poetry

Last night I did an open mic night. It went very well.

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North

The same year I quit saying north and just started pointing,
was the year I gave up calling home.

So while Rapeseed turned the Wirral’s fields
the colour of American mustard.
While jets unpicked the sky, leaving mile-long scars.
Clouds; worn knees on fading denim.

All that time I left the phone unplugged from the wall
my mobile ignored in the deep pocket of my coat.
Heard nothing, the same way no one has really ever heard silence.

That year, though very near the death of it,
I lost my mind. Got driven back.
And god the sight of it!
Through the needlepoint of rain,
past embroidered streetlights
Nothing had changed, instead
I’d arrived in the future
by walking backwards.

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Fishing

When I think of love
I picture salmon.

Journey
driven by desire
the pink flesh
the blank stare.

A river slick with ambition
each one aiming
a schooled burst of muscle
to leap a barrier
but ending life
in the jaws of a bear.

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Seagulls

Angels step, bent-legged
against the shore.
Their calls the sound of Jericho’s walls
falling.
Or; a laugh
at a joke you’ll never get.

I was told they fell
from Triassic grace
but, when the tide comes in,
they still marvel at their reflections.

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Margin:0.0px or maybe ?0.o?

“  City of Birth

Much of the place is now just a flourish of the mind. Rivers and streets have altered position and where you might follow one in real life and come out at its proper exit, in my mind it turns about and you arrive elsewhere altogether. The whole city is a fading dream, less and less factual as the months wear on.

Except the truth is that I do not strive to remember, the death of it suits me. Rather than not leaving me at all, gradually is an accepted evil. However I lament that it could not have been torn away in one swipe. I wish the whole place burnt away, its ash caught and carried off by a wind of forgetfulness. I wish nothing ill on the inhabitants of that city in its real and present form, but its form in my heart is a solid lump that runs to the throat if I consider it for too long. I mean it not to remind me of my own failures.

In truth the city is merely the scapegoat for my own shortcomings, for my own mistakes. It is a laden creature, cast out and laboring under the burden of blame for injuries I’ve suffered. The city did nothing directly, supplant me and my life to another with the same set of circumstances and I’d be sure of similar results. The same progression of cruelty, neglect and eventual isolation. The same reasons for the breakdown of relationships with almost everyone. My own ego and lack of humility. My envy of other people’s talents and embarrassment at my own lack of courage.

No, I cannot blame a city for what was my own doing. The truth is that I lost my sight, my judgement clouded. Or, more rightly, my vision was distorted by a thin film over the eyes. An idea of how the world looked, except that in that way of seeing I could not perceive the slow corruption of my life. Each time I rallied myself and thrust forward with my creative projects, I was in fact just shuttling along in a blinkered, eager rush. I shut out the distraction of friends and lovers. Then, when I’d collapsed into the sense of futility that seems to run through me like a core, I was surprised that they’d moved on to better things.

It is a great and painful process for a man to learn of his own failings. More-often he might bury the facts under a layer of disbelief. Or else under the debris of the facts themselves; as he picks each apart with lies and self-justification. Delusion is the tonic for most things.

Myself, I’m no less the fool. Even knowing what I do I cannot bring myself to believe I was to fault. I too ignore these things and move on with what I do agree to take with me. So from these lessons comes the genesis of a new self. I do not wish to remember my sins, though I will learn from them. It is hypocritical indeed to ignore the legitimacy one’s crimes and yet still take wisdom from them; though to have the position reversed would be far worse an error.   “

—-

The above is the beginning of the novel I was speaking of, not too long ago. The tale of my life. A way to purge myself of the old crimes and explain how things progressed and perhaps absolve myself slightly through showing how I’ve bettered myself. It will however be ‘warts and all’, I hope – if I have courage enough to paint myself in my true (past) monstrous form. All names altered, no great revelations about the other people involved. I will stay in the bounds of my own head, the things that I saw and thought – I will not attempt to second guess the people around me, nor anything of their opinions of me at that time. What I do not want it to be, is a way of explaining away the evil I have done, but rather to seek to hold onto it – lest I forget – and remind myself of how far I have come so that I do not retrace the same steps. I also don’t want it to hurt anyone from the past, hence the only alterations will be to the unsavory portions of lives of others and not to my own life, wherever possible.

