Friday, 17 November 2017

My Nan

My Nan is a thousand smiles, 
a hundred laughter lines, 
The smell of clean washing
And a soft gentle touch

She is the taste of stolen nasturtium petals,
Big squishy cuddles,
Reading out bingo numbers
And a tatty old apron

My nan is streaky bacon and ketchup,
Sitting at her ironing board in front of Emmerdale and Corrie
My first holiday abroad

She is beautiful handwritten letters
Hidden notes telling me she loves me and misses me and I've forgotten something 
Sneaky pocket money
And Corona Cream Soda

She is old jewellery with tales to tell
She is hundreds of old photos (some of fag ash Lil and Dame Edna)
A million memories of before I was born
And stories of when I was little

My Nan will always be forty something in her mind (when she remembers where she put it!)
To me, she is 33, 110 and 9024621
She is Lyon Park Avenue, Wembley
She is my childhood

She brought out the best in me,
She saw the best in me
She wanted the best for me
She saved the best of her for me

Nan is all my best memories
My safe house
My happy place
And the one I'll miss the most

My Nan is the best Nan in the world

I'm a single mum

I'm the one they warn you about,
I'm the one nobody wants
I'm the one nobody wants to be
I'm that stigmatised woman you see on tv 
I'm a single mum

I'm the one that wipes the noses, the bums and the tears
I'm the one that calms them though all their night time fears
I'm the thankless lost cause, the warning story
I'm a single mum

I don't come on a silver platter
I'm no glittering prize
I have baggage, not much time off and a wanker (passive aggressive) cunt for an ex
No wonder all the men say they're only interested in.... (Sex?)
...one thing

Fun? FUN?!!
I don't even think I know what that is anymore
The second I drop my guard or go "off duty" 
Somebody has to knock me down again.

See, I'm the one they warn you about,
I'm the one nobody wants to be
I'm the one nobody wants
Because of my heartbreaking journey around the block
I'm a single mum.

Vacancy: boyfriend.

So yeah, there's a position that needs filling
By a good man, if he's willing
Must have his own teeth and hair 
(but not too much, you know *down there*)

He must like kids and animals too, 
and be prepared to feed my zoo
Which leads me onto his kitchen skills
(Because equality, and I pay my own bills)

Deft of hand with sink and pot 
Not afraid to scrub a greasy spot
And know his way round the spices 
When left at the cooker to his own devices
Can whip up a storm in kitchen and then 
Takes whip and cream into the bedroom again, and again, and again AND again ;)

When we're done and our energy is spent
Knows how to act the perfect gent
But he'll need to stimulate the brain 
If he wants inviting back again

Would ever such a man exist
Who'd look at me and my extensive list
My kids and pets and baggage for twenty
And wrinkles, grey hairs and wobbly bits aplenty

I think I'd pick the easier life
If I was looking for a prospective wife (well, girlfriend but wife rhymes better!)
I'm sure he'll be running for the next train home 
As I head into the sunset alone

I'm pretty sure there's no such guy, 
Who'd even be prepared to try?
So just for now I'll shelve my list
While I hit the bar and go get pissed...

Friday, 15 September 2017

Too Many Ghosts...

When you go up in that loft today you'd better prepare for tears 
When you go up in that loft today 
You'll find ghosts from so many years
The ghost of a kid who knew how to smile
Before divorce overshadowed the child 
Today's the day I'm sorting out the attic

If you're going into the loft today
You'd better prepare for tears
If you go into the loft today
You'll have to face all your fears
The memories there are hard to see
The photographs of a happier me
Today's the day I'm sorting out the attic

If you go into the loft today
You'd better prepare for tears
If you go into the loft today
You'll cry like you've not for years
Your grandad's there and so is your friend,
The loves you lost and fought through to the end
Today's the day I'm sorting out the attic. 

If you go into that loft today
You'd better prepare for tears
If you go into that loft today
Your ghosts will be far too near
The Christmas cards from people long gone
Their photographs where the memories linger on
Today's the day I'm sorting out the attic. 

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

F.W.B.

So you wanna be my F.W.B.?
A "Friend" with benefits
All of the fun and none of the responsibility - well you know what?

THAT'S FINE WITH ME.

I want a toy boy, a boy TOY
Someone to make me moan with joy
And forget all my usual "responsibilities"
I want this, not to share, I want this just for me.

I want you in my bed, not in my head.
To touch and tease and fuck and please

But more than this u will enjoy,
The company of my new toy

Not just in place of masturbation
I want 
• Intelligent conversation (I don't just want good head, I also want good MIND!)

• Reciprocal communication (let's talk about philosophy and religion, music, war and feminism)

• Mutual mastication (let's chew the cud AND the fat together)

Enjoy these moments with me,
Without responsibility 
Let's enjoy the friends bit too
Without me wanting to marry you

BUT...
Why is it that you seem to panic
When outside of the sex dynamic?
I'm an older, wiser woman who
Knows what she wants, more so than you

Why can't you enjoy these other moments with me
Without responsibility?
The benefit of trusted adult company 
Someone who'll never hear me be called 'Mummy'
I want to collect intimate moments to treasure
Not just centred around our carnal pleasure


So when you ask me if I'll be 
your F.W. fucking B.

