STREETWALKER

City lights. Late evening.
Anonymous streets dotted
With hidey-hole doorways -
Ideal pick-up places.

Kerb crawler slows. Warm car.
Slow drive to motel room.
No trace of wife here,
No scent of girlfriend.

Discarding layers, down to
Black lace stockings and stiletto heels.
You hear him gasp
At the sight of thighs

Tailor made for seduction.
Teasing comes first,
Before touch - you're expert
In what men need.

So you work your magic
With hands, lips, finally body -
Until his face
Contorts with rapture.

And you cry out, your
Timing perfect
For the role you're playing:
It's essential to make him believe

You feel it too -
That he's Don Juan
In your eyes, because
At home he's nothing special.

Gratified, he rewards you well.
You dress in silence,
Then re-apply your lipstick
And step into the night...

PATTERNS

Patterns -
Endless possibilities
Of escapism.

Carpets, curtains,
Wood grain - anything
Patterned...

A shift
In my reality.
Aah...amazing characters

With friendly faces
Smiling at me,
Embedded

In varied
Art forms. They
Have been

My saviours
Since childhood:
My therapists...



White net curtain:
I see
In delicate leaves

A femme fatale -
Large eyes
And pouting lips.

'I could teach
You a thing
Or two,' she whispers

Through falling rain,
'About sensuality
And self-worth -

About how
Not to let
Men treat you!'



Walnut door:
A wise
Tawny Owl

Peers out -
A sagacious being
Who guides me safely

Through life's
Triumphs and pitfalls,
Transforming

Feelings of inner doubt
Into certainty
And optimism.



Wilton rug:
Two Victorian boys
And a little girl

In poke bonnet.
Their open innocence
Is irresistible.

'Come and play!'
They call to me, hands
Reaching out

Of red and blue
Woven strands.
'Stop taking

Life so seriously!
It was never meant
To be that way.'

And I'm pulled
Into their
Symmetrical world,

Where they teach
Me to play
As I've never played before -

Until I clearly see
The patterns
Running through my life.

Whether this is imagination,
Wish-projection
Or real no longer matters;

For all seriousness
Is lifted
From a burdened heart.

Options are infinite here,
In these spaces
Between the fibres.

Am I flower,
Leaf, vine,
Red berry?

Or am I none of these -
Just a poet
Teetering on the brink of insanity?

 

TIME

Time, why are you so often cruel?
You deny opportunity,
Alternative past.
I could have lived a different life:
Could have lived it in his sight.

Time, I have reason to despise you.
You took him before I had enough of you
To reach into his era,
To grow up by his side.
Instead I've had to manage here

Without his warmth, his conversation:
Where his torture lies in my pre-existance,
Where pock-marked has grown
Beautiful again in French sunshine
And chlorophyll's reclamation.

In Gallic tongue, along the Somme
They speak of happy things now -
Are oblivious to the dark shadows
That lurk in your wake, where his agonies
Are just a nightmare away.

And I have often dreamt them too:
Have felt his heart pounding
Inside my ribcage - have glimpsed
Such horrors and heard their sounds
As insanity engulfed us both.

But when I open my eyes
I find myself alone beside him.
We co-exist, yet you keep him further from me
Than a distant galaxy:
As intangible as early morning mist.

And how you revel in your power.
You've divided our life paths:
Decided I was post-apocalypse bound.
So I grew up thinking like an empress -
That the terrors could never touch me

But I was wrong, wasn't I?
His will was stronger than you ever imagined,
And he overrode your arbitrary laws
To call to me from beyond the grave.
Your flimsy barriers crumbled then

And I awoke in purgatory,
Where my heart bled
With the sorrow of his hopelessness.
But for you, I might have re-written his story,
And perhaps spared us both

An eternity of hell and brimstone:
The vengeance of a heartless God -
The one he prayed to every night.
A deaf God, savage and malign;
Initiator of the holy wars.

And you stand there in the wings, Time,
As I see you in my mind's eye;
Laughing at the faithful who pray
To you in this one of your many disguises -
For you are the Almighty impostor.

