generalise...but generally

Their main goal in life....
Get all chained up in that Chanel Number Five
Hypnotised by them interlocking
Diamond-studded double C's
Standin' there in their triple A Victoria Secret bras
Faintin' from one whiff of that Tiffany breeze

Don't get bitten by Hello Kitty
That rash ain't pretty

Get all itchy crotchy on Versace
Don't pee your pants in your Louis Vuitton jeans
Brand those consumer cattle with a double D
Sold at auction.....Designer Disease

Lily-footing in their Jimmy Choos
Any brand name will do....
Long as I have heard of it...Have you?

I've been Gucci-fied
Thought I'd never buy my soul through Gucci
Not even the Chinese kind

Me, with a Gucci bag?
Bit like Colonel Sanders at The Ritz
Not the regular dollar store dime

Ooh...I been purchased!
Just wanted to change my worn out wallet
Now..... I got change
Nothin' but change left now
And a new wallet
With nothin' to put in it
Taxi---take me to Chicken Shack
Get myself some chicken wings
And call it Gucci Fried

Dark Bar Maid

Never ask for the best glass of wine they have
in a dark bar
as the barmaid isn't able
to read the label

She befriends you with a pout
And pours it out
No doubt
This vino fool...
This plonk is cool

It's so dark inside The Jewel
She won't notice
But I do
So she must overlook the rules
And change the glass to something taller
Rum and coke my usual order

Smarmy Barmy

Swarmy barmy
Dye and tar me
too far gone
to be a blonde

let the bottle sink
into the bottom
of the pond

Her folly's culled
Those follicles
and too far gone
to be a blonde

Lila Speaks on Lighting

Ballroom dancing
The lighting has to be...just so
Not so bright as to remind you of your office
Doing something dreadful like typing
You know those people who type
They type all day
And answer phones
What do they type?
Who knows.
I am not the type to type
Their offices have mirrored windows
So that one can not see in
So one can not even learn about what they do..
See them in there with their boardroom boss
Big long table
Door closed
No no no
This is why modern office buildings have those
Mirrored windows
Can't see in...You can only see yourself
Which is, ofcourse, a bonus.

This lighting of the ballroom must be
Dim enough to be romantic
But not so dark as to trip
I prefer a cluster of small chandeliers oddly sized
to one giant ball
Why is this?
One giant ball might
drop on your head and kill you
An end to the evening with paramedics
Dragging you off the dancefloor
Leaving one shoe behind
as they lift you onto the stretcher
Like a dead Cinderella

where as one falling small one
would only damage your dress

Don't tango directly under chandeliers
If you must,
Foxtrot in the corner

to do

1. bin pinata, find child
2. 9 to 12 eat/chat paint/chat Islington
3. 2:30 behaviour
4. 4:00 or 4:10 DDN
5. Richard's List for next week
6. Put Hello Kitty in the wash
7. find out what day it is
8. find out what day she leaves
9. do simple math

Post-Party Pinata

Naughty me--having the other wheel of his chocolate tractor for breakfast. But then look what he did to my lamp shade. Looks like a post-party pinata.

Wednesday, 26 March 2008

Lost in Translation

Interpreting my student:

My mother is a ballerina.
My father likes ballet bowl...
Ballet bowling?

I haven't heard of ballet bowling.
(Then she makes a volley ball gesture.)

She must be up early, so she asks...
"Do you have a get-up machine?"

Would you like fish or chicken tonight?
" leave"

(Short for leave it up to you)

Saying good-bye on the phone:
"I talk you"

(short for talk to you later)

Burn It

Jairo and Nicola pictured below are star-studded furniture burners. They like to paint old furniture and set it on fire as you do. It's the charcoaled look. They have burned legs of chairs, old guitars, pianos, harpsichords, kitchen spoons, and frames. Got something wooden you want to rid yourself of? Why take it to a car boot sale when Jairo and Nicola can burn it for you?

Seven Coats

The ornate interference
with the body
known as wardrobe

Coats were the item. Coats kept appearing, so I bought them--all seven of them and an extra suitcase to bring them home.

The responsible mummy coat
Description: A green and white ski to off-set all the red in Ben's school uniform. It is stream-lined. Things are done in a speedy logic manner when wearing it.

The too obnoxious to wear coat
Description: The orange cycle jacket should never be worn,only looked at as it's too spandex. It can be seen from an altitude of 5000 feet. Aeroplanes use this as a runway in emergency landings. As most cyclists in wear the opposite-- obnoxious yellow neon, you can stand out even more and be even more obnoxious in orange. Though, this is back-firing as this coat is too obnoxious to wear.

The friendly pet me coat
Description: This--a far friendlier version to cycle in, is made for close range gear with its furry sleeves not unlike the linings of some raincoats. Though not being neon, it does not deflect traffic. People might run into you due to the lack of neon. And if you run into people wearing this coat, you may feel the need to pet them or they pet you.

The cosy brown Ralph Lauren tweed
Description: In need of feeling tweedy and cosy at the same time? This double duty dinner jacket is for days you may not feel like teaching but have to look like a teacher. Pop it on and it will teach for you. Also for evenings when you feel like sinking into the dusty overstuffed furniture. The cultured academic look complete with chandelier.

The sensible brown down
Description: No need to look outside and check the weather with this coat. If it is remotely cold, don't think twice...just zip up. You could trek to Antarctica in this coat or just get the shopping in. seriously warm. You will sweat in fifty below in this coat. The only down side is that it has too many pockets. Choose one pocket and stick to it.

The Gold Jean Jacket
Description: Only wear this coat on holiday. Why? Because you won't see those people again....this is a dubious fashion statement. In fact, let's call it a fashion question. or in St. Tropez as everyone is glitzed up there. People with gold beach towels, gold knitwear bikinis for their poodles, gold handbags, gold sunglasses. the only non-gold thing is the teeth......or wear it at Christmas as you can blend in with the ornaments and match the tree. Or give it to your sister as a present as she often gives you things that she wouldn't wear. It's a festive garment for festive situations.

Normal jean jacket
Description: Normal denim for normal days. Furry collar makes it a little James Dean.... social.....and leopard lining adds a bit of spice. Zippered pockets are roomy so that you can go out unencumbered by things that jangle. This makes it secretly sporty.

Tuesday, 25 March 2008

Oscar Wilde

The Ballad of Reading Gaol

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellow's got to swing."

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place

He does not sit with silent men
Who watch him night and day;
Who watch him when he tries to weep,
And when he tries to pray;
Who watch him lest himself should rob
The prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see
Dread figures throng his room,
The shivering Chaplain robed in white,
The Sheriff stern with gloom,
And the Governor all in shiny black,
With the yellow face of Doom.

He does not rise in piteous haste
To put on convict-clothes,
While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats, and notes
Each new and nerve-twitched pose,
Fingering a watch whose little ticks
Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know that sickening thirst
That sands one's throat, before
The hangman with his gardener's gloves
Slips through the padded door,
And binds one with three leathern thongs,
That the throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear
The Burial Office read,
Nor, while the terror of his soul
Tells him he is not dead,
Cross his own coffin, as he moves
Into the hideous shed.

He does not stare upon the air
Through a little roof of glass;
He does not pray with lips of clay
For his agony to pass;
Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek
The kiss of Caiaphas.


Six weeks our guardsman walked the yard,
In a suit of shabby grey:
His cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay,
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every wandering cloud that trailed
Its ravelled fleeces by.

He did not wring his hands, as do
Those witless men who dare
To try to rear the changeling Hope
In the cave of black Despair:
He only looked upon the sun,
And drank the morning air.

