The murmering bartender

“Order the Guinness FIRST!”

“Ask people what they want BEFORE you start ordering a round.”

“I am merely operating a machine, IF I could make it faster, I would.”

“Learn to articulate simple requests such as ‘two bottle of Becks, please?”

“No problem!”  ‘One pint of lager for the cunt who can’t say please and a vodka lemonade for the fuckwit who puts up with him, and breathe…and…’ “Smile…Anything else?”

“Some pubs sell different beers. Did you notice you were in a DIFFERENT PUB?”

“Yes pointing, that’s polite, just point…”

“I have no idea what you might possibly, want. If I could tell what people wanted by looking at them I would not be working in a fucking bar!”

“Our wines? Like? Kind of like wine, only more so, we, here, like to think both privately, and on this one occasion, publicly that our wines are very much LIKE wines, they come to us in wine bottles, we serve them in a wine glass to all sense and purposes they are no dissimilar to wine!”

“My favourite people are those that order than walk away, to the loo.”

“I like people waving money at me.”

“I enjoy people who tap or whistle.”

the quick thing

The quick thing slithered, slid and slank

Where it had been was cold and dank

Where it had been was cold and dank

where it had been was barren and stark

Where it had been really stank

It may be quick but it is also large mean it was bigger than a barge

It was huger than a giant

and it's back was very pliant

which meant it could bend and seem small

and you wouldn't find it in the hall

It could hide inside your pocket

Then grow quickly like a rocket.

And if you smelt good like children do

It might turn you into goo

and suck you up or into two

or small enough so it could chew

your arms, your legs, your head and guts

It would swallow you like nuts

you'd be gone and it would grow

Because it was quick and you were slow.

The Race

Ahead was the bustle of the street, with lights and cars and people hurrying to and fro.  He could hear the calls from the burger trolleys and nut sellers.

Through the gaps in his fingers he could see flashes of cars, taxis, buses, the smoke from exhausts and the steam from people's mouths rising and disappearing as they hurried along with packages and bags, xmas presents for children, wives, husbands, mothers and daughters, then another flash of bright white as the trainer slammed into his hands, snapping his neck back with it's venom.

Keeping his hands to his face, and his arms protecting his ribs, he tried to move towards the light, inching along on his knees, trying to keep focus. Peering through his fingers he saw the trainers stepping back, readying to smash him again.  He swerved to the right just at the right time and the assailant missed completely and fell backwards.

This was it!  His chance at freedom from the next onslaught of pain.  He withdrew his hands from his face and clutched at the wall for a hold, digging his nails into brick he dragged his body to his feet and tried to run.  But the pain he had endured and the power of the first blow slowed him.

A dense fog drifted into his vision and the lights looked like a slow release photograph and his brain couldn't decipher the image.  Still, fear has it's own drive and fear pushed him on.  like a bear in treacle he waded through the pain. Holding onto the wall he dragged his aching body towards the confused fairy lights of the street.

He heard the quick fist coming and fell to his knees automatically.  The fist hit the wall above his head and his attacker screamed in pain.

Crawling seemed safer so he crawled, his bruised hands squashing stuff his brain didn't or wouldn't recognise under him until he was almost in the light.  The last words he heard were:  "you're dead now you bastard!"  Hissed through the teeth of his assailant as the final blow shattered his skull against the wall.

touching on lancelot's truth

Leaves scattered as hooves clattered

Across the river his image was shattered

On brazen armour mud splattered

For him honour was al that mattered

The kind and strong Sir Lancelot

He listened no to tittle tattle

Hi did not herd sheep or cattle

His joy was in the latest battle

And returning to Camelot

Stale sweat, blood that was caked

Stuck in armour on a body half baked

Through the fields his horse snaked

To the core his feelings shaked

The loving, brave Sir Lancelot

By the river he knows so well

His heart begins to swell

Now is heaven, the battle hell

He can see beloved Camelot

Across the river he sees the isle

That has been there all the while

And seeing it brings on a smile

He knows hi home is but a mile

The orphaned, white knight, Sir Camelot

An on the island in that place

There lives…a fairy…none shall see her face

But her songs they say are full of grace

And the call her the Lady of Shallot

trip out man come back soon from your dirty mind

Tired, hot, exhausted, sticky, scared, lonely, dirty, dependent on your love.

A million decibels of scream pulsing around my body, tightening my muscles, stretching every sinew with their power.

Memories drifting in and out, smashing against my present reality

Nervous sensation adding to the mass of energy building inside me.

Honesty tearing at my heart, ripping at my guilty soul, my greedy soul smashing every truth into fragments of reality.

Easy, tiny pieces of my life floating through a river of knowledge. Being swallowed by the truth. Bobbing to the surface like glints of sunshine on a ripple of a heart beat.

Continuously rising to the surface.

Trippingly ticking

Trippingly tickling the fancy of a trippingly finicky fanny.  Dipping into the drippingly deliciously delirious secret that is secreting sexual and sensuous sweet honey covered rose petal dew filled sex.

