Goat Alley

2010-07-24T20:56:00.002Z

Contact

Thirty six bus bound hours

through the Andes

felt like a mere day and a half

pressed next to you

my hands

fighting fidgets

restrained on the arm rest

or policing my lap

when all I wanted was to stretch out

and touch you

to cure my cramp

then fall in love

the shout

of a word weaving finger

changed

everything

my lens flicked

floorwards

an instant blur to a blind sift

of the detritus sluicing there

our tentative touches

trailed over unseen

trinkets, their Braille bumps

spelling lost

still we searched

corn cob here, tissue knot there

melted ice cream between

hairy, sticky, boiled sweets

trawling once more against the bus judder

a bottle top crinkle wheeled your palm

a sliver of sight

in its spongy heart

divorced from adhesive filth

my liberated vision

took you in,

slumber steeped

on my shoulder,

the first hummingbird hover of love

thudding reflections,

searching for an open window

2010-07-11T21:37:00.002Z

Born in Weymouth a

cephalapod oracle

is the real winner

2010-07-10T20:17:00.001Z

All of Uruguay

hates that fucking Octopus

pulpo de mierda

2010-07-10T18:49:00.000Z

As Octopus' go

that one in Ringo's garden

was never much cop

2010-07-09T21:09:00.000Z

On tenterhooks for

Paul's predictive tentacles

will Spain prove him right?

2010-07-06T20:18:00.003Z

Dance

After Doris Salcedo ‘Untitled’

no spacious shoe boxes for us

an oropendula nest skin

hangs my shoes together

from a thread

your left

your right

your tantrum stamp

drown in a pendulous teardrop

my soles peer

from a viscera chrysalis

heels scratched from the last tango

we never had

facing my scuffed toes,

tasting coconut sun cream

from Key West

where you hatched your plan

to unpick the stitches of your thin skinned prison

slip on your shoes

and sashay

through the nearest exit

the patter of

spineless feet

out of earshot,

I sat on the seafront,

watching humpbacks

breach their starless night,

flukes flailing, then pitching

back into black

my calf hide brogues

still laced in their straitjacket womb

Deep South strange fruit

unripe, suspended

as a voice shouted from

the crackling powder

of hot coals

you can dance now

2010-07-06T20:16:00.001Z

Lima Winter

The fountains are off

just a street kids skidpan

lovers park is empty

jaundiced sky smothers

to no kicks of resistance

mist trails

open mouths

no-one kissed today

2010-06-29T18:41:00.001Z

Vamos Paraguay

country of contraband goods

and good penalties

2010-06-28T17:08:00.001Z

the mourning after

the Italian big job

seen this shite before

2010-06-27T15:57:00.001Z

Russian linesman

you have some competition

in the history books

2010-06-26T21:51:00.001Z

The first game I've seen
where I knew who's Ghana win
sorry must be nerves

2010-06-25T21:24:00.004Z

At Lower Shaw Farm Writers Cafe last night I was inspired by an award winning sestina by Andrew Barber. My sestina combines two events in 2009, my hour on Antony Gormley's 4th plinth project in Trafalgar Square and my ten years sober.

One clear bottle

On my plinth a bottle,

full of last month’s London air,

bunged with cork, ships sails inside,

in the shadow of Nelson’s sandstone back,

batik billows, bulges, through imagined wind

caught in a moment

For an hour long, fifteen minutes moment

shovel handed Antony gave me the bottle

to stand alone, facing the square, battling the wind

an inverted artist in mid air

tourists snapping at my back

baffled by the one, the other, that won’t let them inside

Exposed on the surface, I escaped inside

grappling, restraining my public, private moment

retracing years wed to the bottle

that stumbling stagger four sheets to the wind

this past present thought jars like cold air

reviving memories of a life won back

Travelling forwards to make my way back

stormy moods, tsunami inside

waved farewell, just for the moment

as an empty vessel became the final bottle

on the road I now wind

with changing tack and following air

A life strengthening, pushing, wishing air

a spine nailed to my sagging back

strengthening brakes that smoke inside

catching this off guard moment

as I stare at this giant tiny bottle

vivid sails swallowing London wind

A special, passionate, stale wind

of bottle locked English air

trapped on deck when the bung thumped back

wax seal to keep the outside inside

saving the gasp of completion’s moment

to weave round Yinka’s ship in a bottle

I stand inside the wind

on a voyage of reflection, gulping back air

from an empty bottle, ten years aged, my victory moment

2010-06-25T21:09:00.003Z

There's not always a welcome in the hillsides of Peru, even if you're Peruvian.