He did not wring his hands nor weep,
Nor did he peek or pine,
But he drank the air as though it held
Some healthful anodyne;
With open mouth he drank the sun
As though it had been wine!

And I and all the souls in pain,
Who tramped the other ring,
Forgot if we ourselves had done
A great or little thing,
And watched with gaze of dull amaze
The man who had to swing.

And strange it was to see him pass
With a step so light and gay,
And strange it was to see him look
So wistfully at the day,
And strange it was to think that he
Had such a debt to pay.

For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
That in the spring-time shoot:
But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
With its adder-bitten root,
And, green or dry, a man must die
Before it bears its fruit!

The loftiest place is that seat of grace
For which all worldlings try:
But who would stand in hempen band
Upon a scaffold high,
And through a murderer's collar take
His last look at the sky?

It is sweet to dance to violins
When Love and Life are fair:
To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
Is delicate and rare:
But it is not sweet with nimble feet
To dance upon the air!

So with curious eyes and sick surmise
We watched him day by day,
And wondered if each one of us
Would end the self-same way,
For none can tell to what red Hell
His sightless soul may stray.

At last the dead man walked no more
Amongst the Trial Men,
And I knew that he was standing up
In the black dock's dreadful pen,
And that never would I see his face
In God's sweet world again.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
We had crossed each other's way:
But we made no sign, we said no word,
We had no word to say;
For we did not meet in the holy night,
But in the shameful day.

A prison wall was round us both,
Two outcast men were we:
The world had thrust us from its heart,
And God from out His care:
And the iron gin that waits for Sin
Had caught us in its snare.


In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard,
And the dripping wall is high,
So it was there he took the air
Beneath the leaden sky,
And by each side a Warder walked,
For fear the man might die.

Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he crouched to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.

The Governor was strong upon
The Regulations Act:
The Doctor said that Death was but
A scientific fact:
And twice a day the Chaplain called
And left a little tract.

And twice a day he smoked his pipe,
And drank his quart of beer:
His soul was resolute, and held
No hiding-place for fear;
He often said that he was glad
The hangman's hands were near.

But why he said so strange a thing
No Warder dared to ask:
For he to whom a watcher's doom
Is given as his task,
Must set a lock upon his lips,
And make his face a mask.

Or else he might be moved, and try
To comfort or console:
And what should Human Pity do
Pent up in Murderers' Hole?
What word of grace in such a place
Could help a brother's soul?

With slouch and swing around the ring
We trod the Fool's Parade!
We did not care: we knew we were
The Devil's Own Brigade:
And shaven head and feet of lead
Make a merry masquerade.

We tore the tarry rope to shreds
With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And clattered with the pails.

We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones,
We turned the dusty drill:
We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns,
And sweated on the mill:
But in the heart of every man
Terror was lying still.

So still it lay that every day
Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:
And we forgot the bitter lot
That waits for fool and knave,
Till once, as we tramped in from work,
We passed an open grave.

With yawning mouth the yellow hole
Gaped for a living thing;
The very mud cried out for blood
To the thirsty asphalte ring:
And we knew that ere one dawn grew fair
Some prisoner had to swing.

Right in we went, with soul intent
On Death and Dread and Doom:
The hangman, with his little bag,
Went shuffling through the gloom
And each man trembled as he crept
Into his numbered tomb.

That night the empty corridors
Were full of forms of Fear,
And up and down the iron town
Stole feet we could not hear,
And through the bars that hide the stars
White faces seemed to peer.

He lay as one who lies and dreams
In a pleasant meadow-land,
The watcher watched him as he slept,
And could not understand
How one could sleep so sweet a sleep
With a hangman close at hand?

But there is no sleep when men must weep
Who never yet have wept:
So we—the fool, the fraud, the knave—
That endless vigil kept,
And through each brain on hands of pain
Another's terror crept.

Alas! it is a fearful thing
To feel another's guilt!
For, right within, the sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt,
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt.

The Warders with their shoes of felt
Crept by each padlocked door,
And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe,
Grey figures on the floor,
And wondered why men knelt to pray
Who never prayed before.

All through the night we knelt and prayed,
Mad mourners of a corpse!
The troubled plumes of midnight were
The plumes upon a hearse:
And bitter wine upon a sponge
Was the savour of Remorse.

The cock crew, the red cock crew,
But never came the day:
And crooked shape of Terror crouched,
In the corners where we lay:
And each evil sprite that walks by night
Before us seemed to play.

They glided past, they glided fast,
Like travellers through a mist:
They mocked the moon in a rigadoon
Of delicate turn and twist,
And with formal pace and loathsome grace
The phantoms kept their tryst.

With mop and mow, we saw them go,
Slim shadows hand in hand:
About, about, in ghostly rout
They trod a saraband:
And the damned grotesques made arabesques,
Like the wind upon the sand!

With the pirouettes of marionettes,
They tripped on pointed tread:
But with flutes of Fear they filled the ear,
As their grisly masque they led,
And loud they sang, and loud they sang,
For they sang to wake the dead.

"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide,
But fettered limbs go lame!
And once, or twice, to throw the dice
Is a gentlemanly game,
But he does not win who plays with Sin
In the secret House of Shame."

No things of air these antics were
That frolicked with such glee:
To men whose lives were held in gyves,
And whose feet might not go free,
Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living things,
Most terrible to see.

Around, around, they waltzed and wound;
Some wheeled in smirking pairs:
With the mincing step of demirep
Some sidled up the stairs:
And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer,
Each helped us at our prayers.

The morning wind began to moan,
But still the night went on:
Through its giant loom the web of gloom
Crept till each thread was spun:
And, as we prayed, we grew afraid
Of the Justice of the Sun.

The moaning wind went wandering round
The weeping prison-wall:
Till like a wheel of turning-steel
We felt the minutes crawl:
O moaning wind! what had we done
To have such a seneschal?

At last I saw the shadowed bars
Like a lattice wrought in lead,
Move right across the whitewashed wall
That faced my three-plank bed,
And I knew that somewhere in the world
God's dreadful dawn was red.

At six o'clock we cleaned our cells,
At seven all was still,
But the sough and swing of a mighty wing
The prison seemed to fill,
For the Lord of Death with icy breath
Had entered in to kill.

He did not pass in purple pomp,
Nor ride a moon-white steed.
Three yards of cord and a sliding board
Are all the gallows' need:
So with rope of shame the Herald came
To do the secret deed.

We were as men who through a fen
Of filthy darkness grope:
We did not dare to breathe a prayer,
Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
And what was dead was Hope.

For Man's grim Justice goes its way,
And will not swerve aside:
It slays the weak, it slays the strong,
It has a deadly stride:
With iron heel it slays the strong,
The monstrous parricide!

We waited for the stroke of eight:
Each tongue was thick with thirst:
For the stroke of eight is the stroke of Fate
That makes a man accursed,
And Fate will use a running noose
For the best man and the worst.

We had no other thing to do,
Save to wait for the sign to come:
So, like things of stone in a valley lone,
Quiet we sat and dumb:
But each man's heart beat thick and quick
Like a madman on a drum!

With sudden shock the prison-clock
Smote on the shivering air,
And from all the gaol rose up a wail
Of impotent despair,
Like the sound that frightened marshes hear
>From a leper in his lair.

And as one sees most fearful things
In the crystal of a dream,
We saw the greasy hempen rope
Hooked to the blackened beam,
And heard the prayer the hangman's snare
Strangled into a scream.

And all the woe that moved him so
That he gave that bitter cry,
And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats,
None knew so well as I:
For he who live more lives than one
More deaths than one must die.