Wonderful powerful aroma rising as you roam the rise and fall of a body bathed in the sweet drippingly dripping as you are trippingly tickled into a frenzy of freneticism,, falling upwards and coming down with the rise and rise and rise, slowly sucking on the succulent shivering quivering sweet sticky sliding sex slide out start over. Trippingly tickling.......

When you accept the power of it, then you can enjoy the beauty of it.  The gentleness of it’s' control.  The sweet caress of its' vibrant edges warning you of the pressure at it’s' core.  There is no pleasure like it.  To be taken on a trip by the power.  Which of us possesses it?  Or could it be us?

will you remember?

When the sun shines through your window, and it's warmth touches your skin, will you remember?

If you went to a certain place, and it was a certain time, will you remember?

When the rain beats down on you, and you're wet through, will you remember?

If a record comes on the radio, and it makes you feel good, will you remember?

I would.

wisdom from the wound

When, as a child you receive childish knocks, scraping your knee, elbow, forehead, scabs eventually form, which, if cultivated through rigorous, almost religious picking then turn to scars.  During adolescence these scars can be counted alongside real scars from real accidents where depth and width of the cut mean there is no outcome but scars that are mean and ugly, showing adventure, danger, stupidity or bravery in your life.

As an adult the 'scar competition' still exists and can win or lose you a place in your social group for a limited time.

If you have a scar of bravery, that scar + story, may detract people's attention from your obvious pig-headedness, or a scar from an operation may gain sympathy for an otherwise aggressive person.

All scars are an event.  Chicken-pox will leave a scar and you may not remember the almost agonising itching that caused the blemish, but you may remember the time spent with your parent or sibling during the illness.

When faced with a scar on another person, how long before you ask “what happened?"  Because eventually you will, it is a 'must know' situation, you need the knowledge, so you can judge the quality, gauge sympathy, understand that persons' history, gain wisdom from the wound. 

So each event scars our emotional tissue and is sometimes as visible as a scar on the face, by the way we behave.

Abandonment leaves us scared of being left alone, or not wanting to make bonds for fear of receiving another tear on our heart.

Violent behaviour may make us aggressive or timid; whichever saved us from the violence the last time.

Ridicule can become a barrier to our opinions and some people spend their whole life only asking questions, never answering, never revealing their thoughts or feelings or trying new experiences, going first or making new mistakes.

Heart break, or unrequited love scars run deep and can act as seriously as a disease which has left a scar of disability on the person.  An accident can blind you, maim you, leave you deaf or affect your sensibilities.  Heart break can do the same, it can blind you to new love, stop you from hearing kind words, keep you on the edge of groups, disallow you from progress.

How do you gain wisdom from your wounds?

scars and sinners

Indestructible, unbeatable, all powerful and fearless

Alone, all knowing, self sufficient and peerless.

Knocked down by life or by a car

will leave you with a deep wounding scar

Rehabilitated, recovered, back on the mend

you learn that one experience doesn't mean it's the end.

walk tall, walk proud show the world you are a winner

chin up, be brave it's not you that's the sinner.

cloning droning

Searching for peace one hundred years ago, a designer of hats and cool linen,

Jackie stumbled on four rows of vegetables so alike in form and colour that she hit on the idea of human cloning. 

A bittersweet idea but powerful in both ways. 

Bitter, for she knew that it was against the rules.  (New life comes from procreation; you do not grow adults they are formed from a baby)

Sweet, because it meant no nappies, no teething, no infant tearing nipples, no pain in childbirth, no terrible twos, no me me threes, no teenage angst, no rebellion.

There was nowhere on earth to experiment so she took her ideas, her truth and her scientific equipment onto a rocket and flew to the moon where she cloned herself and allowed seven clones to wander the lunar landscape.

After seven years they returned still repeating the words and phrases she had given them.

"No one is better than me!"

"I am not better than anyone else!"

All are born equal!"

mixed up love letters

Love alters your priorities

Chemical reactions alter the dopamine in your brain

You become extremely focussed

The golden thread is pulled

The most primitive, primal reaction

The limpid system is where love resides

To ensure a couple stay together to raise children

It’s the cement

Love who will love you back

Intimacy, reciprocation,

The beginnings of romantic love

Sex and flattery natural way to find a mate

Involuntary obsession

Passion written in the stars

Mutual expansion

Oxytocin promotes love and forgetfulness

Uncontrolled emotion?

Sanctuary's solitude

Panic. Too close. Too alone. Afraid of the truth, scared of the future. Fear built from knowledge, history, rumours and secrets.

False intuition, what you call a night and day mare, lack of confidence coupled with the fact of your loneliness brings you to think of the day ahead and you stride through the shite and try to walk tall with your head up your own arse.

