Tobago Cays

Full moon brought troubled waters
dark creatures whirled in the caverns of my soul
wind whipped the boat with confusion until daybreak.

You wanted it all, the pure and the clean
the pivot of my spirit that sings with guardians’ wings.

Out beyond the horseshoe reef,
(which didn’t bring us any luck)
the Atlantic rolls its heavy thunder.

What can I tell you under the three palm trees
where Johnny Depp buried the gold doubloons?

There’s no gold here, only scattered moments
of ‘might have been’
while someone plucks a string to sing a prayer for sleep

& the hungry ghosts chatter.

Alone

Frangipani oil slips greedily into skin,
I dream of birds of paradise.

You send me poems doubled as strings of pearls,
bile falling from your twice shut lips

as glib as April showers.

My skin rainbows golden on a tapestry of light,
perfume riding high and exotic in these rain soaked

London nights.

The moon smoulders on, anoints our Western sky
swinging pale and twisted reminding me of ocean,

blackness of equator sky; the Gods singing.

We are perfect instruments fine tuned to heaven,
sifting synapses stroking body length,

finding only discrepancies.

Alone, frangipani, white flowers pink petals,
sea, surf symmetry, and your eyes holding me.

I’m lost my love

I’m lost my love……
hidden from myself
lost from the necessity to breathe
scattered by broken promises
exhausted by feeling dreams.

You’re like a force of nature
a cauldron of intention,
concentrated quicksilver
and if I peel back the centuries
there’s an angel’s whisper
the drift of an interstellar breeze;
where you forced the stars
to form a pathway,
into the vast emptiness of me.

But I’m lost my love
hidden from the world
lost from the necessity to breathe
tired of iron highways
the rushing of the silence.
I miss you tonight,
body warmth
images on the edge of sleep
and the small hands we held

as if twinned for eternity.

Wet

Rain came again
in swathes of summer sweat
trilling through the gutters
turning trees to liquid colour

You called from outer space
the line was disconnected
lost in my head I read
your questions, asked you to wait

another life time.

I see nothing but water
bubbling through the pavement
slick beneath my feet, surfacing
in my sheets, to drown me.

You appear in other’s faces
jump the gap between their needs
& the memories they fall from me
like this rain they’re all invading

leaving me soaking wet.

Summer love

Poppies slash corn
like new blood
stain gold with
skin silk
so so soft wind
tears them
earth skin to
earth dust
makes bone of us.

Kestrel crosses wood
startles doe
pigeon’s coo rustle leaves
all of these paint
Summer’s cry:
this moment
high sky
till Autumn’s whisper
tease us.

You come from
far off land
black eyes burn
a patent
you ask for time
could you be mine,
Summer’s net of love
draws back the band
between us.

The hay’s been cut
& you return
open armed
a promise of a coupling:
but poppy’s blood
has stained the dust
the opiate drunk
& Autumn’s call
dispersed us

Poignancy of you

Leaves green foliage
screen
under an iron sky
full throttle fine
rain a live mesh
of wet wounds the
tarmac:
behind cloudburst eyes
create a distant
rainbow.

Here in the middle
way
poignancy of those
who’ve gone
before
floods the pavement
with tears
fine faces sunk to skin
& bone spirit strident
still within.

Rain reminds me always
of you
flypast on a summer’s
day, song thrush,
your grandson’s eyes:
appalling not to have
you by my side:
dreams unseeing
in the night I sleep
in stranger’s arms
wake to uncertainty

flooded with you.

Fantasy Phil

Fantasy Phil
with your soft tongue’d dumps
and erotic whimperings,
I’ve been down so many corridors
in my mind,
you were in none of them.

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So intent on the chase you forgot who you were chasing. Mediocrity hung round your middle like the white flesh that had accumulated over the years, hit you in the face with a frying pan and you were panting from the exertion of trying to get somewhere, anywhere as long as there was freedom in the air and a hole to crawl into when the light faded. You were attached to a kiss like a moth dying on a bright light and I was kind enough to let you remember one of those nights when the blue fumed smoke had taken over. So long ago the paint has flaked from the door and swallows have made nests in the bedding. Dinner with you was a struggle to keep my clothes on, they seemed to keep sliding to the floor as you persisted in screwing life into a monochromed movie on a shrunken Rivera where the boats leaked bodily fluids.

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I’ve been down so many corridors
in my mind
opened doors to a different
stab at reality
lived and breathed in a space
where time has never happened :
only the nothingness of eternity
pulls at my heartstrings.

Cut out (2)

I cut myself, with paper,
with people; I’m a thin sheaf
of moonlight trying to get a fix
on reality.

Today, fifteen years after your death it’s your birthday, I woke this morning and couldn’t make out what was making me feel so sick, it took till lunchtime staggering about to realise why. I expected to see you walking across an empty room, I kept imagining what it would be like to see you again mother, if you weren’t a ray of dust lost on a bottomless sea. If it’s true that only thought remains then that makes it almost harder to bear, your thoughts are like shimmering pools of evil, angled at me from eternity.
I try to forget all the times I’d stuttered to please you, as abused children always do, with the presents and the phone calls, your eyes boring through me like some black magic ceremony on late night T.V. I never lose my sense of humour as I dream of you dead: you often try to come back and haunt us, with your pinched face rigid like a kabuki mask and your long scarlet nails. It’s not as if there was ever anything left unsaid, you’d say it all face to face with a brick wall of demented logic which never kept me in place, and you would fly at me suddenly like the mad bitch that you were: that you kept so so hidden inside your sociopathic exterior.