Births, deaths and catastrophes -
All seem to be your call.
Who or what matters not to you,
Only when: Had I been born a year ago
I wouldn't be writing this now.

But you see, Time, I've cracked the code
Of your web of lies, your deceit.
This reality is just one of many,
And all it takes is a minor shift
In awareness to arrive at truth.

And he is my truth outside of you.
Ha! Did you really believe you could hold him
In that mouldering earth with tombstone above,
While I languished in an epoch
He would never reach?

Fool! The human Spirit is indomitable.
From his dust has risen a determination
Unchecked by mortality: an impulse that existed
Before your conception, when all things
Were one, and there was no separation.

Time, we're not the ones deceived.
It appears we've cheated you.
He is my yesterday...I am his tomorrow...
We are today.
And your empire has just imploded!

TUVOK

(Photo courtesy of Paramount Pictures)

 

 

 

What were his thoughts as the Borg attacked

From beyond the nebula out in deep space?

Was he thinking of his wife back home on Vulcan?

Or was he focused on the Academy's protocol strict

As Voyager's security hit red-alert?

 

Aware the crew faced assimilation,

Did he experience fear as those missiles rained down

Reducing their shield with each strike on the hull?

No. He was calmly considering manoeuvres

While the ship lurched and jerked, her electrics on fire.

 

He opened a channel for captain Janeway

To negotiate safe passage through Borg Space, but

The cyberman up there on the screen stood firm:

'You will be assimilated - resistance is futile,'

He just kept repeating. So the outcome looked bleak.

 

'Power weapons!' shouted Janeway, her patience exhausted;

Then 'FIRE!' and Tuvok immediately complied.

But their missile struck it's target with little effect:

The cube was untouched except for a graze,

Unlike Voyager whose engineering had damage sustained.

 

'Shields down to ten percent!' yelled Harry Kim,

As damage increased hit after hit.

More and more Cubes were closing around them.

'Increase weapons to maximum power!' screamed Janeway,

Now obviously alarmed for herself and her crew.

 

'Captain, may I make a suggestion?' asked Tuvok

In his characteristic monotone way.

'If you beam me on board their leading Cube,

I'll apply a mind-meld - the task would be simple

For a logical mind as unfazed as mine.'

 

With no time for debate, she reluctantly agreed

And notified Transporter Room Two.

In less than ten minutes the battle was over:

With a single Drone disarmed, the Collective shut down.

All Cubes ceased firing, their crews deep in stasis.

 

Back on board Voyager, Janeway wasted no time.

'Get us out of here, Mr. Paris - warp eight,' she cried.

And everyone cheered and hailed Tuvok a hero.

But not a hint of emotion crossed that impassive face,

Save the raising of an eyebrow, as they shot away through space. 

|HOUSE HUNTING

What lies behind this white front door?
Is it pristine clean, lived-in, in need of refurbishment?

I'm sure it is unique, is exactly what I'm looking for.
As I insert key in lock, I sense it's interior thinking:

Is this the one I'm destined for:
This emotional woman, lacking in stature with too much hair?

And I hesitate, key still in lock.
Is it aware I'm reading it's thoughts?

Could bricks and mortar be my Soulmate?
Get a grip on reality!

But it's aura reaches out, it seems to want me.
And I so want to be wanted by this house.

If I were, I wouldn't mind a bit of dust to clear,
Or a chipped worktop to repair here and there.

My present home is slowly destroying me with toxic memory,
Whereas here, these leaded windows shimmer with hope's promise.

I can picture satin curtains billowing in the breeze,
Ivory, like my ill-fated wedding dress.

And my effigy of Merlyn beside the door.
You see, this house is already almost mine.

So why can I not turn this key?
Have I mistaken wishful thinking for genuine intuition?

That inside, it is mute, hollow, soulless?
At this rate, I'll be standing on this doorstep forever,

Trying to read my future in the woodgrain patterns
Beneath white paint - such a beautiful door!

I  know why you won't let me in -
You are as afraid as I am!