Andean Astrology

The cordillera enchantress

prescribed

guinea pig

to unravel your future

she raised it

like some sacrifice

and called it jaca

the Inca CT scanner

skating your face in close up

yak pelt hanging, enamel tusks chattering

a rodent dowser, turning blood clear

divining you

sniffing your strange Pacific smell

of a world away, down mountains,

through deserts to people who bleed

a cocktail of invasion

throat slit, viscera spread

as a giblet yarn

the split creature spills secrets

to his voice on Earth

the remedy arrived at dawn

a shaven cavy

slug in your doorway

flies drawing from it's pink well of death

clove breath claws, stings the air

she appears at your shoulder

her tongue flapping your one way ticket

back to the coast.

2010-06-25T21:07:00.001Z

A little journey I went on in 1999/2000

Water resistant to a depth

of 1000 tears

Insane

clinical fact

not word

you and the white coated girl said

on my birthday

when you gave me the watch

that marked my madhouse minutes

surgical silver surrounded

a nervous wrist tick

covering cuts, not wounds

my mental giblets bulging

at each twenty five hour

tock throb of a locked ward day

punctuated only by the medicine cart

and its punctual pill push

escape came, long wrists later

to another place, with an unlocked door

but no way out

I took your timepiece

and hung it from the ceiling

thinking maybe it was time I joined it

but never did

ripping it triumphantly from the artex

on my final day there

dried out and free, I clocked out

without you

and went to Paris

where, hunched on a bridge

round the back of Notre Dame

I launched your watch into the river

dark droplets pitched back

as ripples pulsed along

a dying wave

below the surface

a stopped surface dulls

and second hand

tremors tremble unseen

deeply

in Seine

2010-06-25T21:04:00.000Z

My Dad is recovering from major heart surgery.

We might not want to but we do

Please don’t cry

Dad’s don’t cry

like the Queen cursing

or the Pope

shopping

a child molestor

some things don’t fit

so please don’t cry

I know you’re crying

Dad

I walk past your bedroom

hearing you sob, letting it go

I imagine her bathroom

hearing her shout, fuck me Phillip

you’ve left the lid up again

2010-06-25T21:01:00.000Z

The little silver train

(Potosi Bolivia July 2000)

Lent against a wooden truck

grubby face covered in muck

waiting to leave in the little train

precious grin flashing again

a toot and a puff

and the engine takes off

belching smoke from tiny funnel

rattling into dingy tunnel

I see you next two hours later

stone faced, dead eyed, crouched in a crater

cowed by heat, sapped by dust

coughing phlegm, snot red rust

under ground a mile or more

picking, hacking at Earth’s core

gelignite bangs, a strange smell lingers

as you mine silver with pitted fingers

I ask your age and fear the answer

twelve senor and condemned to cancer

2010-06-25T20:58:00.002Z

During my six months single in 2000, I managed to find myself in a nightclub in Swindon, sober.

Twins

Angelica, she said, what’s yours?

her sister

was gorgeous

with a skirt split that

arrowed the way

to the not yet promised land

they tailed me around the churning club

sucking my

money from jangling pockets

like students scraping

the crumb spotted bottom

of a margarine tub

criss, cross, criss, cross, criss,

back and forth

give us a fag

get us a drink

future sex paid by instalments

when the cash would spread

no further

they were gone and I was toast

weaving home alone

down vomitburst pavements

this single life

I can’t believe it’s not better

2010-06-25T20:47:00.002Z

I wrote this at an excellent workshop run by Daljit Nagra as part of the Swindon Festival of Literature. His theme was controversial contexts.

My neighbour speaks in Daily Mail headlines

‘Them addicts choose it don’t they?’

I told him it was a great day

to wash his car

‘We pay them benefits, they buy Heroin!’

I asked what sort

of wax he used

‘And then they take it in prison’

I said I could tell he used

a chamois leather

‘Or we pay for their rehab’

I admired his car but

thought of Carla

‘Don’t give them nothing’

Carla sat next to me

full of smack

‘Let them die’

Carla on Bournemouth beach

cuddling her dead friend

‘Why don’t they understand?’