As you walk with the serenity of stupidity, a mask, hiding the madness inside, you wonder/hope you’ll meet someone who will give you direction or at least somewhere to turn to, a sanctuary of opportunity. Somewhere silent, stripped of sanctimonious, sarcastic suckers and you realise your mistake.

Solitude is your only sanctuary.

Spring again

Blue skies then pissing rain can only mean it’s spring again.

Too many clothes and then not enough means choosing what to wear will be tough.

“Out with the old and in with the new.” You just hope it won’t be you.

Mind though, all that flesh does look fresh.

Maybe a change is what I need; after all it is time to plant a seed.

Holding hands walking in the park, another hour before it’s dark.

Sitting in the garden for afternoon tea, sitting on the tube watching you notice me.

Spring is in the air, love is in your heart, a new beginning is about to start.

Crocuses poke out from under soil, gardeners begin their ritual toil

Turning the earth as the earth spins, throwing winters dead into compost bins.

New shoots, new life, the joys of spring, sharing joy is the normal thing.

The eyes have it

Think you're funny but you're not

I knew you when you were hot

Those days have gone those days have passed

you thought your looks were gonna last

I see you out there trying to shine

You don't look good, don't look fine

You’re dancing like you did before

but times have changed and you look poor

Your age has caught you by surprise

I can see that in your eyes.

Erica and the 18 hours November 13-14th 2003

Were you not there? Did you not see?

I’m sorry I just assumed you were.

It began calmly, just a passing comment really. 

“I think it’s started.” Is what I heard.

Calmly, that’s how it started.

A mellow fear, creeping calmly across my nervous system.

Knocking me backwards but stopping me from falling over.

Checklists in my head slowly being ticked.

Helpful voices, drifting through the thickening fog.

That was my mind.

Nothing was happening to me.

But my mind was busy.

Should you, could you?

How could I help?

Should I, can I?

I tried to feel your rhythm.

And join you.

Share each moment, feel your pain.

I timed each movement with your words.

And smiled with the fear in your eyes.

Then it began again.

A new serenity entered the space.

A new joy that brought it’s own light.

And made you separate.

Which I knew might happen, could happen.

Did happen.

But I wasn’t really ready.

And I faltered.

Stumbled blindly, feeling useless.

Unable to make the slightest difference.

But love shone through

And took the pressure

So I had a breather.

Just a break, a little nap

But the experts

With their knowledge

Said that you were; doing fine.

It changed, well, not really, it continued.

Truth be known. It got more intense.

Slightly deeper.

But the experts said you were: doing fine.

So I continued calmly.

Watching, listening, checking lists.

Rubbing, pressing, fetching, waiting,

Staying calm and smiling widely.

Ignoring all my worries.

Denying all your pain.

Never showing any fear.

At least I didn’t think I did.

Then the experts

With their knowledge

Decided you weren’t; doing fine.

Fifteen hours had passed already.

A change of scene

Would do you good.

I can’t remember if there were sirens

But I remember

How sure you were

On what to wear, and that you

Were going to walk

Down

All those stairs.

And you did

And I walked in front

In case you stumbled

Then you realised where you were

And that was funny

But we travelled in style

Nervous as kittens

The calmness was leaving

You were relinquishing

Control

Which wasn’t what you

Wanted

But I never said that

There was trouble

Just that we may

Need some help

Now we had

More expert experts

With fat fingers

And funny ways

Who gave us options

But no directions

Who told us things

We already knew.

They tried to guide you.

They hinted

They suggested

Mentioned reasons

But wouldn’t tell us

What to do.

16 hours of constant pressure

Forced the outcome

And the drugs released some pleasure

But not the reason for the pain.

Now another joined our party.

Your mum and dad all night

Had aided and abetted

Boiled kettles, emptied fridges

Cuddled, held, given words of wisdom.

Now, they were joined by my mother, plus one doctor,

One obstetrician

And one consultant

All with knowledge and experience

They all said

“Now’s the time.”

So we listened to instructions.

My focus now was only you.

I have to say

If there were choices

Then I chose you

This final battle

We were all involved in

Was, for me, a fight for you.

All my effort and my will

Was for you.

So I tried to find my centre

So that you could

Lean on me

Again I wanted

To be your breath

To be your strength

To live for you.

Little changed.

So again, the experts

Used their knowledge

Changed the rules

And helped some more.

A special cap was inserted

And a blade was used.

Now the pressure

Filled the room

My concerns were purely selfish.

I have to say

If there were choices

I chose you.

To my left between your legs

Strangest visions came

Into view

I put my face

Between them and you.

I listened and I repeated

What the experts said to you

And I told them what you said

For a moment

There was calmness

When your body

Released the head.

Back to battling, far to quickly

Is what the experts said.

They were twisting, pulling, jerking

Slowly surely

Was he?

He was on you

Then was taken

And I heard a gurgling sound

But you didn’t hear it

And were asking

“Is he ok?”

“Is he ok?”

Then the nurse

Turned around

Passed him over

To his mother

As if he had been

Lost and found.