The NaNoWriMo novel is far more accomplished, though I do wish to return to the previous novel soon. I’m a little behind in terms of the monthly goal – though it has proven itself as necessary and so I will be moving forward with it. I’m not all too bothered about the NaNo win because NaNo has been a bit of a joke as far as I’m concerned. There’s been no proper management or communication with those involved, so the community fun was sucked dry long ago. I’m just glad that I’ve got a wonderful manuscript out of it and I can break on through with the knowledge that I can write about 2,000 words a day with very little hassle, so long may it continue. Fuck NaNo.

Nevermind.

I’m loving quite a few bands at the moment.

1) The Bicycle Thieves

2) Cocoon (‘Hey Ya’, ‘I don’t give a shit’)

3) Soko (‘I’ll kill her’)

4) The Thermals (‘Now we can see’)

5) Fresh body shop (‘My artificial sun‘)

And in terms of poetry?

1) Derek Walcott (‘Elsewhere’, ‘For Adrian’)

And I’m reading…

1) 2666 by Roberto Bolano

2) Omeros by Derek Walcott

3) The Book of Shadows Don Paterson

4) Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels (again)

In other news. I’ve made a promise with myself to write a poem, take a roll of photos (34 photos), make a short film and read a book every week from now on.

Further updates will follow.

“And even later, more recently.”

“And even later, more recently.”

Tribute to Tom Lowe Taylor

You wrote to save your ass

from a dark emptiness

that followed its own linguistic urge.

What was obsolete

you sought

to write and newly sort,

unconscious

but wholly wary of yourself - 

a drunken rage of self-righteousness to overwhelm.

Made afraid to be alone

with your own genius,

or genus,

who can say?

