Maladjusted

I slip out for a walk
when no one is looking
with my magic lasso
for company

It hums overhead
as I take aim
and let go with
rather unnecessary
brutality

I do not watch
as it snakes up
beyond the clouds
and the inconsequential
pretend-layers of the ionosphere

but kneel down to drive
a stake through
my leaden heart - a convenient
anchor for that rope in flight

As it finds its prey
I pull - with all my heart
and drag down the stars
one by one

to trample,
strangle them
quietly till their
dim lights shine
no more

I love the darkness
that drips on to the stake
and climbs up the rope

to swallow the world -
now free of those
annoying little stars

(Inspired by Sherman Alexie, but of course nowhere near as good)

plaque gothique

It was practically nothing - really, in the grand scheme of things these should be overlooked. But then that would be fair and we know that life is not very fair - so there, no more wishful thinking.

As I said, it was hardly anything - a little loss of sheen, perhaps a spot which did not gleam as much as the rest, a little breach in the wall - but they noticed - ever vigilant though deceptively quiet, they sensed that something was afoot - almost imperceptible, a little butterfly flapping its wings not knowing the tempest awakened halfway across the world.

So they stir and all of a sudden there were many where there were but a few, and like the cuddly Mogwai spawning Gremlins they turn feral, as they are caressed by tendrils of tenuous gossamer that wake them from slumber. In the blink of an eye the breach is swamped - for they are insatiable and they hunt in packs.

Their hungry calls summon the silent lumbering giants rumbling down slopes in slow motion - juggernauts of relentless destruction fuelled by gluttony, they heed the cries of their kin and in their haste smother many of them underfoot. In no time at all they are an amorphous mass of flesh and blood - mindless, brutal and yet - very, very effective.

It does not take long - all of this, hardly a matter of minutes  - not enough time for the stressed, overweight, middle aged man to reach for his phone and tell the voice at the other end that he was dying from a heart attack as those little platelets and those not so little monocytes plugged the breach in his ruptured plaque.

Happy Mother's Day!

She taught me to watch my step when going down stairs

And to eat with a spoon and drink from a cup

She taught me not to splash around when using the boys’ room

And to fold my socks and iron my trousers

She taught me to pay attention to detail

And enjoy the tiredness at the end of the day as you sit back

And look at the work you have done - critically

She taught me to be proud without being arrogant

And to be calm in the face of adversity

(Although I do not manage either very well)

More than anything else

She taught me to believe in myself

And to dare to dream  ...

Once up on a time, in a more innocent world, when 9/11 was still the 9th of November, I went for an English Language Test. The examiner asked me what would be my dream job and a much leaner, younger, wide-eyed, naive, hot-headed and ever so slightly reckless version of me (who had not stepped out of a 5 mile radius of his house for all 23 years of his life) said:

‘I would like to teach Medicine at Cambridge or Oxford’ - not even knowing what it really meant let alone the journey it would set me on.

More than a decade later as I sit typing this, having finished my first week in my dream job, I know who to thank for all the little things which led to all the not so little things in my life.

To my mother - a genuine superhero in disguise

Childhood is a pile of rocks

Near my house they were scattered
in the grass
black and brown and porous
they looked like the
backs of large and clumsy animals
playing hide and seek - badly

there were steps cut into them where
I sat with my grandfather
who was a hero when I was little
and then annoying as I grew older
which was unfair to him - for
 he was the same man
but it was I who lost the eyes of a child

we sat on those steps cut
into half hidden
porous rock animals hiding - badly
to watch sunsets - again and again
never growing tired
of the finger painting on that
great big iPad in the sky

Those steps and those rocks shrunk
over the years as I lost
my childhood eyes till they were not
magical anymore - just
porous rocks
scattered in grass
a pile of rocks
seeped in my childhood
for they let my innocence in
(they were porous)
as I sloshed it around
carelessly

How true ...

'She hated conclusions. They sat there like sirens, luring the scholar onto the rocks of pomposity and complacency'
p326, Hemingway's Chair, Michael Palin.

Sadly, I am struggling to avoid the treacherous waters right now!

Soap flowers

96 red roses
miniscule chocolates in embellished wooden boxes
soap flowers (really, whose bright idea was that?!)
giant teddy bears
Clinton cards, Beaverbrooks necklaces and Vistaprint photos
candlelit cakes at midnight and surprise barbecues
been there and done them all


The balance has tipped this year - for I have
now known her for more than half our lives
A point of no return, an invisible
yet indelible line in time


So what do I do for her birthday?
More cakes or cards or chocolates, perhaps
Or may be soap flowers (!) yet again ...


Midnight, in the electric blue glow
of the clock radio
I see her sleeping between
the two little people
who fill our lives


I creep - awkward and graceless
till my lips are next to her ear
and whisper "Happy Birthday"
which brings a hint of a smile
to her sleeping face


...
......
.........


the thing is

I'm skinned!