Carla at home

waiting for Dad’s sweaty palms

‘It makes me mad it does’

I told him, I told him

he’d missed a bit

2010-06-25T20:33:00.000Z

Strange World Cup moment

Chile get the support of

a Peruvian

2010-06-24T22:02:00.001Z

Very sad to see

the Italian champions

are such bad losers

2010-06-23T20:51:00.001Z

Defoe defies doom

Castaway England are back

shipwreck escaped

2010-06-23T13:31:00.001Z

As Nelson once said

England expects every man

not to fuck it up

2010-06-22T19:36:00.001Z

The one that burrows into wetness

the common name of

John Terry, a shameless snake

whilst his team mates train

2010-06-22T19:28:00.002Z

The one that burrows into wetness,

the common name of

Olm, a blind amphibian

in Slovenia

2010-06-21T22:39:00.000Z

My hotel room on the eve of the 'emergency' budget

A red box
a red bible
you can keep them both
Gideon

2010-06-21T18:04:00.001Z

Fairytale scoreline
Portugal get seven up
Snow White's favourite

2010-06-20T21:41:00.000Z

If England trot out
John Terry as a unifier
it's worse than I thought

2010-06-19T19:17:00.000Z

A genuine shame

the dressing room intruder

didn't take his boots

2010-06-18T20:23:00.002Z

England 0 Algeria 0

What a load of utter shite

That must be worth repeating

What a load of utter shite

2010-06-16T22:52:00.001Z

Toe blur groan

Sad Spain go cuckoo

clock how the super Swiss roll

made for the neutrals

2010-06-15T19:53:00.001Z

Full Brazilian

leave a near post gap

against Brazil's ball benders

bad Korea move

2010-06-14T21:28:00.002Z

King Ledley is out

Unpatriotic scouser

Carragher robs place

2010-06-12T20:38:00.002Z

USA - Useless Start Again

Calamity James

watches Green with real envy

but not for too long

2010-06-11T20:22:00.002Z

Bore draw

Montevideo or
Montebluray to you kids
is asleep tonight

2010-06-11T20:13:00.001Z

5 Live

A month of moaning
and pseudo analysis
shrill fool Alan Green

2010-06-10T22:04:00.002Z

Hector

Copa Mundial

El Peru no estara

ya fue Chumpitaz

2010-06-10T21:40:00.002Z

Give me an 'n' please Shakira

Not sure about you

Shakira 'Waka Waka'

makes me hit the post

2010-06-10T21:34:00.001Z

Bashing the bishop

Bobble hats suit some

Archbishop Desmond Tutu

is not one of them

2010-06-09T22:48:00.002Z

Last minute penalty taker

He runs up thinking
'Terry shagged my missus'
Soft spot kick misses

2010-06-09T22:12:00.003Z

The Fame Monster

Paparazzi flash
Poor Fabio goes Gaga
Extreme pokerface

2010-06-08T19:48:00.002Z

Out for the lads

Scan the fleshy crowd

bare breasted samba queens dance

fat pink John Bull sweats

2010-06-07T23:00:00.002Z

Make Some Noise

World Cup passion

she checks her vuvuzela

and gives me the horn

2010-06-07T22:40:00.000Z

Jules Rimet

The golden goddess lay under leaves

thrown in the roses by ’66 thieves

coppers look, detectives seek

she’s been missing for over a week

nothing would please a bobby more

than to get a result from their door to door

but they reckoned without a canine chancer

whose cold wet nose gave them the answer

like a snuffling, sleuthing truffle pig

piebald Pickles arrived to dig

the marvellous mutt dipped his snout

and only pulled the World Cup out

a mongrel star brings three lions alive

on Camberwell Road, the A215

2010-06-06T21:47:00.002Z

Knee Haiku

Blame it on Rio

England's Archduke has fallen

on the eve of war

2010-06-06T19:52:00.000Z

My neighbour speaks in Daily Mail headlines

‘Them addicts choose it don’t they?’

I told him it was a great day

to wash his car

‘We pay them benefits, they buy Heroin!’