But one word after another

one in another’s wake

to fuel the next

and on and on toward that

unfurnished house.

~~~




Will work on this some more – this is my first draft.

have a heart? almost.

[the stops are because I can't get the formatting right. sorry.]

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I’m going to answer a couple of questions about my progress this year.

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• Think about what has gone well this year. What are you happy with? What has been successful — & how did it come to fruition? What have your greatest achievements been so far?

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This year has taken me up and down further than any year before it. I’ve evolved so much I’d swear I was in new skin, if it wasn’t the same damn face staring back at me every morning.

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Success is measured in so many ways, but I’d have to say making my emotions level out has been the biggest success. Learning to drink in moderation. Making lasting friendships. Two more things that I’m greatly thankful for.

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Great achievements have been getting published (and paid!) in The Times for my photograph of One and Other in London.

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Surviving a massive breakdown isn’t something I’m going to sell myself short on either. I’ve done a hell of a lot of work toward easing my mind and heart. I’ve been up and down, but I’m flying along at the moment.

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I’ve no stressful job, a roof, a great girl, creative expression out the yin-yang. Photography is great, designing and making clothes and jewellery is wonderfully fun, writing is triple kick-ass. I’ll have a collection knocked out in a couple more months.

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So, yeah. Lots of stuff.

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• Think about what could have been improved upon. Could you have tried harder in a couple of areas? Of the things that didn’t go well, what could you have done to change the outcome of that situation? If you had taken 100% responsibility at the time, do you think things would have played out differently?

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I could have done a lot better at making money. I’ve let quite a few opportunities slip by me. I’m not really sorry that I did, more just that I could have made a bit more cash and had a few more nights on the town with people.

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If I hadn’t been a coward, then perhaps things might have gone better. I wimped out on things because I was being overly careful after a few setbacks.

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• What were your goals at the start of the year? How are they going? Are they 20%, 50% or 100% completed? If they’re not checked off yet, why not? (Don’t be afraid to admit they’re no longer important to you if that’s the case.) If they’re still things you want to make happen, what could you do to speed up your progress? Who could you ask for help? How can you break up the goal into manageable chunks to make it easier to achieve?

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I didn’t make any real commitments at the start of the year. If anything things all changed pretty sharply, so if I’d completed the goals that I had, I wouldn’t even be in Liverpool. So I think rather I’ve adapted well and when my goals flew out from me, I took the opportunity to put a bit of distance between myself and making goals.

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Some things I did decide on quite quickly was to make better friendships and invest myself in people more. Be more honest with myself and others. 100% complete I’d say.

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• When you look at the people around you, what have they achieved that you’d like to do too? How can you make that happen? Can you ask them for assistance or advice?

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I haven’t considered this, but there are a few people I have met which have made a real impression on me and I do intend on emailing them for advice and simply to make myself known to them. Some are local, others are netweb people, but all are fantastic people.

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• How are your finances looking? Are you making as much money as you want? Are you saving any money or just spending it as soon as you get it? Should you ask for a raise, start a savings account, cancel your credit card, stop obsessively trawling eBay… ?!

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My finances are in better shape than they ever have been. I’m usually crippled with debt and spend more than I make. Right now I’ve lowered my bills and have made a few streams of revenue. Plan is to get into seasonal retail to get enough cash to pay back my parents and take a trip to a few places in Europe. Venice and Rome are on the plan. Paris is a place best kept for a romantic escape. Maybe Berlin too. Cheap travel with only a satchel and a few empty journals. Definitely taking my camera too.

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No one is ever making ‘enough’ money. But I’m making enough to keep me comfortable.

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Credit card is cleared off, long ago.

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There is nout wrong with internet shopping!

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• Are you happy with your career? Do you feel stuck? If so, why? How could you alter that? Is it time for something new? How can you improve your situation? Where could you grow? How could you branch out?

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I’m LOVING work. Whatever I earn is from art. Whatever I make is from something that I have made. It’s a wonderful feeling. I’m not stuck at all. I’ve got to do some seasonal work, but there is no stress because I can jack it in after I have the cash saved up to travel. Then when I get back I’ll only have to get some part time work to keep my head up, earning more money from art as I go.

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• What do you do with your spare time? Are you constantly playing catch-up & running errands with no time to relax & just do nothing? Is there a class you want to take? When was the last time you took a holiday? Are you in control of your free time or is someone else?

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Spare time. Well, I have it all to myself now. I’m running about doing things, but having fun doing them.

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After doing my bit around Europe I’m hoping to enroll in University again, but starting again from Year 1. I figure it gives me a year to get into shape and then I can play the last two without pressure.

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Going to study either writing or photography – I haven’t decided which. I figure that photography gives me more earning potential. Writing is still my main talent though. We’ll see what the world offers me as direction.

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Last time I took a holiday was prolly down to Falmouth. Can’t wait to go back. I think I’ll be heading off down there again to see a mate later in the year. Just need to get some cash.

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• How does your body feel? How healthy are you? What are you eating? Do you exercise? Are you drinking or smoking more than you’d like? Do you need a spa day? What positive steps can you take towards a lifestyle you feel happier about?

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Damn, these are loaded questions. Can I just say that people seem to like it? OH!

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Yeah, healthy. I get a good lot of walking done. Sailing keeps me fit enough.

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Not smoking. Not drinking much.