Finishing school for cavemen

Lesson 1: Personal hygiene
Caveman (Cm) is humming innocently (and rather tunelessly) in the shower as he splashes about, happy to have a recently discovered opposable thumb when suddenly the bathroom door bursts open and Pretty Face (PF) storms in.
PF: Have you been using my shampoo instead of shower gel?
Cm: What shampoo?
PF: The one in the bottle you are holding upside down!
Cm: You mean this? It would be good if it says so on the bottle...
PF: It is blindingly obvious, if only you bother to read
Cm (reading aloud): 'Rainforest Moisture', you mean?
PF: Don't play dumb, you know the other one is the shower gel
Cm: Which one? the 'Hydrating cream oil'?
PF: Yes!
Cm: So the oil is actually soap and the one which sounds like a David Attenborough DVD is the shampoo?
PF (as she slams the door): Get your paws off my stuff and stop being so melodramatic!

Lesson 2: Cosmetology
Cm: Crunch munch, gobble gobble, Snort! BUUURRP!
PF: Stop making such a fuss - can you not eat like a human being once in a while?
Cm: Actually, I was just thinking how sophisticated my palate is - this new cheese spread is certainly an acquired taste
PF: What cheese spread?
Cm: The one you bought yesterday - pink grapefruit and strawberry
PF (between fits of giggles): That is face cream, my little monkey boy with the sophisticated palate!
Cm (nervous laugh): Oh - I knew that - just pulling your leg
(note to self: DO NOT mention the tub of cocoa butter that you licked clean last week)

Cm will eventually evolve - until then, at least he can parallel park!

Romantic interlude

We started the night before - nappies, wipes, extra milk bottles, white sleepsuits with grippy soles (and his special green one with the red dinosaur), sachets of paracetamol, a little pinafore for her and a sleeveless jumper for him, the toy mobile with flashing lights and the carrot flavoured finger food ... the little trolley suitcase looking more and more bulimic by the minute, disgorging contents shoved down its throat in a hurry, prompting recruitment of more bags and carryalls to mop up the moisturising cream (half kg tub!) and the toothbrushes with the flashing lights and bunny rabbits, desperate attempts to find a spare corner to stuff an electric shaver and a phone charger before finally zipping up the chaos, substituting grunts for swear words, mindful of the excited young audience looking up at their ugly father's night time antics...

The morning after is not short on last minute panic as prams and travel potties jostle each other, looking for elbow space amongst the corpulent luggage piled high in the boot (this is just a day trip, for crying out loud!) as I wonder for the umpteenth time why babies do not come with a statutory warning - some much needed small print, even if insincere, at least a pretence of an apology so that parents can ease their way into domestic madness...

They are finally in their car seats, having gone through stages of loving hugs and bribes for good behaviour through to threats of prespecified geometric indoor real estate - corners - full of naughtiness it seems, as if hallowed ground dedicated to smiling Gods of mischief. One is sobbing, throwing the odd accusatory glance at her father whilst the other kicks the back of my seat with a systematic thoroughness that would put a German to shame - I decide not to stoop low or rise to the occassion, not from any dietary surplus of moral fibre, but rather from sheer lack of super charged mitochondria, the latter having depleted all in the barely controlled chaos of the last twelve hours...

As I drive up the ramp onto the motorway, my hand slips off the gearknob to find a long lost companion, delicately turned fingers lace through mine for all of thirty seconds before one of them (not sure which and don't really care) starts afresh in the backseat, demanding the attention of it's more attractive parent...

My romantic interlude over, I am alone again as I focus on the road ahead, direct my frustrations at the lorry in the slow lane and prepare myself for another day of pure unadulterated fun!

kindergarten dream

Nursery debriefing in full swing

'What did you do today?'
'Did you have your lunch?'
'Were you naughty?'

He fields every question
but his answer
kills the conversation
abruptly, brutally
'I played with Black Natalie ...'

His middle class parents
are shocked into embarrassed silence
Even though it is a private
conversation, with
no audience to judge them

Unspoken questions hitch a ride
on worried glances:
'Where did we go wrong?'
'Are we closet racists?'

Mental hand wringing abounds
as political correctness lies bleeding

Oblivious to the drama
unfolding in silence around him
He restores peace in an instant
in his inimitable innocence:
'... as Red Natalie was too busy to play'


Of course, in his two year old eyes
the colour of someone's clothes
trumps the colour of their skin

And why not? after all
there is more of the former
on display when we look at
one another

If only the adult world
could live up to his
kindergarten dream

not saying much

there are certain people
who make you feel at ease
even when you share silence
in the confines of shared space

they people your silences
with their unsaid words
and oddly enough

you miss their share of silence
in your silent solitude

an orange ball in the laundry bin
and a green one in my left shoe
a little pink dolphin stuck on my remote
and a blue penguin on the kitchen cupboard

the fridge smiles like a battle scarred veteran
its face pock marked by letters
as if someone splashed
alphabet soup all over it

little giggles in my book case
and impish grins in the wardrobe
my house is invaded by
childhood

and so is my car
with the biscuit crumbs in its
un-hooverable depths
and muddy footprints on the back of my seat

as I clean up the last mess
and wait for the next
I pause to send a grateful thought
to the great beyond
for the irreversible entropy
of parenthood

perspective

Next time your computer freezes, you have a choice:

either get angry and frustrated
OR
compose a little haiku

this is my version:
'the naughty little hourglass
does cartwheels...
as my desktop meditates'

I know it isn't saying much, but it helps me get through the day...