I don't want you to be - "My Boyfriend"
I've not that long got rid of the ex
But I still want your company 
Just as much as your...

...Body

I will give you a bit of me
Because I refuse not to engage fully
With a basic human connection
Not just your beautifully relentless erection
I want to feel that vulnerability
That comes with you being inside me
Inside my head or my heart I'm not sure
Just don't go running for the door
Because I STILL don't want a relationship with you

I'll keep saying it over and over and over again

"You're fit as fuck and you give *great* head,
Now can we drop this conversation and go back to bed?"

Tuesday, 20 September 2016

It's been a while...

3 years, it's been three whole years since I last posted anything on here but I'm not going to simply write something for the sake of filling a space.

So anyway finally I plucked up the courage to read some of my poems out at a poetry night about a month ago (thanks to the Eddie school of "fuck it, you only live once." RIP old friend). I've sung in bands for over 20 years and I have absolutely no problem whatsoever getting on stage with a microphone in my hand and singing my heart out. However, bearing your soul through the spoken work is an entirely different kettle of fish and to say I was bricking it would be a total understatement. It went much better than I could have imagined, I led with a poem I dedicated to Eddie (Ode to an Angel) that I'd written many years ago but was every bit as relevant then as it was the day I penned it. Then I put something in the middle I wasn't so sure about which was more a segue into my last poem (FWB) than anything else.

I was really nervous about reciting FWB, it came from deeply personal experience and was my first attempt at writing poetry specifically for performance. It went really well and I was utterly stunned to be invited to perform at an event as part of a local art trail.

So I've been wanting to find something to replace my filler and whilst life's been showering me with a myriad of shit sandwiches lately I haven't found anything even remotely interesting to write about it. 

Until today. 2 days before the gig and I've found a beastie to get me riled and vexatious enough to want to unleash my anger onto paper. So many of my friends are suffering with or have suffered with depression. I'm so unbelievably fucking sick of how it takes its grip on us and we can shove pills in our face, meditate the shit out of it or just plain keep so busy that you don't even have time to think but we all know sooner or later we won't be able to run and the bastard will catch up with us again. I'm fucking pissed off that it has taken so many of my friends way too soon, and the fact that I have friends that are still around today that have mental health disorders so strong they're absolutely resolute that they'll die by their own hand one day. 

So I wrote this, I wrote It as the biggest FUCK YOU I could muster to the Black Dog and its jittery feline companion, Anxiety.


IT

I AM ANGRY, I AM MAD
An insidious predator is on the attack
Its sight is true, its reach is wide
But it's invisible to the naked eye

It cares not for colour, class or demeanour. Nor sexuality;
In fact it's absolutely judgement free.
It cares not for time, for love or faith
As it slowly wraps its tendrils round your face

At first you just think you're having a bad day,
But then when the tears just won't go away,
It starts to smile its black-toothed grin
As it slowly robs you of everything

They say that procrastination is the thief of time
But it's nothing like this old enemy of mine
It takes hours, days, husbands and wives, 
Thoughts and words and TOO MANY FUCKING LIVES

It isolates you from me and me from you
Even though it's the same thing we're going through
As its pernicious claws dig right in,
It leeches your soul and The Nothing sets in

I'm SO VERY FUCKING ANGRY, yet so powerless to cure
When, yet again you come knocking at the door
Now I know what to expect, I know who you are
I WON'T LET YOU KILL ME, but you *will* leave a scar.

This is my diatribe for the fallen and the taken too soon
For the exit bags, the hosepipes and the noose in that room
For the rivers of tears and the missed second chances
For the souls that lay crying over destroyed romances

For my friends who have fallen and can't find their feet,
For that mother who needed a hug on the street
And to anyone who suffers, I'm here and I care
I know I can't cure you but shout and I'm there.
--------------
For T.E. - if our love could have saved you, you would have lived forever xxx

Saturday, 21 December 2013

Spoken word, written.

Thank You

HOW CAN THIS BE?
You've put the spring back in my step, the butterflies back in my stomach and Cupid's bow is tingling from nothing more than conversation. 

THIS IS NOT ME?
For so long I've felt numb inside, wanting to hide until the grey clouds disappear from behind these weary eyes. I think dawn is finally breaking, not my heavy heart. 

I imagine you becoming the sugar in my tea, the cream on my scone, the honey on my cashew nut... Not necessary, not needed to complete me. But who declines the cherry on the cake? Make NO MISTAKE, in just 10 days you've made my world a brighter place. 

Thank you x

(Anon)



It's interesting how spoken word poetry reads very differently than it sounds isn't it? I am lucky enough to know a great spoken wordsmith and am also a massive fan of Holly McNish who writes about things I can relate to that are so close to my heart. I've always written poetry for reading, mostly it translates on to being read aloud but not necessarily much I'd ever perform. I'd like to give it a go some day though - seeing Holly and my friend Cherry have audiences agog at the profundity of their rhythmical statements is something I want a piece of.