There is no chapel on the day
On which they hang a man:
The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,
Or his face is far to wan,
Or there is that written in his eyes
Which none should look upon.

So they kept us close till nigh on noon,
And then they rang the bell,
And the Warders with their jingling keys
Opened each listening cell,
And down the iron stair we tramped,
Each from his separate Hell.

Out into God's sweet air we went,
But not in wonted way,
For this man's face was white with fear,
And that man's face was grey,
And I never saw sad men who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw sad men who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
We prisoners called the sky,
And at every careless cloud that passed
In happy freedom by.

But their were those amongst us all
Who walked with downcast head,
And knew that, had each got his due,
They should have died instead:
He had but killed a thing that lived
Whilst they had killed the dead.

For he who sins a second time
Wakes a dead soul to pain,
And draws it from its spotted shroud,
And makes it bleed again,
And makes it bleed great gouts of blood
And makes it bleed in vain!

Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb
With crooked arrows starred,
Silently we went round and round
The slippery asphalte yard;
Silently we went round and round,
And no man spoke a word.

Silently we went round and round,
And through each hollow mind
The memory of dreadful things
Rushed like a dreadful wind,
An Horror stalked before each man,
And terror crept behind.

The Warders strutted up and down,
And kept their herd of brutes,
Their uniforms were spick and span,
And they wore their Sunday suits,
But we knew the work they had been at
By the quicklime on their boots.

For where a grave had opened wide,
There was no grave at all:
Only a stretch of mud and sand
By the hideous prison-wall,
And a little heap of burning lime,
That the man should have his pall.

For he has a pall, this wretched man,
Such as few men can claim:
Deep down below a prison-yard,
Naked for greater shame,
He lies, with fetters on each foot,
Wrapt in a sheet of flame!

And all the while the burning lime
Eats flesh and bone away,
It eats the brittle bone by night,
And the soft flesh by the day,
It eats the flesh and bones by turns,
But it eats the heart alway.

For three long years they will not sow
Or root or seedling there:
For three long years the unblessed spot
Will sterile be and bare,
And look upon the wondering sky
With unreproachful stare.

They think a murderer's heart would taint
Each simple seed they sow.
It is not true! God's kindly earth
Is kindlier than men know,
And the red rose would but blow more red,
The white rose whiter blow.

Out of his mouth a red, red rose!
Out of his heart a white!
For who can say by what strange way,
Christ brings his will to light,
Since the barren staff the pilgrim bore
Bloomed in the great Pope's sight?

But neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint,
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.

So never will wine-red rose or white,
Petal by petal, fall
On that stretch of mud and sand that lies
By the hideous prison-wall,
To tell the men who tramp the yard
That God's Son died for all.

Yet though the hideous prison-wall
Still hems him round and round,
And a spirit man not walk by night
That is with fetters bound,
And a spirit may not weep that lies
In such unholy ground,

He is at peace—this wretched man—
At peace, or will be soon:
There is no thing to make him mad,
Nor does Terror walk at noon,
For the lampless Earth in which he lies
Has neither Sun nor Moon.

They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.

They stripped him of his canvas clothes,
And gave him to the flies;
They mocked the swollen purple throat
And the stark and staring eyes:
And with laughter loud they heaped the shroud
In which their convict lies.

The Chaplain would not kneel to pray
By his dishonoured grave:
Nor mark it with that blessed Cross
That Christ for sinners gave,
Because the man was one of those
Whom Christ came down to save.

Yet all is well; he has but passed
To Life's appointed bourne:
And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourner will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn.


I know not whether Laws be right,
Or whether Laws be wrong;
All that we know who lie in goal
Is that the wall is strong;
And that each day is like a year,
A year whose days are long.

But this I know, that every Law
That men have made for Man,
Since first Man took his brother's life,
And the sad world began,
But straws the wheat and saves the chaff
With a most evil fan.

This too I know—and wise it were
If each could know the same—
That every prison that men build
Is built with bricks of shame,
And bound with bars lest Christ should see
How men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon,
And blind the goodly sun:
And they do well to hide their Hell,
For in it things are done
That Son of God nor son of Man
Ever should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison-air:
It is only what is good in Man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the Warder is Despair

For they starve the little frightened child
Till it weeps both night and day:
And they scourge the weak, and flog the fool,
And gibe the old and grey,
And some grow mad, and all grow bad,
And none a word may say.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but Lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine.

The brackish water that we drink
Creeps with a loathsome slime,
And the bitter bread they weigh in scales
Is full of chalk and lime,
And Sleep will not lie down, but walks
Wild-eyed and cries to Time.

But though lean Hunger and green Thirst
Like asp with adder fight,
We have little care of prison fare,
For what chills and kills outright
Is that every stone one lifts by day
Becomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,
And twilight in one's cell,
We turn the crank, or tear the rope,
Each in his separate Hell,
And the silence is more awful far
Than the sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near
To speak a gentle word:
And the eye that watches through the door
Is pitiless and hard:
And by all forgot, we rot and rot,
With soul and body marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain
Degraded and alone:
And some men curse, and some men weep,
And some men make no moan:
But God's eternal Laws are kind
And break the heart of stone.

And every human heart that breaks,
In prison-cell or yard,
Is as that broken box that gave
Its treasure to the Lord,
And filled the unclean leper's house
With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break
And peace of pardon win!
How else may man make straight his plan
And cleanse his soul from Sin?
How else but through a broken heart
May Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat.
And the stark and staring eyes,
Waits for the holy hands that took
The Thief to Paradise;
And a broken and a contrite heart
The Lord will not despise.

The man in red who reads the Law
Gave him three weeks of life,
Three little weeks in which to heal
His soul of his soul's strife,
And cleanse from every blot of blood
The hand that held the knife.

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal:
And the crimson stain that was of Cain
Became Christ's snow-white seal.


In Reading gaol by Reading town
There is a pit of shame,
And in it lies a wretched man
Eaten by teeth of flame,
In burning winding-sheet he lies,
And his grave has got no name.

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Jet Set Drifter

How to get there
Jet set drifter
Oh I found her
In the lift sir
How'd she get there?
Second shift sir
She still cold

Never brake
Until you're broken
Never shake
Until you've spoken

How to get
Dead jet set drifter
Should've known it
He's a Mr.

Kings you don't know
Stay and don't go
How'd he get there?

Never broke
Til you were broken
Never shook
Until you spoke

Greek Mike

There's always something new
That he is just about to do
But requires preparation
Some would call it hesitation

Mike is a planner
Though he doesn't have a spanner
He will build you a house
Once he closes his mouth

Michael is a thinker
With ideas, he likes to tinker
The oldest gigolo
That the world has ever known
But first, he needs his facial muscles toned
So those ladies who would dial...still alone

Mike is a talker
And sometimes walk the walker
At casinos, he may bet
But the sum, he may regret
One day he'll have a thousand in his hand
The next day it will turn to sand
I told him to deposit it with me
But he'd rather throw it back into the sea

Sahara Afternoon Moon

"Cool Han Luke" and Moon
Graceful painter mate that fella
Patient painter and a teller
Of the sails and how they blew

Turquoise bird is upside down
Peking seeds from hands of clown
Family's Take-away in town
Slurp your soup. Don't drink out loud.