There was never any use my hiding it was always staunch up:
the wounds couldn’t plunge any deeper could they?

Today on your birthday, fifteen years after your death, we won’t be making a cake and I am perhaps the only one that truly remembers you.

It isn’t with a kiss, and if I could watch you die all over again each day of my life it wouldn’t be enough.

So I cut myself, on paper, on people, watch the blood flow with disinterest, walk down another road.

I have fed on love like a junky, but now stay in my self allotted place where the roses grow.

I cut myself, with paper,
with people; I’m a thin sheaf
of moonlight trying to exist
trying get a fix
on reality.

Rain helix

Time is always now:
flickers of thought ripples
disturb an iced lake.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Summer rain, one hundred percent humidity, monsoon drains overflowing with swirling brown liquid, clatters and screams of gleeful laughter. The school bus is at a standstill water lapping up over the steps rippling at our feet. I raise my knees to save my feet with their white 8 year old socks from drowning, children swim past the windows scramble up the bumper, wind rakes browned palm tree, my skin wet with the dampness of the air. Snakes slide from hidden niche to lie black and squirming on classroom floor. Evenings rife with teeming market stall spiced dishes ,small miracles of colour on green banana leaf, cat call of meandering call girl, snap of pistol fire after curfew. My mother wafts in and out of vision decked in handmade cocktail dress fashioned from silver sari. She was nothing to do with me, an elfin Queen who if I kept clearly out of sight might never return to habitual chaos. I lived in a world of Chinese phrases, trading unlikely stamp collection at the corner of the street. Across the Buket Timor the Turf Club stretched in languorous undulations, golf course trading race track to Polo field and beyond the jungle. I like Kamikaze pilot plotted sure death on crazy ponies, slipped white faced to the ground having pushed my expertise and courage to the limit, while no body noticed, no body smiled.

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Summer rain, grey skies in an August heat haze, children playing out of sight, an undulating French farmscape, from the distance a blank black rumble reminding me of typhoon, imminent destruction, as my scream formed soundless in an iron throat the hailstorm hit. We watched ice the size of cricket balls smash our perfectly formed red tile roof, leaving gashes as wide as you and I . Our village was declared a national disaster area 4 km wide and I wondered was I always going to appear as a natural disaster on national T.V.? That night you climbed an unsafe roof to plug the holes and I watched as lightning missed you by a hands breadth, as I lay in the dark breast feeding our small child a fireball flew from the electricity socket Tin Tin style. So we rebuilt the outside ignoring the inner tears that left us alone on separate universe, treading empty space.
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Trailing mind through time’s ripples
to the farthest extensions of the universe
where there is no edge.
Dark matter exists in the flash of a crystal
but we don’t know,
can never guess at 65% of nothing.
We were the only witness
to exponential beauty
colours coalesce across our pinball
fantasy of endings
we rename our messages in sign language
tune our regrets to a perfect time
that echoes in waves of cold silence
stays locked in cupboards of my mind
as music.

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Summer rain, aching tiredness and all the explanations can’t explain why I have to drop heavy objects on bare feet in order to cry; it was more than a battle of wills with you it was a life or death extravaganza and writing this is set to expunge the memory reseal my brain wash you clean away down the murky sewer where you belong. I can remember the fear, it comes in the panic of raised voices where I become paralysed like a startled red deer. I can remember the beatings, mostly fierce because I wouldn’t cry, just stare into the evil of your astral witch eyes, disengage, imagine the latest horror movie, know it wasn’t happening to me. It was on the day you broke into my farm kitchen attacked me and sent my three year old daughter to hide shaking beneath her bed that I knew I had to do something. Why did no one ever do something, why were you never locked away? My small sister used to cower behind me and say, “Vic when are the social workers coming to get us?

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It’s too late to cry
I’ve created my own
pocket universe
that expands nightly.

City

Slowly through this dream sea
I will become
the master of the broken vessel
and seam each fragment.

…………………………….

We’re earth worms in the hubris of this compost city rising blind each morning to notch a sickly sky, fumes of stale air clog late night lungs, we watch each other in carbon momonxided tunnels noting bruised blue of flesh beneath crumpled eyes ,flicker of a smile from a gentle word the night before. Each evening we scuttle like foxes to chosen lair, slightly insane like the woman next door who berates her three year old, leaves her screaming for hours in a padded room, won’t let her touch an animal for fear of infection and never feeds her meat in case her nappies smell. When I meet them on the street they are bounteous in pink, all Barbie dolled up in sociopathic style nothing askance just the black bruises beneath the eyes.

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I’m blind sifting through my nightly journeys where I carry a horses head wrapped in soft velvet, still alive ,beseeching me with it’s eyes to return it to it’s body. The body’s laid out on a slab devoid of fur just yellowed skin with the feet tied neatly at the fetlock . I carefully carry the head to body slot it in, wheel the monster away on a stretcher.

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