Afraid I'll tear out your insides,
Change you into something you never wanted to be:

Fill you to capacity with rowdy children, maybe dogs and cats too.
Have no fear, I seek only sanctury inside you.

I will come to you quietly.
Any small changes will be sympathetic, aesthetic.

No crashing, bashing, drilling or banging.
Trust me, I'll keep you much as you are.

Oh if only you knew how this threshold tortures me,
While knowledge of within is already yours.

Humbly, humbly I beg you,
Soothe my anxious mind with certainty

Of our future paths' compatibility.
You are Sun-blessed this morning - surely that

Is your way of smiling - of conveying acceptance of me?
Can you not try to speak my language?

Why must you tease me like this?
There is just one thing I want, and only you can supply it.

It is the absense of voices from the past
That constantly taunt and haunt me from the dead-centre

Of cold walls that witnessed love and lives perish
And fade into history, year after tragic year.

And I have reached breaking point - am
Stress-driven. Destination: premature death.

So please, please Sacred Mother, grant me the courage
To turn this key?

Key clicks the lock open.
For a moment, I hesitate; heart pounding, mouth dry.

The door swings open...
Sun shining through the window

Projects a homely lattice pattern across the hall floor
And I step into my future.

 

A WALK IN WINTER

I'm blending into the sky. It's insipid grey
Infuses hands and face with cold lifelessness.
Barely a shade darker, the bony fingers of skeletal trees
Clutch at my coat sleeves like cadavers, begging
For life-force to clothe again their naked forms
In summer green. Oh I swear these vampiric beings
Would steal mine, should exhaustion slow my steps
And lull me into the mental absence of half-sleep.
So I push onwards...

Stumbling over hoof prints fossilised in frozen mud.
Last autumn's leaves, now decomposing,
Cling to my boots releasing the distinctive odour
Of damp mould.
Everything is slowly decaying here in nature's graveyard,
Where even mighty ferns lie shrivelled and impotent as death.
Is mine the only life in this forsaken wood?
As if in answer to my unspoken question,
The Sun slips over the edge of a cloud bank
Casting my shadow across a tiny snowdrop -
So white and vibrant
Against the endless brown.

THE CURSE OF BEACHY HEAD

 

 

All around her the biting wind howled,

carrying fragmented echoes

of children's voices: happy laughter

as they chased each other - sometimes

perilously close to the lethal cliff edge,

where tall reed-like grasses bowed and rippled

as if paying homage to some ancient God;

all powerful...and merciless.

 

 "Afternoon."

Startled, she spun around to see

a man walking his dog.

Probably hurrying home to his contented wife

and happy home she thought enviously,

as she continued to climb the steep path

to it's highest point.

Once there she stood poised on the ridge

and watched the winter sun

striking the waves far below, like

watery lightening zig-zagging across

it's heaving surface.

 

Numb with despair and self-loathing,

she felt less than nothing: would much rather

be that discarded beer can on the path

than what she was -

his living, breathing punch bag;

bruised and abused, unloved, unwanted and

devoid of hope.

At least that can would never suffer

this endless pain.

 

Nowhere to hide here, the wind

seemed to whisper in her ear.

And her broken heart began to race,

beating it's now familiar tattoo:

Set me free. Set me free. Set me free.

Then a vortex of air enclosed her,

tugging her hair skywards as the sea

over two hundred metres below

formed itself into steps leading downwards.

Led Zeppelin's  "Stairway to Heaven"

began playing inside her head.

But, does the wind blow in Heaven?

she wondered.

Suddenly a gull appeared.

It hovered directly in front of her face

and the Angel opened her wings.

A peculiar calm washed over her

as she stepped off the cliff edge

and into that Angel's loving embrace...

 

Far below, a beer can rode up onto the shore

with the tide and came to rest

amongst the pebbles.

It's crushed and battered form

glistening in the healing rays of the Sun

made it appear content,

at peace.

 

And the gulls' mournful cries

announced the latest victim

of the curse of Beachy Head.