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I totally need a spa day.

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I need to get my bike in action, so I can start racing around this tiny slip of land I call home.

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• Are you getting along with the people around you? How are things between you & your lover? Your workmates? Your kids? Do you ever see your best friend? Do you ever get personal emails?

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Things are great with people. I’m getting on with my friends well. Set to meet more shortly when I start doing the shoots I’ve got arranged.

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My ‘lover’ is fine.

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My workmates are quiet. I’m solo, but it means I have less nights out with the crew.

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Best mate is many miles away.

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I get a personal email pretty much every day, people from my past, people who like my blog, people who hate it, people who want to meet me in Liverpool. I’m in demand.

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• How about you? How do you feel about the person you’re becoming? How’s your personal integrity? What are the attributes you hold in high esteem? Are you embodying them? What can you change? What can you begin accepting?

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I feel i’ve answered this already. I’m 100% wicked, wicked, wicked.

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Personal integrity is at an all time high. Which is as much a surprise to me, I can tell you.

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Truth now is paramount to me. I will not lie.

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Totally embodied.

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I can be bolder, more courageous.

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I can begin accepting every given opportunity.

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• Are you involved in your community? How are you helping the people around you? Do you know your neighbours? What could you do to improve the lives of people in your immediate vicinity?

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More and more involved with the people in this fine and grubby little city.

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I like to feel I’m here if people want to make use of me. I could get more involved helping people (note to self).

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I do know my neighbours, but I want soon to have new ones.

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My new motto for improving lives is :- Give more, take more.

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It improves mine and other people’s lives. Wonderful.

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liberation in migration…

This afternoon I went to my writers group and met with TurtleDove, Magpie and our new ‘fledgeling’ recruit – Swift (the long-flight migrator). After many tortuous hours hammering on plastic keys, in an attempt to protract my script, I happened out into a bright sky and a down-ruffling breeze.

Both Magpie and Swift took flight to somewhere far off, and so it left myself and TurtleDove with little to do but to grab a coffee and have a twitter about things.

We talked about scripts and poetry (Anne Michaels ‘Flowers’ to be exact, as it was the only one I could remember even part of) and our favorite types of puppy.

As ever though, I got uneasy with eating up someone’s time. So much scripting has already been avoided, because of your’s truely, that I could hardly expect yet one more to fall from the sky.

So, not long later, TurtleDove’s sensible migratory instinct kicks-in (without the need for suggestion) and I wave her on her way. [Of course, like many times before, I walk her to her stop and watch as she disappears on me quicker than I can motion a goodbye.]

Now at a loss until the gig, that will be happening later on, I wandered the streets like an urchin. Luck finds me a seat in a cafe and I’m able to imbibe another coffee and scribble some sentences down. Before long many others have had the same idea. The place is packed with all sorts of people, most probably down to the Everton match.

(As an aside – MY GOD were people happy with that result or what!?!? I’d already been accosted by a group of three guys with friendly banter and legs a-faulter)

Looking around the cafe, my attention is quickly taken by a lone girl looking lonesome.

Could I help myself? No. Whenever can I?

We’ll call this one Nightingale, firstly because ‘what she had to say was so enrapturing’ and secondly because ‘she had an aversion to one of my favorite romantic poets’. (Which was slightly wonderful, because I like a girl who can have her own opinion.)

A coy little introduction and a graceful landing was made.

Regardless, I took to the next thing on my nut-sized mind.

The inquisition began with a question about the theory of there being a god. I thought it apt to ask the most unanswerable question to test her good graces. With humor she took to it and I was soon challenged in turn… regaled with stories… and eventually intrigued by the occasional pulling back from an awkward topic.

One coffee ends up being three (all in different places) and then we’re on to 7pm.

We got lost in well-spent moments.

The thing with Nightingale is that she is too smart for her own good. Having understood that I was only interested in prolonging our meeting – she saw fit to extract every possible truth from me. Until I’m flat-out admitting that I find her attractive beyond measure. Even to the point of telling her my feathers were being ruffled by the attention she was getting from a rival male.

I don’t think I was unduly honest, though I get the feeling that I might have said a few things that would have been better left unspoken until a bit later on.

In the end, rather than being tongue-tied, I found myself spilling my guts about how much I wanted to see her again.

After all the banter, one thing is evident about this latest interest and that is that pace is to be a prerogative.

perhaps not irreparably so

 

Even when she’s caught out I am still short of beckoning any remorse from her. She doesn’t feel it and it hardens me. I move on in mind and heart. Now I no longer sense her pulse in my future, no longer allow myself the comfort I have grown to take for granted.

 

 

She’s done wrong and she doesn’t beg forgiveness or plea for sympathy at her apparent weakness. There comes no, ‘I’m sorry I was drunk’ – no, ‘I’m sorry to have worried you.’ – In fact, all she’d said on the matter was, ‘I don’t want to argue.’

 

 

Who was? I was going to let her speak her tongue numb. My question was simple; why didn’t you tell me?

 

 

And with that comes the thought of high windows, sun comprehending glass; et cetera, et cetera… ad nauseam.

 

 

I never had a Father who taught through explanation, mine was a Father who I learnt from by example. It was pos-neg right from the fire up. He was someone who taught me to be good, honest and courageous; and thought I didn’t pick up any of those traits, I do feel that I, at least, know what they are. He was someone who showed me what it was to give up on a dream; he was the victim of consequence and apathy.

 

 

So I had to pick up on, more conversational, lead by example sorts that were closer to my own heart.

 

So enter Larkin, my Papa Phil, the father who taught me real, candid and gritty lessons. ‘Collected Poems’, is my New Testament, ‘Juvenilia’, my Old. Papa Phil is a brutally honest father, with a clear motive of deft truthfulness.

 

 

So… should I take my own advice, from previous posts? Should I call time on a forgone conclusion?

 

 

I’ll have to consult with old Papa Phil, to answer that one. As I said, not long ago, and learnt it well! – I trust in luck, not other people’s integrity.

 

 

Last night I was sorely disappointed but perhaps not irreparably so.