Tuesday, 4 December 2012

May I show you someone lovely?

This gentleman is my very special friend, Stephen.

After fifty years of wishing for turquoise hair...

Monday, 3 December 2012

It is Stupid 'o Clock in the morning, and I am Blogging on my phone.

Well... It has been a tough month. My ex-partner Dave died at the start of November.

I am somewhat emotionally and mentally wobbly at times, but that is okay.

I am enjoying living in Dorset, and I look forward to exploring more when warmer weather arrives.

It is very pleasant to live only a short bus journey or cycle-ride from the coast.

One of my favourite places, Lulworth, is nearby, and that is where Dave's ashes will be sprinkled. He and I had an eerie connection to that place.

Hmm... Nearly ten past five... Still playing with this phone. Ahhh - I sense future poems... I can write them straight to the blog, from many places... Must get off phone. Phone eats Sleep...

I resisted getting one like this... Until now.

Here's a quick ditty as a goodnight gift.

Don't put fireworks in your bum,
Nor bottles, sticks or knives,
They simply don't belong there,
And it might just save your life.


Tuesday, 6 November 2012

"Is It Dark In Here?"

"Is It Dark In Here?"

I speak of "I" as if I knew who that was, 
she wears mismatched garments, 
has an implacable accent, 
delights in the ludicrous 
and cries at her follies. 

Sometimes she's all I know, 
sometimes I know her not, 
she shocks and repels me, 
drives me to other identities, 
yet inescapable as my body's shadow - 
or is it hers? 

I've abused her, hated her, 
loved her, needed her, 
robbed, hurt and confused her, 
or by her, perhaps? 

A channelling scribe for a tantrum-mad child, 
a Hymnal composer to the Goddess within - 
Teach me, O Selfhood, 
who is it that does these things? 
It surely is the same human woman 
that acquires drunkards' bruises, 
and listens to callusing pen-hand sing. 

So often, her thoughts are clich├ęd, but true, 
too rarely she studies in silence. 
The ten thousand "I"s are awed, 
snapped open, destroyed and recognised, 
inside the darkness, the stillness, we shall find. 
If my soul indeed had eyelids, 
would they close to the light that blinds?

(2nd Oct 2012)

"Future Harvests"

"Future Harvests"

I seek forever, understanding, 
why do I fix so upon the Doomed? 
So much beauty abounds, surrounds, all around, 
yet the mind turns to the sick, sad and dying. 

I wish this were stating a heart of compassion, 
it is macabre fascination - the crushed gentle pigeon 
to be swallowed by seagulls, the maggots that cleanse 
crows' skulls with such love. 

Prodding the guts of my soul with a stick, 
I find their function, responses, purpose, perhaps. 
Brother Donkey, Sister Ass, My Golem, My Zombie, 
dissected to exposition, exploded diagram of 
descriptions, prescriptions, and stuff.

Can a bear of little brain be 
the same after the guts are re-sewn? 

I remember when these broad fields 
were fields as far as I'd see, 
and now re-sown, broad-cast seeded, 
they have become other - rotated crops to keep good health, 
fine practice to keep, indeed, but moment by moment, 
or as Aeons fly by, though the land is eternal, 
every crop, to reap, must die. 

Gather oats for Sister Ass, lest it be 
less preparation than is needful. 
Stewardhood may be the one true duty.

(2nd Oct 2012)

"Fear of Consumption"

"Fear of Consumption"

Studied in Sleepiness, Monkey-Mind A-wandering, 
Tea-Ceremony of my cigarette teaches one thing, 
Two things, of dependence and focus. 
Flick my failing pen, pick anew.

Foolish drunken monkey, awaken! 
Re-ignite. New pen, new day, 
It's dawn behind those curtains.

It is of use to pray, to aim and align to something better, 
Wonder why I went astray, was it anyone's fault? 

Some things simply happen - I wish for things to happen simply.
Better to be honest and simple than a complex, talented liar, 
Better to never know how it tastes to sin 
Than to be sick with foul aftertaste evermore. 

Are we made of Regrets? 
Founded 'pon Hope? 
Who Knows? Who Knows...? 
I certainly don't. 

One Image is Eternal, Mother in Gown 
and Crown and Shrouds of Shade, 
We beg her; Please Love Me - 
Too proud to admit to the pain, 
Too afraid to enter the dark CaveMouth 
Entering on Her terrain -

She Is The Tiger, 
She Will Eat Us.