Dis-enrolled from business school
Dis-inherited the blues
Disquiet hopeful parents--
Hopeless son's an arty fool

I would draw them but the charcoal couldn't lie
Can't trace the lines or lipsink two-faced smiles
If artists are just animals
Then restauranteurs are cannibals
Pass up your wantons for my wanton pace
With a suitcase full of brushes---soul in place

Not tucking up our son at school at night
So he shivered til his soul took flight

In a hairdryer-heated tent
That he pitched on cold cement
Old gas station--raincoat ribs
It's abandoned--not for rent

Canvas sleeping rough in Paris
Portrait painter selling flowers
Under bridges in the name of Mary Boone

Hitched and pitched around the Med
To paint mirages on Sahara Afternoons

It's a postcard that his parents wouldn't get
Or like to get
But I do bet
They give a huge damn now
So much better
Than the stampless cap and gown

There was a shot-addicted stranger
Lying dormant in motel
Didn't ring the doorman's bell
Didn't know this guy too well

Didn't knock, but he has taken me away
I only leave you with your lonely gold to pay
I'll budget this good-bye as I have died
In a New York neon sigh flashing by

(Don't) Try This

What is it about
Innocent children's programmes:

Don't look. Little Cook is making a picture by running his spoon through a pile of sugar. How very creative. Enhance your child's tactile and motor skills.

Later. A quiet in the kitchen. A bag of sugar on the tiles and several miniature trucks depositing the load in various hard-to reach corners. The scene is a salt mine. All mine--to clean it up as Ben is still busy....

Hmm. Today, I think I'll undo the piggy bank and put the coins in the toaster.
I'll unravel all the toilet paper and make a soft pile to jump in.
Let's just use the hoover attachment as a spear and throw it off the balcony.
Or unsrew the toothpaste and use it a facial mask. Boo!
Maybe I'll just invite my mother to come and see my poo.
Maybe I will get a chair and beat the living room lampshade to death. Where's the candy? I thought it was a pinata.

Monday, 24 March 2008

Big Tree Victory

If I could
I would just sit
Under marooned umbrella bliss
With my ruined paper fella
Taking sips and weaving trips
From the off-white faded strips
Of the crackle-creamed sun lounger

We rose from red cement sun-beaten
In that doomy neon lit...
Motel in deep Jdakarta...we said

Welcome to departure
We're as green as mossy litmus
Easy rider easy starter
On that hit we spat and spit

our stories
What a combo
All those glories
of the one-way ticket tribe
And their two-dollar nights getting lost with helpful guide

Until we found "the big tree"
The big tree victory
I told you there was a big tree
His hickory dickory big tree victory
A halla valla loo ya
Half way down a mountain in the middle of the night
My future out of sight
Brushed by greenery until I was red
Bitten by insects until I was dead
First time to be covered in leeches up to the knee
A wet sticky feeling on my leg
As we arrived at half past three
To the ship builder's bed
First and only time to see glow-in -the-dark tree roots
Forget the camera
The only other glow, the postcards that I burned
As the guide forgot the light
What a night

Sharing breakfast with the monkeys in the jungles of Sumatra
Veranda hammocks misty lake and a bowl of cornflakes
The grandma with the rice on her head ran up the hills we walked.
We walked for several days.
She passed us several times.
We passed old rusty shrines in their onion domed decline.
It used to be a church. Then it was a school.
Now, it's a shelter for whoever goes there.
What it will be next...No one knows where

Posing with "the husband" for the folks back in Korea
Who sent me here to see him. They'll like this picture
As they thought that he was real
I made him up.
I got tired of you using my personal life
As a topic for learning English.
And I don't have eight family members either
I just have one sister.
But the truth at this point, would cause a terrible blister
So I'm taking this photo....and

Editing the letters to my mother as the
Sediment's so heavy
That stamp would break the bank

Need more pirate training
Lose your life on that plane
If it don't return again

Shorter so sunset

A so so sunset
Give it a five
dark clouds mingling with satellites
BT tower
And cranes at rest
The softer hour
Planes going west
and puddles on the rooftops
Flickering sky
Rooster topped churches
A symmetrical why
of multi-coloured doors
Risen from bricks
And bare-branched trees like sticks

The Echoes of a Courtyard Child

The echoes of a courtyard child...
Brick can not absorb
Another ball
And so it bounces
off the wall and keeps the evening
weather mild

Mindless of the dinner "come inside"
He clips and twings the ball game sign

A target for his practice
As he seems to be the promise
Of the street
with his sophisticated
left-footed cleet

He'll make it
A crime...."No ball games here" Another time,
I'd use the park. It's rather queer. But it is dark.

Dark sir.... Kicking balls
Drowned out by traffic
Take him in, but he's too small

This sign is for the tennants' peace and quiet
Civilised and finely tuned into our television lies

Warm warning in the morning...
It's a form upon my dorm....If you can't tick
This box for shit, we can enlarge it for you--norm
We'll even translate "where you were born"

Staying close to home
While more than mother makes a stew of
Needles, pins, and pines...
Elastic glue
That twitters as they dine

Help yourself to sneezes as the cooking
Fills the breezes of the stair was school?

An elevated choo
Unriddles time
And lifts the lid
That helps the self to sleep

From the Balcony

A so so sunset
Give it a five
Dark clouds mingle
Revolve in pink
BT tower
Windchime ink

Cranes at rest
The softer hour
Of planes going west
Leave long clouds to hover
Over puddle flat rooves

Cigarette lands in the double yellow grooves
Of those flickering skies

Spire of a church that's topped
With rusting rooster cries

Circled by congestion with the letter "C"
Ken's special letter "C " create
A place where no one can park or drive or breathe

Cash in on carbon dioxide
Crunch dead central sardines

A symmetrical why
of multi-coloured doors
The ragged chic
Risen from bricks
And bare-branched trees like sticks

Goats and Sheep

Got a sore throat from making
Goat noises
Miming "mutton" to my student
As her calculator dictionary's broken
Why it took so long?
Repeated bleating
Haven't seen a goat for a while.
Only do sheep.

Curried Goat Stew
Goat, three anise stars, curry leaves, paprika, coriander, carrots, potatos, garam masala, onion, another onion, green lentils, orange lentils, amaranth, white split mung bean, three tomatoes, black pepper, black onion seed, mustard seed, oil, water, salt, lime
One day there will be a war and no one will come--Carl Sandberg

Nick had a party. Nobody came. Is that the same?

One day, there will be a school and no one will go as we will all have brain implants.

Sunday, 23 March 2008

Twenty-Three Lucid Lives

1. Rumble is a plagist. He works the beach filing drinks and applying sun tans. If someone is drowning, he points them towards the lifeguard. 2 Mr. Le Something owns stretches of beach in St.Tropez. He wants Rumble, who he sees as a "volcano of vitality" to redecorate the Tiki Club--something between jungle and Sea--bikini and family. 3. Sometimes April dresses up as a mermaid. It's hard to walk, but not completely necessary. 4. Jo Cameron has lived across the road since 1948. He is one of the few originals left. 5. Cynthia could not find the original passports from thirty years ago. It was vital. 6. Bianca Zoe, a new baby in Aosta. Her father is a DJ and wears clothespegs on his nose. He has written "The Sex Appeal of Error" and split it into a performance and talk for St. Marin's. 7. Gabriel Faja helps people with their ABC's and A through G's in Hampstead. Otherwise, he's playing piano or eating operatic pasta. 8. Txomin went to live in a cave after being enlightened. The monks let him go freely. 9. Alan Parmenter plays a Gofriller violin from 1720 and rides a slightly less antique vespa...mechanical problems....The engine is baroque. 10. Raphael Barbier doesn't make clocks. He makes boxes for clocks...even more Swiss. 11. I am sandwiched between two very nice neighbours--a heart surgeon and an electrician. 12. Elizabeth Gluckstein lives between Palermo and Venice. She got tired of the garbage in Naples. 13. Peter Briggs lives between Dehli and Tours. Cheaper marble in Dehli, but heavy to ship. 14. Diana will not be Edward's house guest until he puts in an en suite bathroom for her. There is nothing more tragic than being seen without make up in a cold dark hallway. 15. Johnathan likes survival camping. He takes his tent and a few cigars. 16. Saam makes music videos. He used to live in a house where people were desiging dresses at 3 AM. He has slowed down and got an apartment, but he has also speeded up. 17. Richard has a very long list. Attending art openings is his occupation. 18. Josie's father created The Clangers. She runs a china shop where you can purchase Clanger mugs, cups with penguins playing piano, and many other floral necessities. 19. Valerie in Paris wears diamonte sunglasses in winter. They set off her velvet cowboy hat. 20. Anne Pigalle is a Smokey French Lounge Singer. Due to the smoking ban, she is just a French Lounge Singer now. 21. Josephine is a little high priced at times. "I'm coming, so do stock up on quality meat and cheese." 22. John's friend flies a 747. He lives in Nice. It's a three hour commute. 23. Adrian is campaigning for a fig-leaf free world.

