Saturday 19 March 2016


That midnight meditation was an impulsive endeavour
to engage with something infinitely out of reach.
I had expected impossibility, yet so avidly craved
that feasibility hinted at by Einstein's Theory
of Relativity. Also that night
Mars was in conjunction with Venus,
while opposing Saturn - a prospective time anomaly
according to my comprehension of both theories - the
proverbial red rag to an off-beat visionary like myself!
That conjunction filled me with excitement.
It was mainly the position of Venus
that fired my imagination.
For an amateur astrologer, it was
a true eureka moment - when absolutely anything was possible:
even Romeo and Juliet could have resurrected
to live happily ever after, well into old age.
Oh yes, that night the Astrological and Metaphysical systems
were in perfect harmony, forming a bridge
across the division of time and space.

Time tunnel:

Too much noise. Student voices reach deafening pitch
in a corridor of St. Cuthbert's College, Worksop.
Not now, but then:
1908, your final day there.
Dizziness. As if on a tilting deck of the Poseidon.
A silent Chaplin movie, blurred, jerky and out of sync.
Feeling sick. Now equalising. Still light though -
lighter than air, but feeling present. Then full, glorious clarity.

Suddenly -
                  fate must have decreed it -
                                                             suddenly you.

First glimpse close up, burned into the back
of my retinas - permanently etched into memory banks.
Less tall
than I'd imagined, but well-toned, athletic.
And those long, slender fingers
that would someday perform such miracles.
And your face, so hauntingly beautiful.
I see you there, clearer, more real
than in any of the subsequent years -
as if we both existed solely for that instant,
and time itself stood still:
the soft waves of your hair, that I so ached
to run my fingers through. That sensitive,
expressive mouth, and those soulful eyes,
deep-set and twinkling like stars
in an indigo sky - so vibrant and alive.
Yet I could sense a melancholy already in their depths. Perhaps
a premonition of tragedy in khaki
that only I had knowledge of then?
You completely knocked me out
with a vitality and optimism
that totally belied the horrors to come...

I remember very little
of the remainder of that night. Nothing
except an acute sense of separation
on returning to outer consciousness,
then my mesmerized observation
of your image that had followed me home.
And the discovery of the raised red welts
where you'd touched me
that branded my arm for the next week or so,
and my Soul, beneath them, forever.

I am taking a short break now, so will catch up with you all again in a week or so.

Until then...
have a fabulous weekend - and Happy Blogging!


Friday 11 March 2016


The Corfe Castle ghost is a subtle ghost,
is a victim of King John;
is a ghost of the silent hours
when the tourists have all gone.

The Corfe Castle ghost was a French Knight,
is a ghost of centuries past;
is an echo of  royal ruthlessness
whose shadow is still cast.

The Corfe Castle ghost is a ghost of trauma,
is a soul in darkness trapped
in the dungeon beneath this ruined tower
where in anguish he's still wrapped.

Upon gazing through an arrow slit
I could see the spiral stair
down which he made his final journey - gave me such a scare!

Then just for an instant he became I -
oh grim hopeless and despair
of knowing I'd never once more see the sun
nor breathe again God's clean air.

No, instead I survived on stagnant urine
and the depths of degradation plumbed
along with twenty-one fellow countrymen,
until one-by-one we succumbed

to starvation's savage desperation
that turned us cannibalistic...
but at the end I believed I was back in France,
enjoying fine wine and a picnic.

Saturday 5 March 2016


It's so unfair how obsessively you adore her
while taking me for granted.
How hard I've tried to be your ideal:
Juliet to your Romeo, so passionately
I should have won an Oscar...
whilst she can pick you up or drop you
however and whenever the fancy takes her -
yet she's the only one you dote on.

It's so unfair that I have learnt to parachute jump
and mountain climb - in spite of a horror of heights -
solely to impress you. But you've failed to notice...
when all she has to do is lie on the beach
and cultivate a tan to earn your admiration.
And I've practised so hard to become
a nineteen-fifties Bardot - your ultimate fantasy -
and tried to act as sexily. But did you respond?
No way! I might as well have been invisible...
yet she can pass by unmade-up
and tatty as a tramp, and your eyes are out on stalks.

It's so unfair how I'm always extremely careful
never to sulk nor rant and rave
when you cancel a date I've spent hours preparing for,
but just smile and say, "That's OK. Maybe another time."
Yet she can throw her tantrums
and you'll jump to her tune every time.
What she wants is all that matters.

It's so unfair how I can read your thoughts
almost before you think them, and
adapt my words to harmonise with your moods...
whilst she is arrogantly dictatorial.
So how come you hang onto her every word?

Oh it really is so unfair that it's so unfair,
and even if I could stop loving you
it would still be unfair
that I am me and not her
and never could be
that perfect.

It tragically is so unfair. So, so,
so incredibly, frustratingly, painfully,
cruelly unfair.