(2nd Oct 2012)

Monday, 10 September 2012

"Darkness Grasping"

This new face is homely, loving and kind, 
You're Unheimlich, un-nerving, 
I'd choke on anything spoken now. 
We drank last together 
In the same way we slept, 
Just placement and timing made us 
Breathe together, a few moments ~ 
Stolen pictures gazed upon brought half-nightmares again, 
A review of performance, a last twinge of pain, 
Merely discomfitous, a prick from my pillow, 
Your claws enter in me, a hand in the dark 
Took the pain of it away. 
Even dreaming, shared presence is uncomfortable, 
Now I'm certain this isn't your fault, 
You'd rather burn eternally than live in my mind, escapeless. 
I'd rather lose my head to the sword
than lose my reason again in this life. 
Do I hunt you in my dreams? Not at all - 
Just watching - even there, I dare not touch, 
Just observe, and not pursue. 
I will work all this out without an inch of assistance, 
You won't give a barleycorn, I won't give you a mile, 
Won't give you any other things drawn from my path's unfolding, 
Will give the gift of silence, given with a smile.
It's his hand that leads me out of our darkness.
Promises, promises, we kept all but one, 
I promised I would worship you, you were my stars and sun, 
You swore we'd always be friends, that promise is undone, 
My sun has set, the stars fell down, into the stormy sea, 
And it's a healing to my heartsickness to find that I can 
Be without you as my staff I heavy-leant upon,
I'm still, and blessed by moonlight, 
That arose once you had gone. 
I must recall, I don't need your answers,
I don't want to fall into those trances, 
where servitude to you, Dark Elf-Lord,
seems a pleasurable punishment, my stinging reward. 
I wish to walk with meadow-flowers, not drown myself in wine, 
And this is my lot, the love I've got, with eyes and hair so fine, 
A better match than we could have been. 
I hope you're happy for me, but it's hard
to be happy for a man bound in chains, 
Hard to accept your chosen fate, there is no other way about it, 
I doubt we'll speak again, so I spill thousands more
unheeded words, with affection, from my pen. 
I hope you are as happy as I am, I'll trust the Gods to know, 
For where-ever it is that you are, that's where I cannot go.

(8th September 2012)

"Awkward Scrote"

You really were a mis'rable bastard,
not even got half of your own teeth, 
blame another for the problem,
as if it's not solvable by your own hand. 
The sweat of your brow is sour, if it runs at all, 
the sweetness is gone, yet you suck the dry tit, no care 
as Nourisher bleeds, cries pain, begs mercy - 
The greedy child's still wanting 
proof that he's adored - well, must have got mastitis, 
all this love has turned to pus, 
little vampire, I once was willing, now I do as I must.

Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 
Strip my own breast, strip down a sick mess, 
Strip out of my memory the cause of my fear, 
Strip back my mad behaviour to its wholly truthful core.

(18th August 2012)

"Does It For Me"

How'd ye like to be anointed King of Dorset?
Giant soul walks the land in mortal form.

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

I'll crown you with gold and barley, 
Ring your hands with silver and silk.
How's the dream for the future?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Mister, does it give you pleasure, 
By the pint, buy the pint? 
Master does it thrill you as it does me, 
pure delight, pure delight? 

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Does it make the Earth move, 
The whole hillside shifted, 
A chance slip of a hand into another, 
Does it make you as happy as I have become?

Does it do it for you? Does it? 
Yes, it does, does it for me, 
Does it for me. 

Can we stay here forever, as long as 
The barley does grow? 
It does it for me, 
Hope it does it for you, too.

(17th August 2012)

"Melting Snowmen"

Grip the warm woman,
Cold fingers grasp a warm woman, 
Gasp as the warm woman takes you by the hand - 
Know the warm woman, Love her until 
Her heart starts to thaw.

Oh Dear! 
Oh, Dear!
Oh! Dear, 

Loved by her until your body is 
Clawed and ecstatic, erotic-electric, 
Molten magic elastic, 
Melt together, body and spirit as one, 
Full percentage, puzzlement fading, 
Riddles are solved, drip together, 
Filter gently, foment friendship and passion, 
Bugger calculation of folk fashion, 
Thirty-three minutes to curfew, 
Versions never heard, 
Five hundred souls, so many Minds. 
Love is, only what it is, 
Most simple mathematics, 
A satisfied equasion, a 
Pleasured, fulfilled sum of its parts, 
Gestalt happier than before. 
Who was I when I wrote before?

(June 2012)


Sexual molestation of the geriatric population,
seeing inside their weak-strong faith, 
the mirror of my own. 
Their eyes are as those of great lions.

You can be whatever you want to be - 
make the very best, fucking awesome, 
found my name, found my place, 
found my mate for life. 

Old names recycled well, 
garland the well, 
all will be well, 
in a nutshell - 

Got to keep moving forward, 
got to dance with the swell, 
got to sort the fucking shit out, 
or in blood you'll drown - 

Will you ride 'mongst the ship of fools' poor crew, 
land-bound 'gainst rising tide, 
or strike forth, lost and blind, 
in a coracle, terrified, brave? 