Mind the Palm Trees

(Lila The Ex-Pat Polish Princess)

Do mind the palm trees
As you go up the stairs
Don't hold on to them
They're not plastic
But they're not rooted to the stair either
I know they look dead
They are dead

I am just waiting for some
Miracle grow
To bring them back to life

My friend who watches television
Told me about it.
She is so informative
Household products, gymnastic gadgets,
And strrrange personal products that I would
Never whisper a word about...however....
"G-Depend" panti liners for the aged
Who still prefer to wear things in the shape of a g-string
But can't manage themselves so well in other departments.

Me..."still"? No no no
Don't get me wrong
I have never spent my time
With panties riding up my bottom
How creasingly unpleasant
I have always had other things to do
I'm ten minutes past busy darling
Thank you Thank you.

Like water my palms....
Ohhh they are....
Such a lovely reminder of my old tennant
So generous and gentle
A good gardener too
Gave me all these palms
I even have some in the garden
Buried now

Little coconut graves

His name was Elvis
Perhaps you know him
I only say "was" as he was my tennant
But he is still alive
I meet him on occasion
In Monaco for scrabble
Not at all like people think
Not a gambler of any kind
He ate all his cereal for breakfast
Minded all the house rules
Except for one
He slept with the light on kept me awake

Mike on Bike

Mike on Bike
Mike on Bike
Don't take a hike unless you've got a
Mike on Bike

Michael's living room:
Part of bashed out eight family apartment building
All now under one roof....
The roof....and the house
Is set in a town with one gas station--
Modern version of a one-horse town
People wearing their pyjamas into the bar
A very casual dress code
However, they've recently taken out the gas station
Just left a coke machine behind....
Still a place to congregate.
But then...finally....they took the coke machine away too.
But that's OK. Luckily, Mike's got a living room.
No need to stand next to a coke machine
To enhance your social life.

The Contents of Mike's Living Room:

A giant mixer--payment from a bakery job he did
He makes oatmeal cookies--in mass quantities
A collection of arrowheads he found in the creek nearby
Many bottles of Jack Daniels and his friend, Johnny Walker
Motorbike parts on the dining room table
Twenty speakers stacked four high and five across
Thousands of pieces of music
One clip of grasshoppers recorded and slowed down
To sound like opera
A buffalo head
A big flag
And small flags
And fishing rods above the fireplace
And butterfly nets across the door
A stack of Eckankar books--new hobby due to new friend
Herbal tea and herbs for when Mari drops by
Nail clippers for fixing the radio
And a chainsaw for cutting up hash

Dust Mites

Dust mites are so scary up close
They wouldn't exist if they weren't on tv
Why do we need our minds clouded over
With such animation?
It's enough to keep the dishes out of the sink

Quiet Little Ragdoll

Quiet little ragdoll
Couldn't speak as she had
Yarn between her teeth

It muffled her hellos
And when her nose
Began to drip
There was no where for it to go

Fraying at the fingers
Stuffing falling
Out of soles
Too many cobblestones

Quiet little ragdoll couldn't see
She's made of
Glassy eyes and beads

Quiet little doll
Couldn't hold you
As her arms
They were too floppy
Lost her charm

The quiet little ragdoll
Found a teddy
Somewhat steady
Not a ghost

Where to go

"The Fucks" are playing on closing night
The Catlings are father and son
David will do his illegal dog fight
And Micalef's "Poet Number One"

Get out more
Do some Double Door

Saturday, 22 March 2008

Gin Fixed

Gin fixed that twin that
Bottle of Pimms
With a lemonade, coke, a pineapple
With the lining of your smile
Grin, lay down and linger
For a while in
That Gin-fixed lingerie been there
Recycle the whole thing
And bin that bottle of Pimms with a finger

Reliably Random

Why did Mr. M
Have only seven body guards
Fetching coffee
Couple scars
Driven home in different cars
Can you be

Reliably random?

They're here
So I get in
Enjoying dark sedan with him
And changing smiles for the driver
Not a fiver
Two body guards for me?
Can you be

Reliably Random?

We must be out for the excursion
One gelato-esque diversion
Pick the teacher up, reverse
He's thinking yesterday, the hurse

Don't want to be
Reliably Random
But I am in your car
So I am if you are

Changing hours change in bars
Change the "I am"
Two "you are" s

Wait and see
Reliably tandem

Scrap your lessons for the week
Need some hours here to speak
Take some books to look the part
Meet precisely after dark
They will know you
When you walk into the bar

Can you be reliably random?
By the sea... reliably hand them

Don't open it. Don't show it
You won't have to know it
I'll be coining up your purse
If you can do this quiet verse
Lip sink these lines for me
And you'll come back with a degree

Put the level test away...I'm no beginner
Bring along the news for dinner

The square root of a piece of pie
What would stop a butterfly?
The sky
And a butterfly dissected?
Butter and flies
Is it wise?

The Ferrari's no surprise
I drive a Fiat for disguise
Doesn't want to realise

That she is being
Reliably random
Something terribly
Terribly Tandem

It's a followed car
She's getting in
Dinner and a gin
How he knows her
And she knows him

Don't ask
Those questions
Don't begin

Paul Smith

Sari searching Rajastan
A logical portfolio
He strips the silky colours
From their flowing sari robes

This December turns around with
Dusky sets of khaki
Sudden daytrips to Dehli
Sketching time
Darjeeling roads

To make this shirt, I had to search the globe
You see, there are a lot of Mexicos
That make magenta--petalled rose collecting
Airmiles in the name of my collection

So I'll circle for a while
Before I pencil in a landing
Take some sips of stripey style
And understanding

more designs for Paul Smith---cups or vases?--people do not buy vases from Paul Smith as they are all thirty-something coffee drinkers. In fact, they don't drink their coffee at home. they prefer to buy over-priced lattes in recycled cardboard and walk to the office half spilling it down their flapping overcoats onto their designer ties and trendy ironic t-shirts with oversized logos accompanited by clever one-liners. I should make t-shirts for Paul rather than coffee cups...then the people can spill their coffee on it...or...just a circle with "spill your coffee here." and one lightly watercoloured stain to suggest the best area on which to spill the coffee.

Get Eggs

Chocolate Milky Saturdays
Enthroned upon the duvet
On the couch
Extra treble treatment due to ouch
An earache
The little actor's tears
This time not fake

He watches the
Decepticon cartoons
A "more please" to the butler in the room

The butler mum--she does a run
For milk and eggs
A shopping list for two?
A scrambledness
Do I write "eggs" and go out again?

