…AwTwiHi-Ho (I) The Awakening, The Twilight & The hidden.

Duel- tacticionary.

Quite the perplexing plexi-glass, sweat ’til you can bottle it.

In the crampest cracks of temperate max, I’ve surely just forgotten about it.

These starts and crosses, The gleam and shine, The zebra crossing, The thin blue line.

The seven awaken, the twilight dwindles and burns. But the controls of the hidden

Takes four-five to learn.

I’ve stolen a fragment. Well Buckaroo. Inside the music of the well.

There’s fuck-all else to-do.

I’m so pecé, it’s still good.
Alas, sweet read. I dig your hood.


…The Attic (I) Thoughts about Animal farm…

You’re so chatty, it’s unbearable.
There aren’t words, but you’ll find them eventually.

From there it’s a bit of a blur really.
You’re constant– you’ve always sort ofbeen around.

Didn’t see where you’d come from, or where you’ve gotten to.
Always kind of meant to, just never quite got around to it.

You’re blinding, it’s annoying, actually.
You’ve always moved with colours following your fluidity, and whatnot.

My, that got away from me for a second there. Geez.
What was I saying again? Wait, no. Don’t help me!

You’re tending your wounds, and I was never really conscripted.
It urks me some, but what doesn’t.

If I were to sum you up in three words,
Those words would be silent, but meaningful.

Softly, softly.
I wonder what you’d say.

…Flights of fantasy (X) Mid-morning tea party…


Bewildering eyes- steam arises.
Wild light on the rise- warmth surprises.

Marking the hour- thirst as companion.
Bidden by powers- careless abandon.

Suppressed and steaming ‘neath shine and gleam
and oh, to steam – to steam — to steam!

Unsheathed, unwieldly off the banner of a dream.

To sweeten, in sorrow, pressed tight ‘gainst the veil.
What light, what power still cannot fail.
Leaping- to lark limb by stirring limb.
Stirred lightly and pressed deep within.

And so our day begins. A captured light prevalent.

Set sail by winds what rise to win.

Present at christening – naming it thusly
An ode to the thirsty.

...we do but little that we might endure

…Dear Mr. Cameron (I) One exhausted nurse in Liverpool…

Dear Mr Cameron,

I feel like I owe you an apology.

Due to a sick feeling in my stomach since the election results got read out I have spent the last few days frantically despairingly voicing my fears for our country’s future. When I saw the scenes on the TV from London yesterday, I felt worse. Then when an (almost as outspoken as me) old school friend suggested that all negative press about the election had in-part led to those acts… Well, I almost couldn’t bear it.

My life is a mantra.
I postulate to everyone whom I come into contact with that we should harm none lest karma come to visit us with itsrule of three. Had I, an advocate of free speech, healthy debate and a discourager of violence of any kind supported this in some way? Were my hands red with the spray paint that defaced that monument? ...Mr Cameron, I was devastated.

Upon reflection.
Given that I didn’t formulate, plan or implement any of what occurred yesterday Hell, I didn’t even know it was happening until Facebook told me
I think its clear that no, my hands are clean. But still, what has led to this week?
— Why has an election result, which in the past would have been a passing interest and possible cup of tea conversation, sunk me into a perpetual feeling of impending doom? After some soulsearching I realised something, that this sinking feeling is not new. I just hadn’t realised it before.
See David, can I call you David?

I am really, really tired.

I am tired... Of there not being enough local council funding for my son to attend an ASD school. I am tired... of being told there’s no space for him and thus nothing can be done. I am tired... Of meeting people with difficulties the most vulnerable in society taking cuts to the budgets said to be in place to support their welfare.

How do I help them to understand what is happening?

I am tired
Of children’s safeguarding cuts. Of knowing that children are being left in precarious situations none supportive to their development or wellbeing because the budget for care services have been squeezed... As has that which pays for the socialworkers to care for them. I am tired of knowing that when these children become adolescents they will likely have some sort of emotional dysregulation as a result of their experience of the mental health services available to them, that are being budgeted too. I am tired of seeing children’s centresset up to help support the parents of our future closing because they can’t afford to be open.

And the libraries

And the leisure centres..

