Archive for March, 2012

Saturday, March 31st, 2012


I know your heart is made of balsa wood and glue

and the words you speak fall

from your mouth like a child’s toys

and you live alone and quietly in a sphere of glass

and the eyes that stare in at you from without

are on fire, and they are kept burning day and night

because people who never sleep

have to find some way to occupy their time.

Friday, March 30th, 2012


I’m pretty happy today. The sun is out and the birds are in the trees singing and the cat who lives somewhere behind our building is curled up on the grass in the shade sleeping and the workmen have finished their drilling and hammering and the only thing that’s stopping me being more than happy, the only thing that prevents me describing myself as blissful rather than happy is

Thursday, March 29th, 2012


Secrets that burn the inside of your body until it’s empty.

Secrets uttered. Secrets betrayed.

Secrets taken from dark hiding places and into the light.

Wednesday, March 28th, 2012


I didn’t want to move house: house was

firmly rooted in the past and the past is

as valuable as the future might turn out to be.

Tuesday, March 27th, 2012


Chocolate for peace of mind

Jasmine tea for restful sleep


Extract of star for clarity of expression

Monday, March 26th, 2012


……………… and your blonde hair

turned to a wispy silver-grey and the day

turned into one long period of thought

like when you suggested we could either

turn into stone and wait to be gazed upon

by people with nothing better to do

or take to the air………………

Sunday, March 25th, 2012


My pronunciation is perfect but the meaning is unclear. Hesitancy suggests uncertainty. I was awoken this morning by the tapping of doubts upon the window shutters. I could not eat breakfast with my mind so disturbed.

Saturday, March 24th, 2012


It was the afternoon of the next day

and on receipt of my letter (“It is with regret

I must inform you that I can no longer…..”)

you uttered the words “I am crushed” and

I too was crushed and smashed and splattered

against the walls of my known universe

its stars scattered like tiny jewels hurled

against the wall of a boudoir in a novel

by Constance Small, queen of timeless romance.

Friday, March 23rd, 2012


I can’t forget the shaved scalp of the umbrella salesman

as he frolicked in the rain. I can’t forget how he told us

he couldn’t remember the last time he used a hair-dryer.

Thursday, March 22nd, 2012


Nothing but what other people think remains, but what other people think (or thought) never really mattered, did it? Our nail clippings had more value than their entire libraries of opinion. (Speaking of which, I should go cut my finger nails; they are longer than is attractive in a man.)