Mind afloat in sandbox seas
Nine hours of midnight "please"
For weetabix at three

Friday, 21 March 2008

Check the Plates

If you're living in a country
Where you can not read the road signs
It's best to have those diplomatic plates

And only drive on Sundays
Doesn't matter where you go...
Just as long as you get home
And no one knows
The details of your dates

Thank you for that car
The only car I ever drove
Never fined and never towed
As I have been

So colour blind at traffic lights
Clamped on double yellow lines
Missed the meter marking times
In the pound--a hundred fines

Next time I get a car
I'll check the plates before I sign

But I'll have to skip the offer of your van
As I don't know where you will drive it
Though you seem like a nice man
Some people curse the day they let the women drive
But I have got a bicycle, so I will stay alive

Where's the rabbit?

Then I had a rabbit
The rabbit
Still a mystery
Where it went
Baked or fried?

Took too long a holiday
Neighbours think it's OK
to climb our ten foot fence
With a fishing rod they rent

Freshly tanned, coming home and there are your neighbours
standing at the base of your persimmon tree with guilt-free smiles
and bucket's worth of fruit. Do you want some? We were just helping.
That's when you know what happened to your rabbit.
Look , they're gone. Let's grab it.
So resourceful too...that hat looks familiar

The Zippies

We've had hamsters ourselves
My sister and I
three weeks to a year
Then they die

Zippy One
Zippy Two
Zippy Three
Zippy Four

All of them went zipping out the door

After a while, we stopped calling them hamsters...
"Shall we get another Zippy?"
Can't say whose fault it was
The short life span of some of them
As it was a shared responsibility

It wasn't all our fault.
They would get out and eat the insulation under the stairs
Pink and invisibly prickly
It would eventually mutilate their insides
Usually found after three days
Follow the stink
In a nest of Christmas tree ornaments
A procession to the toilet
and a flush
We weren't sentimental
Until I got a guinea pig
I guess it's the size.
More substantial
and something
you can hold in your lap
We had good times.

Holly's Hamster

Holly's Hamster is going in a pet motel
While they're away
a day
So glad it ain't a cat
It would be much more than that

Holly's Hamster
It really nearly died
As they let the feeding slide
And the bottle didn't change
Already seems a pain

Holly's Hamster
Ain't given it a name yet
The maid is getting too wet
From washing out the cage
It put her in a rage
So she stayed
After work and made a hamster sign
"To Let"

Flat 14

The man was old and wirey
Too late for enquiry
Peering out his blinds
With his four letter eyes
Did he wither in his bed
Or did he drink himself to death?
The "who knows why"
Perhaps I should apply
But I've got a better view
Should shouldn't shoe
Four letter eyes


Divisions for website:

From blog: humour, poems, dark bits, recipes, esl lesson ideas
Monologues: Lila, Double Door Norma, Wilma Tedworth from the Gated Community
Written and video section of monologues

contact details
show list
Published work, articles and awards
artist statement
List of countries and dates

section of paintings: faces
section of paintings: collages
section of illustrated journals
section of pages from collage books
section of china and link to cosmo

Micalef's Official Statement

The New Mayor of london

Vote Micalef for mayor and all your troubles will be over. Let us march forever into the screaming bliss of the future. Boris, Ken, condolences. You haven't got a hope. It's me they want. Me, me, me.
It's time to throw out the old nepotism and bring in the new nepotism. I am a turret of London hope and I lower my drawbridge to greater opportunity and more exciting times, no longer shall they suck the heart out of London, our marvelous London, I am a mountain sharp as nails.

Thursday, 20 March 2008

Micalef for Mayor

Don't stand on the traffic island
Sit down and party
It's Micalef's Birthday
A yearly for the arty

Micalef's a new job
Running for Mayor
Not sure of the town
Think the town's unaware

A very short speech to say:
Hello Ladies. Hello Gents.
To hell with making sense.

This kind of logic
Got the party behind him
"Invest in I.P."
The Improvement of Parties

Add another bedroom slipper to your violets
Bombaclass the laughter undertaker

Three Silly Numbers plus two

1. Helga and Harriet, sisters by trade, live in a village that sells lemonade. 2. Joanna from Montana loves the mountains. Do they have mountains in Montana? Go up or go around? 3. Onya is omniverous but doesn't eat meat. Vegetarians are sweet. 4. Greta gripped the steering wheel and reversed into the greenhouse. She's sueing her driving instructor for the damage.

Oh Carolina

(In North Suburban Chicago Dialiect)

(Phone rings)
B: It's Betty...Betty Betty Bedda Beddeeee (Squeeky voice goes up)
C: Is that you, Betty?(Deep smokey voice)

B: Oh come on Carolina. I said it five times. Do you want to hear it again?
C: Yeah...Nine ...maybe ten. I could hear your name all day as long as it's you that's sayin it.

B: Why don't you come over for some bunt cake?
C: Mmmm. Bunt cake? The cake with the hole in the middle?

B: You bring the bunt cake. I'll make the coffee

"Shut up if you ain't got no money"

(In a southern accent. Based on a true conversation between a lovely couple at a dollar store on Western Avenue in Chicago--Dec.2007)

Why we stoppin here?
Out of gas?
It's either time for a new car or a new destination.
This ain't the kind of place you take your lady to
If you appreciate her ass
Come on

(husband) oh no...we just stoppin'

Don't throw me those two-for-one biscuits
on our anniversary
That ain't gonna score no booty for you today
In're crossed out for the rest of the week
Here...use this ten pack of markers
Choose a colour
My present to you

How long we been married Sylvester?
Look...there's a one dollar calculator over there.
Press it up!
Fifteen years....
And fifteen minutes in the a bleeding dollar store
Hell...they don't even serve lunch here.
Oh sorry. They got bags of Doritos over there.

(Husband) There was a time...I remember-
All you wanted was Doritos.

Ain't that a memory!
Whatcha gonna do about it now?
Pull out a fiver and buy me ten bottles of perfume?
You need some romance lessons honey.
Save your money for a night course.

(Husband) I was just.....
(Wife) I was just what?
(Husband) I was just-going-to... the-car-to-get my wallet.
(Wife) oh shut up if you ain't got no money.

I left it in the car...I did.

You leave a lot of things in the car
Especially the back seat
You and your driving instructor
Ain't that course finished yet?
You two gettin' so forgetful

She and me?
We ain't forgetful honey.
We just thinkin' bout other things.

Oh look...there's a pawn shop over there
There's a place to celebrate.

Serious Seabass

Hey shed man
Don't call me that to start
I ain't no sexy babe
I'm into art

Don't put that apple on the tart
No cutlery around, so
I tore the thing apart

Would have had the seabass
Just like you
But as that fish was out
I came unglued

Can't handle menus bigger than the table
Have to order for me. I'm unable.
I'll take you home and spank you if you can't decide
Waiter. Where's the menu? Gotta hide.

Nightmare Dreams

Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
For the death of your dignity

Obit: Drowned in a river of blood
Brought on by a pin-prick
Then choked on pebbles from the depths of the riverbed

Lungs full of algae
Lips of Ali G

Coughed up the swapping
Of nightmares for dreams
Stop swimming upstream

Don't skim the pond for the froth
It's no broth
It's a pastime
The last time
To line and sink the fishing rod

Wednesday, 19 March 2008

Red Bussing By

The pint is so imperial
Pub lunches so ethereal
A chat and wisdom passes
Through your glasses

Go and see the Sir John Soane
Gentle time to be alone
And when you're done, there is an evening at The Tate
I may not be there though as I am plating fate

We can humanise this group
Do not take them as a troop
Red bussing by the London Eye
Has got these people hypnotised

Let's focus in on something other
Biscuit tins of old Queen Mother
Giant maps of people standing on the corner
Blue plaque trekking to where so-in-so was born

Die for Culture?