I am tired of old people laying on the floor; waiting for ambulances; the staff of whom cannot keep up with the demand without the resources to meet it. People who are old and who have broken their hips say, a medical medium priority, but surely a moral priority oneOf knowing that if my Grandparents need an ambulance there will have to be a wait because the service in their town no longer exists. The service is 6 miles away in the nearest city.

I am tired of the photos of firemen – in my opinion the bravest men we have (aside from our soldiers) crying because their stations have closed.

I am sick of good, hard working and dedicated professionals leaving your NHS because they no longer have faith that they can provide a decent service. Of our nurses being torn to shreds in the press, with no recognition that they are under staffed; over worked & disillusioned.

Your staff are travelling outside of our country because they can’t get jobs! Why are we giving other people the benefit of the best trained professionals in the world!? 

I am tired of knowing that the psychiatric inpatient beds have been closed because the trusts can’t afford to keep them open. I am tired of people who are acutely unwell with a severe and enduring mental illness waiting for inpatient beds that are like gold dust.
The market will provide you may remember ‘she’ said, but David, the market isn’t providing for them. The market won’t provide for people they think are too expensive, and they aren’t your NHS, they have the right to refuse. That is why the more profitable addiction services are no longer ours; but the older people’s mental health wards are, and without doubt, always will be

I am tired of worrying that if I needed a policeman; I am probably going to have to wait for days because their service is just about meeting the emergencies. I think the police are probably tired too.

I am tired of worrying about how my Nan will pay for her extra bedroom, because she’s 85 now and her husband, my Granddad is dead. We can’t brick up a bedroom. Or what if she needs a care home? Will we allow this to be standard because she has no money, or will we try to make sure we get her a good place and get a top up?

So you see all these things kind of exploded in my mind in the last 72 hours
But still, I do not support getting you out That is not to me, very British.

What I do support is your people taking every opportunity they have to tell you how they feel about their grandparents their children.
The ideas that they have for improvementsabout economising and using the community spirit I have always been proud of.

I hope that you will accept my apology...

I also hope that you will listen to what your people have to say.

So that I can start to sleep this off.
Yours most respectfully,

One exhausted nurse in Liverpool

…Flights of Fantasy (IX) Your loss…

first light

From the ground I’m all ears
Or so it appearstread softly
Legs stand ready in defence
Surrender what is found

The sound surrounds
What might contend at rest
tends to fend as best it can
Contended, it too must end

Ears and soil, and Earth
Birthing anew through sinew & sound
Quick to root, quick to ground
Until it is out like a light

In absence

Guard your marks
Gild your transgression
Release your relative ease
Keep your possessions

Sample your prerogative
Speak all of your mind
Pad out your prognosis
Its your patent I wont find

Nowhere gets lonely  — And so we must police it
You’re not one when I’m only — That as tandem, we must piece it

I’m at a loss, and so I release it

…Flights of Fantasy (VIII) Everything must go…

No returns

Your divinity is lived-in
There’s a mark upon serenity.
The fire-sale can begin
Anything but the vanity table.

Conscience Make an offer
Loyalty, if you can find it
Goes with all your clobber
Especially with patience to wind it up...

I don’t know how the mug got in there…
That’s not for sale.

well-being’s a bargain.
Intention’s seen better days.
The bric-a-brac, like hope and that…
left over from my convention days

Few scuffs around the edges, mind.
The virtues could use a varnish.
You’ll find the peace is missing some.
The sanctity’s all tarnished.

Anything can be good with garnish — give it time.

…The words turn about the axis (XVIII) Beneath you, it devours…

Patchwork      Be kind –           Don’t fret
In print              Rewind…           We’ll muse
I shirk              Hour-long;        As set
& Sprint           Man climbed       Can’t lose

To rhyme    Don’t match        In jest          Meet me
Just so         cut loose             Must stop       Half-way
All mind      words catch       real zest       Feel free
Must go       Abuse               …bus stop.       Let’s play.

word up.
To let

I’ve hit a wall, I can’t prevail.
There’s a blockage where the words should be.
Kind of hurts.

Hard to make out from this distance.
At the nose.
A tidy problem.

I’m praying for a long sentence.
I just can’t find the words.
Kind of hurts.

It all just bleeds together somehow.
I don’t know how.
To stop.

…why wont you stop me?

The greater tragedy Was that I let you<Let Me> forget you