THE TIME LORD

River's song...


Moving closer
To where the digital dots join up,
Bringing fifth dimension to thought -
Touch to sight, oh yes, finally
Something tangible
Stepping out of fantasy
Into the living flesh:
This Alien
In the shape of man...

Oh God, he's dressing me in rainbows,
In his multi-dimensional box
That spans eternity.
I can have it all, he promises
With those timeless eyes,
And it's coming ever closer...

I'm sucked into the plasma.
Oh, that first kiss...the touch of his lips
Moving south, gradually conquering
Uncharted Downs, the heath in flames.
Defences razed in wild submission,
As his desire caresses
The womanhood to life...

His pounding second heart
Slips between my breasts -
The ultimate gift, oh yes,
And his spark takes life
Beyond my extra rib, yes, oh yes,
And we come together,
The Doctor and I,
At last
In time.

URBAN RENEWAL

The bulldozers tore down Canal Street today,
These centuries old terraced homes.
The Luftwaffe couldn't have wreaked more havoc -
They're reduced to a pile of stones.

The government describe it as "Urban Renewal:
Improvements for Better Lives"
But tradition they've thoughtlessly stolen this day
From generations of Lancashire wives.

Amongst the rubble and rising dust
A frail old lady appears.
She seems to be searching for something important,
As she's so distressed and in tears.

I try to lead her away to safety,
But she kneels to reach beneath
The broken stairs and window frames
To retrieve a Christmas wreath.

It's plastic, faded and squashed almost flat,
But she holds it lovingly close
To her bosom as if it were a child.
Then she turns to me looking morose.

"My Harry bought this the year we were wed,
In nineteen-forty-three,
And it's hung in our closet ever since - this token
Of his undying love for me.

When I lost him in France the following year,
Through this I felt him near.
Then when they came to evict me, I left
My precious memento here.

Things must change I understand that,
But the sorrow is almost too much.
For they've moved me into a brand new flat
Where I've never felt Harry's touch."

TERMINAL

for Annabelle...


It feels good, doesn't it?
Go on...just one more double Vodka,
followed by a Benedictine chaser.
See how the faces blur
and voices seem far away.

Oh, and you can't possibly refuse
a couple of Rum and Cokes -
such a rich, vibrant colour.
How their magic lifts you:
you're incredibly high and invincible.

Now, how about a Gin and Tonic?
Or perhaps two? No, more than that.
Three? Four? More?
Before you know it
you're dancing on the ceiling.

The floor begins to lurch and roll,
but that only adds to the fun.
Being eighteen and euphoric is...WOW!
You can drink all you want in public now
an adult you've legally become.

You're really on a roll now:
flirting, teasing, flashing boobs and bum.
You feel like a celebrity -
never dreamt you could be this bold.
All attention's exclusively yours.

And those men who dare to dare you?
Bah! You'll show them!
True to form, this feminist
will drink them under the table -
every last one of them.

And you do, too...quickly losing count
of precisely how many pints, just
'Keep 'em coming!' you slur,
until club lights disappear
into darkness...then flashing blue light.



You find yourself in a hospital bed.
Your head is splitting, you're violently sick
and your eyeballs and skin have turned yellow.
Your kidneys are failing, your liver can't cope
and the doctors fear for your life.

That confident you from the nightclub last week
has totally disappeared.
You're quaking, sobbing
and pleading for help
like a lost and terrified child.

You beg, grovel and bargain with God,
'Spare my life and I promise I'll stop!'
But you know deep inside
it's just another lie.
You've been a drunk since the age of twelve.



At twenty-one you're laid to rest,
your parents and sisters are bereft.
Your mother blames herself, you know.
She believes her career she placed above you,
and this is how you coped.

The sad truth is...it was no-ones fault -
just a weakness within you.
No freak accident took your life,
nor cancer cells out of control.
But, tragically, you had a choice,
and you took the terminal route.

MENOPAUSAL

What on earth is happening here?
I've always lived a life beyond fear,
Yet now I've become a gibbering wreck
Whose confidence just hit the deck.

I loved outrageously flirting with men
Until a month ago and then
I suddenly felt self-conscious and shy
So lost the courage to even try.

I'm up, I'm down, my head's in a spin.
Every night I just want to stay in
And watch a movie - unthinkable for me,
This party girl who loved to feel free.