It's a great idea really.
Just a poem here.

Agri gents and gentle ladies
Dadelos to Hades
Painting academic subjects
They are dandelions to me
Don't do flowers
Don't do weeds
Dusty dandelions please
Don't make me
Twist my brush that way
I just make faces

So I shall swap the bricks for rocks
This cubed up city with its locks
A far more pretty destination--lots
More sunshine--end of plot

Come play with the pylons
I'll wear some rubber nylons
Get up past seven feet
Insure my life before we meet

A "project that has never been before"
The world's imagination is so poor.
Why no one has ever decorated electrical pylons.
Environmental sculpture
My body for the vultures
Die for culture?

Oh no don't design it.
Crew of art students to sign it.
Starry fantasy right through
To the bibilical end--it's brewed
But I shall kit up and be there with my friends

Shedding Oslo

Oslo has shed its reputation
As a world city, yes
It's a tiny destination
No longer cobblestoned as one might guess

Oslo shed action
Just a fraction
Of the world population
But a fascinating nation

Red Biro Spiral

Red biro spiral
Seven legged insects
Unicycles scattering their bicycle spokes
Speared eyes of monsters
beaming through the egg yolks
The drawings of a child
Nobody knows

Different Planes

The office building towers through my kitchen window
The Helter Skelter Shelter
Looks more like airport control now
Like that more than what I imagined before
Pilot offs the helmet
Big windows
Can see planes through them
Different planes everyday
Different planes
Heading for a vaguely safe landing

Possibly a Possibility

Definetly, possibly a possibility
Depends upon the weather
We'll have to wait and see.

Not a waste of time as we
Have learned a few more words
Chatting calculator dictionary girls

Indecision faults my brain
Lesson times to meet again
Four or five or inbetween
China shop or on the green

This conversation takes us half an hour
Second hand erases time for shower
Finally we toss a coin
And finalise the join
But then the next student tosses in the towel

The two o'clock student has forgotten
His cancellation ratio is rotten
Not to worry for today
Get the camera out and take

The digi-photos of the pictures that you need
To send your friend in Sicily by end of week.

Do Salad

The student's shirt has shrunk
And it's blue now
Oh dear
Washing--not my high point
On to the salad

A Swallow from the Indigo Sea

Recently refurbished
To make the pub look olde
Princess Louise
The mirrors made of gold

They've cubicled the centre and
Partitioned conversations into
Less than lively pints but
more intimate condensation

You will find a "William Morris" at the bottom of the mirror
Insured for £100,000 now the value is much clearer
As long as we prefer "the right to light"
I can see his studio at night

One day he will pop over for a cup of tea
A swallow from the indigo sea

Tuesday, 18 March 2008

Change Your Life Bulbs

How do the Brits change lightbulbs?
They get the immigrants to do it.

How do Americans change lightbulbs?
They ship the whole house to China.

Oh how wonderful, honey, read this..
"Does your house need a holiday?"

If you are in the midst of a lightbulb change,
Why not consider our other offers too?

Need a new stereo, a watch, a tv
your worn out shoes
So tired from having your feet up
While watching the news

Do that Walmart dive into the bargain bin.
Look, you got a prize. Don't check the "made in.."

Not to worry. We'll change your life bulb.
We're working on pills for you.


The icecream's too hot
No it's not
Lick and see
Just a drip from a
Cone full of cream

The Lawyer Waitress

She danced her way through law school
She played there
Stayed there
Times were getting late there

A sudden loss of rhythym once
The cap and gown were tossed
And as it seemed this girl she was no longer lost
Or driven
By the laws that she had learned
And those things too easily earned
All the tests she had to burn

Too much to add in her summation.
Subtracted both her occupations
Nothing left to earn

Put the crowd in the drawer.
Made a paper aeroplane from her diploma
And booked herself a window seat to Roma.

Cardboard Destination

Didn't miss the point
Just didn't point it out
So walk in shoes of silence
Hold off-- hold out

It's a quiet war
Pandora's ore
Deleting, retreating
A game without a score

Hopscotch the truth and
Hitch-hike to a cardboard destination
Scrawl the letters on the sign for
"a better mood--a better time"

Evolution of the suitcase

The gravel grinding chimes
Of the visitor's suitcase
Speak louder than a doorbell.

She leans over it--the suitcase
The last of her home
At just the right angle to suggest the
Exhaustion of trekkers who never come back from Everest.
Even if they come back

They blow their loved ones a kiss
From the abyss
Then they jump from the twentieth floor.

Or porters in a Neapolitan station
Smiling for your tip
Drip dragging with sweat
As they drag scuffed faux leather
Lives set.

There is no need to push it like a porter.
Your parents take care of their daughter.
You are not putting bananas on a cargo ship.
You haven't just moved
Your entire family
From India in a cardboard box.

Read the manual.
Use the retractable handle.

But it's such a Japanese thing to do.
If you pushed it any other way,
It wouldn't be you.

Hard bright shiny plastic
Soft inside and so fantastic.

Tip Toe Eating

She holds it up until she realises
It's a pear.
How does she have the fingernails
Or patience
To peel it with her fingertips?
Nails not long enough to slice.
Soft, young, nice
Tip toe eating.
Is she nervous?
She doesn't want a knife?
I eat the skin myself.

Oh but then..
Then we come to fish.
As I put out a second dish
For the bones....

Oh no no...she cries
As she demonstrates how to eat the spine.
Checking dictionary calculator
Typing in some Japanese words for
"Waste not...want not"
I wouldn't want to waste it
But I've never wanted it
Not fish bones.
And then another words she types...
The answer....

Monday, 17 March 2008

Art Tours in Progress

Again a redefinition:

Art tours:Designed for people who wanted to go into the arts, but ended up on a more practical path.... now are invited to come and explore their artistic side with an art homestay...staying with an artist for a week living , eating, sleeping, and enjoying making art with an artist....


something more structured... the tourist stays in a hotel and then each day, spends a studio visit with one or two artists so that they have a taste of the london art scene.... Hoxton, Bonnington Square, Hackney, Peckham, Cockpit Arts Holborn, From Wined up Cork street galleries to the back alleys of bohemia...

Possible Company Title:

Back Alleys of Bohemia
Winding Past Cork Street
Bespoke Art Tours
London Art Experience
Live London Art

Anyone reading this is welcome to comment or apply as an art host or tourist.You are also welcome to wish me happy birthday as it is my birthday today.

But reality is: first "art tourists" found in local pub have a tour this week with a few suggestions of restaurants, places of interest, art galleries etc.

Sunday, 16 March 2008

De-Clutter Gulag

So let's find this shed key...

Give me a break. I just found it yesterday.
Where did I find it?

We are not going to spend time
About this key...we are going to look for it....

No. I need to remember where I found it yesterday
In order to find it easier today.
Ah yes. It was in the pocket of a doll dress in the bottom
of the toy box.
See...not even my fault that it went missing.
You think I put this key in the pocket of a doll dress?

You do have a habit of putting the important things
In such mysterious places, that you lose them.
Do you still have those keys buried outside?

Just need some time to stop looking for them
And they will appear.

(Hours later)


What is this pink bit of glitter?
Do you need it?

Yes, I need pink glitter. It's not glitter. It's foil.
It was the cover from a nice box of parfum.


No. It will not be crazy once it goes
In a certain corner of my collage.

And the giant plastic insect...
How are you going to collage that?

Oh no. It's a toy praying mantis.
Just a reminder not to bite Swiss man again.