Lost in pubs is dreaming, really should 
be scheming on some sacred saint-like theme, 
but sleep is ever temptful, life tires as long as it lasts, 
is a little indulgence harmful, to balance up the past?

Merripen, Jennipen, it's an oscillating battlesnake, 
a dwarf and a bloody great giant, 
a single grain in time makes a field, 
fractal means of a rune, 
recursive, progressive, I know you know this tune.

(June 2012)

Saturday, 25 August 2012


His bird is the Nighting-Gale,
Her tongue in his ear 
mixes his laughter - 
Sing Violin notes, Fiddle and Fret, 
Bow to the Sky's Falling, 
Bow to the String, 
love darts and all a-quiver, 
Silence Guides the tune you play. 
Night is blue and darkly sultry, 
Pine-needles call 
and high stars respond. 
The Goodfellow stands 
and gives Gifts, 
fair trade, a fortune in Kisses, 
and vast wealth in his Embrace. 
Warm mountains roll with 
subtle thunder, 
HoneySuckle's thick in the heat 
of this night, See Truth, 
lit-up all-sudden, 
SongBird eyes 
in Electric Light.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

"Ancients' Nuisance"

Ancients' Nuisance

Velma's in her armchair, 
smugly sitting reading,
Sophia's in the rocking-chair, 
humming as she's knitting.
Morgana the Fairy's gone to pot 
to pour strong coffee for her tea.

Ancients' Nuisance is New Aeon,
Sayin' "Ancients Knew Sans - 
Let me just call my Uncle",
Sained and Sainted, 
Christened and Painted,
Whores rose as Horus, 
the road is smooth to Babylon.

In dawn's golden light 
the Damask rose glistened, 
plucked, pressed and fastened, 
it's dead and cannot grow. 
Ian Newman said it was a bookmark.
Morgana fell, cried for losing 
the dewblush, 
She saw in a dream, of a Garden.

Binnie and Chocky seem to sleep 
like the dead, gripping hands tightly, 
feet twisted together, 
Their dreams are troubled, 
their shoes do not fit; 
grow Klifotic, Necrotic. 
Cut them off to save their toes?
Awaken them to their extremities' needs?

Are the inmates the nurses? 
Are they all radiant angels?
Do they come from outside? 
Do they wait on, do they assist?
Do they write new stories?

There are many apples growing 
from the flowering trees that 
bide well through every season, 
for seasons run not here, 
the twilight of the afterlife 
before reborn they will appear.

Through the gold and green wooden gateways, 
under grey and blue heavenly vaults, 
in our temples bejewelled by silver and gold, 
wearing the pelts of humans as our ritual robes, 
losing our fears, inch by inch.

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Dahm the Bard - Spirit of Albion

Last night I went to Crawley to see Dahm the Bard
( http://www.paganmusic.co.uk/ ) sing a few songs,
and watch the premiere of the film "Spirit of Albion"
( http://www.thespiritofalbionthemovie.com/ )

- a tale of weary souls finding strength by the aid of the Ancient Gods.
It's rather good. The acting and singing are dodgy in places,
but that is more than compensated for by the plot, humour,
intelligent content and emotional grip in this story of a journey
from desolate despair to faith in the experience of living,
and the revelation or reminder that the Holy Powers are eternal.

Here is the trailer for the Film.

Here is the Song, Spirit of Albion. The first time I heard this,
on the 'John Barleycorn Reborn' multi-artist compliation album, I cried my eyes out.

I was crying from one-third of the way through Dahm's
first song, all the way to the end of the film, last night.

What an evening it was!
Nice people, nice music, just... So Nice.

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Holly's Inquest / Signs of the Times

My friend Holly's family and her circle of friends have been awaiting this; the Inquest verdict.
Here is a link to a piece from this week's Salisbury Journal.


In Salisbury, a bunch of plain printed black and white signs have popped up. They say, simply;



Some had handwritten additions.

One said: 'We Know'

and one said: 'Paul Daniels is my Father'

Eris needs more lerts.

Thursday, 26 April 2012


I think I'm a bit better.

Maybe not...

Habbo. You can never leave.

Saturday, 7 April 2012

McShane and O'Ryan

Gods help me, I woke up at Quarter-past-Five this morning, from an... odd dream; ~ I and my husband have been watching a LOT of Lovejoy lately, and the theme-tune keeps playing in our heads, earwormery, so... 

This morning I had the tune playing in my head in my sleep, which triggered a segment of dream that got me so... Um... 'roused, that I woke up... Lovejoy had all his clothes on, but he was making extremely lewd pelvic thrusts.

I'm not sure whether it was the embarrassment of his naughty dancing, or the shock of him unexpectedly having hip-length hair that woke me, but I've been sufficiently disturbed or perturbed, to blog about it.
... and post a few too many illustrative photographs.