My cycle that was so automatic
Has now become annoyingly erratic,
And these hot flushes without a doubt
Are dragging me down and wearing me out.

The makeup I've always loved to wear
Now drives me to the depths of despair.
It settles into those wrinkles I see
On the woman in the mirror who's older than me.

My skinny jeans no longer fit,
As middle age spread is appearing a bit;
And muscle tone has gone to the wall.
My pride has certainly taken a fall.

I lose my keys. I lock myself out.
I'm going insane without a doubt.
I'm forgetting faces and names of places,
I even got lost at the Sandown races.

I'm beginning to feel unattractive and old -
And very unsexy, if truth be told.
So I skulk in the corner trying to hide.
To be seen, I can no longer abide.

So what is to become of me -
Do you think from this hell I'll ever be free?
It's high time Nature invented a clause
Forbidding the onset of menopause!

 

TYRANNICIDE

At the end
he saw them rush at him, seemingly
from nowhere and assumed
they had come to greet him
in celebration of his latest victory.
But they had no mercy, these turncoats;
no respect for his greatness,
as they stripped and tortured him
publicly.

What madness was this?
Had they forgotten who he was,
all he had done for them?
How he had risked his life
to seize power from a corrupt regime
in order to rebuild their country
brick by social brick
into a force to be reckoned with?
And he did it for them.
Surely they must see
that such independence has it's price:
that contrary views could not be tolerated,
that opposition must be eradicated
by whatever means necessary.
And fear was the only weapon
that was certain to control
a wealthy but unstable nation
like theirs...

But all they could see
were butchered kinsmen:
women, children - anyone
brave enough to challenge
the lies, treachery and broken promises
of a barbaric dictator, who
callously described such slaughter
as justifiable means.
And they'd finally had enough...

'What have I ever done to you?' he cried,
as he lay dying in the sweltering heat.
And a tearful young boy murmured,
'When they murdered my daddy,
you cheered...'
 

THE CHARMER

Oh master of illusion,
Enchanter of women
With starry vision
Needfully driven;

You rule unrivalled
Seduction's arena,
Stealing from others
Sisters, wives, lovers,

By filling their minds
With amorous fables
That override reason
To induce faith's treason.

And you display not the slightest
Shred of remorse
For lives torn apart
Nor each broken heart

That your moonstruck magic
Leaves behind,
When pastures new
Beckon to you:

A pretty face and flaming hair.
Shapely legs - she's the one.
This time for sure
You'll want no more.

Then in the morning
Two lovers awaken
In the golden flow
Of afterglow.

But her perfect body
Deified by night,
Grows mediocre by day
So you hasten away

To find another
Altogether better,
Where you woo and win
Another heart to bin.

Yet still we fall, fall,
God knows why we fall.
But tragically we do
Fall victim to you.

 

MIDNIGHT ON HAYLING BEACH

The stars are thick as pebbles
on the beach tonight.
Below, their reflections dance
through the black void
where night has swallowed the sea.
I could be anywhere -
there is nothing but stars:
a twinkling mass of neural pathways
inside the global brain of Mother Earth.
I am a thought inside her mind tonight,
a concept without form.

As pupils adjust to darkness, I see
something where the horizon should be:
bright pretty colours - some mobile.
Is she imagining a purpose for me?
Pathways are lighting up, as stars combine
with Isle of Wight illuminations.
Legend becoming real?
Have I lived before on the Dragon's Isle?
Am I apprenticed to Merlyn
in a parallel World?
I am embryonic in time.

Through the gentle lapping of ocean waves
Her kismet lullaby calls.
Is She singing me into madness divine:
giving birth to a higher me?
Am I born on those flaming torches
of passing pleasure craft
that slices through the fireflies
on a comet of orange-red?
For in it's wake, Picasso-ish, I see
transient fragments of our Lady's face
merging into mine.

My broken Soul is becoming whole
in the presence of Her healing love,
as stars reform to take their place
in the glyph of Her bequest.
These Heavens above are Her alphabet,
Her language the seascape below:
and Her hopes and dreams
manifesting through us
are shaping things to come.
So I'm picturing the World's heart
wrapped in arms
under Hayling stars tonight.



Photo: courtesy of Google Images