What is this chappatti flour box doing on the book shelf?
Have you read it yet?
No. Not everyday you see an elephant in pink and purple.
I have a friend who collects elephants at a museum in Hungary.
She will love it...or I will put it in my next collage.
But it's important.
I just have to cut it out.

You have to cut a lot of things out Joanne.

Well, not the elephant.
Please let me keep the elephant.

You do not need two desks.

Yes. I do...
One desk is for paperwork.
The other desk....I'm going to make some excellent
pictures on this desk.
And collage it like the kitchen table.

Is there anything you won't collage?

Ofcourse. I don't collage appliances.
Look...the dryer, the toaster, the dishwasher.

What happened to the shower?
Yes. But that's not an appliance.

Morning Gym

Good Morning Gymnastics
Fee Fi Fo
Don't go through the headboard

Don't hurt yourself with your own excitement
Free falling...never frightened
Omen Voicing
"Get up now...."
He cracks the snoring whip

Fee Fi Fo Jump
Soon there'll be blood and a forehead bump
This monster cuddle thug
Rips the head off teddy's love
Give the toys a shove
Fee Fi Omen voicing
"Get up now."

Slam you on the mattress
2,3....ding ding.
Diamond demon boy of joy
Good job you don't have wings.
You'd be flying at things

Say please for pancakes.
Cartoons and tea
Saturday morning
Mummy and me


The places you never go again
Old lovers not exactly friends
The temples you destroy
Become rubble in your way eventually.
How I enjoyed revisiting that ruin
The museum of our history
Don't touch the exhibit
It might come and tour

Some things even better from a distance
Like a minaret on a postcard
Out of echo's reach
If you put in the drawer
And blow it a kiss
Once in a while
When the stars are out

Such a long good bye for such a brief hello
Apologies for the last conversation
Might only create continuation
On this road of steep decline
We'd be back to drinking wine
And some laughter
But it seems that we are running out of jokes.

Route Home

Well, there was Donald...Derrick, what was his name?Dominic...Darling
Who once had a part in a film
Something about an arm missing, some flies that died and had to reorder
New flies which held up the filming.
In the end, they put the flies
Care of computer graphics.

N41 bus driver,
A rather relaxed policy towards people
Who can't find their beepy cards
Searched for payment
But couldn't get through the glass.
Told him to google Double Door Norma
But I don't think he uses the computer.

There were three girls all in black and one girl
Who had neon shoes...a good match for Travis.

There was Traverse.....pronounced
Travis....from Australia...lives in Limehouse.
What was up with his t-shirt?
Don't fool me.
You could see it had never been worn.....
And as it was given to him six months ago by a good friend,
It's more of an insult to wear it tonight---the fresh creases
Pretending it's his favourite t-shirt.
Now he can safely go home and throw it away.
However, I know him. even though I don't.
I bet he'll keep it--rumpled up in the back of the closet.

It was a very neon mouse with Japanese writing below.
Very in our face.
He asked me what it if I know....
"This mouse wants to climb right up your ass."
He said that that was a very long sentence for such few characters.
Agreed, but explained that Japanese, being so complex,
Was a highly condensed language.

Mice: An excerp I wish I could erase
A book on torture in Central America
That I gave away. Tore off the cover.
Only managed to forget the title.

The long-skirted two A.M. Lady
in Tesco Red
We speculated out loud--
No I think she's just come from a concert
I thought it was suede.
What, her skirt?
She said it was linen--and she's looking for her favourite buns .
All gone at this time of night.
Been ballroom dancing and lived in California for nine years.
Chatted til we found a raisin bun.
I was in a Chicken shack mood for some reason.
But always regret shacking up chicken style.
No there is no remote control.
Use the buttons.

Saturday, 15 March 2008


Fuck the Grandma slammin
New Topic
I'm gonna start drinkin more coke.

Did you know
There are benefits to Coca cola
That people don't know about.

K: Like what? If you're a man, you grow man boobs
and if you're a woman...

J: Don't finish that.

K:You grow a....

J: Isn't it time to go?

I couldn't choose between water and coca cola anyway

Friendly Banter

Oh my Grandchild....
Poor lovely
Look at the mother you have though.
No wonder you're a caveman.

Have you read that book yet?
Why haven't you read those books...
Oh you'll probably never read them.
Three books...all to do with how toddlers
Are essentially cavemen.

It's the parent's responsibility
To bring them up through the
Thousands of years of evolution
Present in each year of their growth.

I will read the caveman toddler book
When I find the time.
Meanwhile, don't worry. As you see,
From "the state of this house", we're
Living in 1000BC.

I get "The state of this house...."
For a sock out of place....
So I may as well leave the
Chainsaw out on the kitchen floor.
Just be glad it's not plugged in.

Friday, 14 March 2008

Soul Noun

To my mother who I do hope, doesn't read this
In your state, you don't need this.
But nor do I.
Predictable apologies arrive
Upon your departure

Blind from looking at the blueprints of my life.
A lost search for a straight line.
Don't have a ruler...
So you can't bend the curves
To trace my world.

You only trace the time.
If I put my eyes upon my watch
My paintings just become a splotch.
I'm in behind the coils of the clock
Wrapped up in timeless tick tock.

"What is this picture designed to do?" doesn't do.
Just my design.
Picture the picture if you want a verb and a noun.
A soul noun this picture slowing down.

It's now designed to deflect your comments.
I've gone deaf from your compliments.

A little detour I thought you'd like...
Magma art book store.
You stand there in the doorway waiting to leave.
The priority---cheese man in Leather Lane with his half prices
Make a mental note to go back to the best books I would have shown you
And try not to miss you when I turn the page.
Just a different age.

I still can't slap you with the money you think is overdue.
But that is not my measure.
Can't paint for the treasure.
Call me Mrs. Leisure with my red, yellow, blue.
If I slapped you with anything,
It would be the pleasure I get from what I do.

You might never understand this how, what, or why.
What or why
What or why
But you try,
So ask the price before the paint has dried.
Jinx the shit out of the ink
Cash up my brain til I can't think
Nothing to share
Except the fading quips in the air

Kitted up in a fire proof before your last visit.
Denser insulation for repeated nerve wounds.
Just getting down to the zip now.
Checking the burns from the ice embraces.

Invisible scars from verbal bruises.
Don't appear on x-ray
Doctor says I'm ok.

"only want the best" for you
But I only want a rest.

The Bandit

Life knows why
Thinking in miniature
Oval skies of
Liquid puffs from a cigar factory
Restrung to sell guitars
Melt the strings
Take the scraps
And make them into gold
Take the gold to the scrap dealer
Weigh it now
The banded bandit

Thursday, 13 March 2008


What day is it...March?
Kind of late.
The time that flew
We had just hours on our plate
Ours a few

Dancing on your daddy's dance floor
Royal Jelly
Frozen over now

Fog filled ice
On a very warm lake,
One move and it will break.

Skate carefully

King of Love
King of Hate

Snippets of News

Mews Flash: Dyeing animals--- illegal in America.
New law? Old law people never knew about.
Not exactly a spotlight topic...
Some lady who has dyed her hair so many times
That she can't dye it anymore
Has started on her poodle....
a pink poodle on the west coast
She's going to jail....
As her poodle wasn't pink originally.
Forgive the people on the west coast.
It's the sun.

Now if I were President, I would probably say this:
To the people who dye their pets.
Keep on going. Make them any colour you like.

My dear Fluffy.
I could have gone to jail for him....

Fluffy loved it though.
Green and purple hair
And walks around the blocks in a shoebox
It kept Fluffy on his toes....or her.
Was it a girl or a boy?