I'm just glad to have a new fantasy-man with no painful emotions attached to him, and no insane hope, or worse, plan, to 'meet someone like him' - He's no Severus Snape - but he indulges my visual needs. *sigh, mope*

Maybe he could have been
Severus Snape after all...
Hmm... what was I going to say, apart from the above? I forget... I may remember, soon... It's Ten-to-Eight right now, and I need more caffeine to think with.

I've met my Fantasy Man, and it nearly killed me... They can all stay in the realm of fiction from now on!

Ohhh I remember what I wanted to say - I am NOT pleased by our Dear Majesty's Government's Plot to monitor digital communiques in the UK. Boo, Hiss. 

Cardinal O'Ryan in Scotland suggesting all Christians should wear a Cross at all times, etc... Statements from him and the Pope;  Christians 'should be free to act as their conscience dictates/in accordance with their beliefs' - Oh goody... That's straight-forward enough sanction to the average nutjob to do the nutjobbery well - isn't it nice having someone to tell you what to do? Mummy? Daddy? Teacher? Boss? Pope? The Little Voices that say KILL THE QUEERS? *coughs* How many Christians who feel discriminated against do it unto others? Arrrrrrgh. The little voices tell me, perhaps, Christians marking themselves out might actually be a useful warning. Thanks, Cardinal O'Ryan!

I am not anti-Christian, as such, but I am against religious groups inciting hatred, whatever the religious group is. Humans are quite disappointing, as a species. The potential we have is untapped - we're drugged on the Valium of Television, the Amphetamine of Consumerism, and scared witless by those that want to play Whack-a-Mole with any heads that start to raise.

God, impart Thy strength;
And in strength, power to suffer;
And to suffer for the truth;
And in the truth, all light;
And in light, purity;
And in purity, love;
And in love, God;
And in God, all goodness.

I'm anti-Hate, simply. It's hard when it's our own minds getting all twisted.

It took me an hour to write this drek? Oh well... Mmmm, it must be time to put Lovejoy on again...

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

"Meeting Mr. Charmer Hurts"

Meeting Mr. Charmer Hurts; - 
You SweetHeart, are the Tiger I cannot Hold,
and Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 
with your weapons of eyes and words, 
and your armour against the world.
No one can hurt you if they're swooning, 
hit by your poison-darts, sweetest deathstroke 
your sharpest treason, your claws on bleeding souls.

No one would hurt you, when you're winning, 
warring brave against paper-cut-outs,
fighting hard over chaff and dross.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 
with his weapons of eyes and words, 
his armoury of amour's style and 
armour against the world.

Because no one would hurt you while you think 
you're winning, there's no way you could ever lose.
I think I felt it, when you tore off my butterfly-wings,

I think I felt it when you thought fondly of me, 
I thought so many, stupid things, 
all the things that cannot be...

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 
with his weapons of eyes and words, 
his armoury of amour's style and 
armour against the world.

The Wine that burnt my Gullet,
got me so Drunk, I could not see,
The Sabbat I was attending, was never meant for me,

The Tree with the Poisoned Apples,
grew in a Desecrated Church,
Guzzle my fill of Cider, Birch-whip me, Set me Free...

Fading dreams don't turn to nightmares, 
Dashed hope's shards erode in the caress of sands of time, 
soft water beneath bridges passes, reflects wishing-stars still, in the sky.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts, 
with his weapons of eyes and words, 
his armoury of amour's style and 
armour against the world.

Meeting Mister Charmer Hurts.

Monday, 16 January 2012

Hooray for Pharmacology/Limerence = Pooooooo

Well, last Friday I got my G.P. to increase my dosage
of antidepressants, so far it seems to be doing the trick. 

I've got a lot more motivation for domestic work, 
and I'm less sleepy. Since Thursday, I've been more 
over L.O. than I ever expected. Life's looking good, 
and not just because of the fake high of 'falling in love'. 

Friday, 13 January 2012

"Playing Favourites"

- Playing Favourites -

Will the next one be pretty? 
Or the worst ugly monster? 
Will the next really care, 
if you happened to die?

Would the next give a toss, 
or keep all-night vigils, 
would they serve up, 
for your sustenance, 
their flesh and their soul?

The next might be a demon, 
no sense of affection, 
pure possession desired 
and no remorse for deeds done or planned. 

The next might do anything, living the dream, 
taking what they want, and giving nothing back - 
I know the thoughts of the next one, 
a hypothetical new favourite, 
because I have lived with her inside of me. 

I have lived with a ravening demoness, 
truth is, she's just my desire to be desired, 
but her quarry, her target, her victim... 
should beware his next favourite, 
and the next, and the next...

- NB - This is art, not confession of murder plots, compris vous? My 'Victim' is safe from me. These are not the 'droids you are looking for.