Tuesday, July 21, 2009

I've been so terrible...

I've not written in you for months! How can you for give me? Oh you're inanimate? something of a cyber-conscience? Right you are then. All's forgiven.

I know I've neglected my writing, I'm back in the saddle and settling to a nice gallop with my poetry, but I'm afraid my novel, or rather it's voice, Jess's voice, has bolted out the stable door. I can't see to place her anymore. I am unable to describe the world she lives in as if it were my own, I can't even make her meet the love of her life without it sounding trite and like it came from the mouth of a 16 year old. Yes is 27, she's a strong confident woman, I'm meant to be something like her and yet I find the world without her.

I need her fire back, her scolding looks to her brother, the longing for the past, a father that understands more than sudoku and Matey bubble bath.

Where, oh, where to find her?

Monday, April 07, 2008


Larkin once said Days are where we live, but to me it's never been that simple. It's who I'm living with be that physically or in my mind. It's who I want to be with. I guess, and who I am. I've been thinking a lot about Blake's clod and pebble over the past year, I think finally I understand it, and how I never want to be a pebble. But anyway.


I guess the Jack days lasted longer than they should have; lasted longer than Jack, that’s for sure. They ran into the John days, right past the Kris days, the day of Kev and Shaun and they ended here at the Olivia days. Which have also become the Brunette days. The year of Blonde is over, indelibly blotted out by two bottles of rich velvet brown.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Running Away.

In my poetry class on Wednesday, after discussing my poem, which has since become two poems about my father and the man who raised him, I've thought a lot about running away.

On Wednesday we mentioned suitcases, only two came to mind. My sister's suitcase that graces our hallway once in a while and the suitcase that belongs to my mother, battered and broken in the attic. Our Dressing up box of sorts that if I ever wanted to run away with, I wanted to have that by my side, not practicle, I could fit in it, it's that large. But beautiful and poetic none the less.

On Tuesday I ran away from a conflict, just thought it easier to not be involved. Selfish, I know. But after Kris, and after John, I just don't have the energy. Tell me where I stand andI'll most probably stand there but in the in between, I'm going to be somewhere else. I've taken to just walking away when life throws a curve ball and it frightens me. I used to fight. Guess I'm growing up?

And tonight, Thursday, or is it Friday? I'm running away from a funeral. It's gone 4am, I have to leave for Bradford in less than five hours. My alarm will go off in just over three. But Just Like Christmas happens faster if you go to bed early, it can't be the ay of his funeral if I don't go to sleep.

One of these days, I'll remember how to turn around and fight.

One of these days, I'll feel like myself.

One of these days, I'll feel like he made me, all on my own.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

The words I didn't show you.

It was just my luck, just my style, to find comfort, distraction in a man. My usual kind, an impossible man. A man with which there is no future, no past just a path of pineneedles to a cliffedge of disapointment.

It's never a man with no strings. Always a boy trying to breakfree from his puppet strings. I do not wish to spend my life being someone else's knife. I was told I was worth more than that.

On days like this, it's hard to believe. Maybe when fairytales have lost their appeal, maybe when this hopeless romantic poet packs up her pens and her books, will a prince on a noble steed find her, and make her believe again.

Back from the dead, via death...

My grandfather, who is not my grandfather died on friday. I said goodbye to him on Wednesday, I cried and tried to not be afraid for him and of him. I cried then, I spent the next days awaiting the call, the conversation where my parents wouldn't tell me xplicitly but I would know. That conversation didn't come. On saturday when I came home from my trip to Wales with uni, the fateful words. "Have you spoken to your father?" No came the reply and I knew. "I take it Harry passed away." My mother confirmed my fear and I went to the petshop. I felt heartbroken, but carried on.

The world didn't stop. Why the fuck didn't the world stop? I man I loved died. I'll never see him again, he'll never see the world I'm gorwing up into. His world should have stopped with him.

The first death in a long time and I have no anger towards God, I understand, but I hate the world for not crying with me on Wednesday, for not walking with me to the petshop to keep a hamster a live so much longer than it should ever have while a man with a life force that kept my entire family alive is gone.

Friday, February 02, 2007

dreaming myself insane...

What truth is there in dreams?
If I dream of an ex, a man I devoted a large potion of my young life to, what does it mean? Am I missing my youthful frivolity, a time before grief, or him? What about my current lover, if my subconscious creates the end, is it soon to come? Are my dreams a warning to get out before emotions get involved and I get hurt?
A thousand and one books are out there to decipher my psyche, but none for my heart. None to explicitly tell me where to find the comfort, love and care I so need. I've been alone so long I've forgotten how to find a lover, a friend. What happened in the past three years? What do men see that they didn't when I was seventeen?

I'm unapproachable now, even in dreams.

Friday, January 26, 2007

Library flirtations 2

I'm not sure how I got here, I was crying and by the time I'd stopped I was here, in your arms in this house we used to share. So many times on the way home I'd thought about returning here to you, to our home and all our belongings, but I never let myself slip. Tonight I got to thinking when I was playing Cinderella under the sink, about you and I and "the good old days" that never really existed. When I would revise in the library and you would pretend to help me find reference books. I remember fondly the time you kissed me in my favourite place, my back against the wall, legs apart slightly, at your mercy. You planted a deep, soft kiss on my lips between Chaucer and Dickens. We were so happen then, you and I.


Bind us together Lord,
Bind us together with cords
that cannot be broken.

Bind us together Lord,
Bind us together
Bind us together with Love.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Goats Vs Sheep

For the most part sheep follow blindly. They’re notorious for it. This is how the world sees sheep; it is also how the world sees Christians. I have never thought I followed anything without question, especially not something as important as religion. It’s not my nature, or so I thought. From the very first point I realised I had a connection with the Father and Son it has never wavered. I’ve had frustrations and arguments with Christ but my love has never been in question. Think of the person you have loved most in your life, mine is painfully obvious, and he will always be second to God, but never the less I’ll continue. As much as I loved him, as much as I still do, I fought with him and at times I hated him. I hated myself for loving him for not being able to break away but ultimately I always came back to him, I always fell back into his love. Now to me, the fact we fought and returned to each other, although now broken up, meant our love was all the stronger. We had to battle to be together, against parents, society and we but we won so many more times than we lost; the same is true of my relationship with Christ. I may not be the ideal Christian, but my heart is there, when faced with adversity my first thought it of the church; of that warmth in the House of God, the basking glow of his glory. A very dear friend of mine died nearly a week ago; he was a beautiful man who led an extraordinary life. He gave and gave and took none for himself. His darling children were a pleasure to entertain and his wife a lasting companion. But now we are all without him, and before it had even sunk in, I was reaching for my rosary. (I’m Church of England not Roman Catholic, but I’ll explain my Rosary another time) I had not really broken down until I went to the Anglican Cathedral, a place of so much solace for me. I wept, sobs uncontrolled and echoing, how could Christ who I loved so dearly have taken someone so precious from me, and all others I hold close to me? It took a while to understand once again that God moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform and it is not my place to question them, but I still loved him, despite it all. I loved God that’s why it hurt to so much.

So back to the original point, I believe I’m a black sheep.