I asked what sort

of wax he used

‘And then they take it in prison’

I said I could tell he used

a chamois leather

‘Or we pay for their rehab’

I admired his car but

thought of Carla

‘Don’t give them nothing’

Carla sat next to me

full of smack

‘Let them die’

Carla on Bournemouth beach

cuddling her dead friend

‘Why don’t they understand?’

Carla at home

waiting for Dad’s sweaty palms

‘It makes me mad it does’

I told him, I told him

he’d missed a bit

2010-06-06T19:50:00.000Z

Birth of my Boy

Sunday afternoon

the foot of the bed

calf deep in bloody gore

a pair of blunt scissors

for an eighteen inch bootlace

of gristle

your screaming face

covered in blood and shit

demanding me

without saying who you are

or what you want

I want your mother back

but her eyes are lolling like a darted tigress

and I am in charge of you

for the first and only time

2010-06-06T19:49:00.000Z

Twins

Angelica, she said, what’s yours?

her sister

was gorgeous

with a skirt split that

arrowed the way

to the not yet promised land

they tailed me around the churning club

sucking my

money from jangling pockets

like students scraping

the crumb spotted bottom

of a margarine tub

criss, cross, criss, cross, criss,

back and forth

give us a fag

get us a drink

future sex paid by instalments

when the cash would spread

no further

they were gone and I was toast

weaving home alone

down vomitburst pavements

this single life

I can’t believe it’s not better

2010-06-06T19:48:00.001Z

We might not want to but we do

Please don’t cry

Dad’s don’t cry

like the Queen cursing

or the Pope

shopping

a child molestor

some things don’t fit

so please don’t cry

I know you’re crying

and I think I know why

I walk past your bedroom

hearing you sob, letting it go

I walk past her bathroom

hearing her shout, fuck me Phillip

you’ve left the lid up again

Haiku World Cup 2010

2010-06-06T19:32:00.004Z

I've actually done some writing lately, a whole 2 pages of the novel, some poems and some Haiku's. Here are the Haiku's;

World Cup Stolen 1966

Not knowing Pickles
They think it's all over
Until his late sniff

2010

World Cup Africa
England's big game safari
or Heart of Darkness?

Singing A Capello

Ei aye adio
steely nerved Fabio
sharpening his squad

Italia '90

Ref deals yellow card

Gazza weeps real lions tears

Turin cloud no fake

Magnet

2009-11-17T21:24:00.002Z

I went to an internet security meeting at Salvador's school this evening, as I left I told the Headmistress that I would be putting a magnet on my hard drive as soon as I got home. The scary tales of Bebo, Myspace and teenage code words mean that I will have to cable tie Salvador's hands together before long as well. My favourite bit of teenage shorthand was POS (Parent Over Shoulder) to be used when prying Daddy is looking for salacious gossip on screen.

Rihanna

2009-11-16T19:42:00.003Z

I entered a poetry competition online last week, the prize was a trip to see Rihanna launch her new album at Brixton Academy. I wasn't particularly fussed about seeing Rihanna but I quite liked the idea of winning a poetry competition. The 'exclusive' concert is tonight, it's 7.45pm and I am in Swindon and she is in Brixton so I reckon I haven't won. Her album launch is sponsored by Nokia and apparently there is a Rihanna talking widget for their phones to back this up. Personally I would settle for a Nokia that doesn't freeze every time I try to look at the local paper on it. I'm not sure why I didn't win because I reckon my poem encapsulated Rihanna's recent history and current sponsorship deal. A knowledge of naked celebrity photo's taken in bathroom mirrors may help you further understand the depth of my work. Do some research, I know I did.

Here it is -

Rihanna (Poem)

Some people forget so easy

that mobile phones are tools of the sleazy

Snapping away in a hotel mirror

a pervy boyfriend thinks - 'I'm on to a winner'

He peppers pixels to the paps

of lovely Rihanna draped next to taps

She was livid with her fella

I won't even say where she stuck that umbrella

Their relationship got much rockier

so she jumped in bed with the guys from Nokia

As for him he got the digit

and a lifetime ban from clicking her widget.

Easyrider

2009-11-06T23:55:00.003Z

The Cookie Monster fuzz mouths of a couple of Hells Angels stuffing mid-morning burgers in a lay-by on the A40 made my jaw drop today. Not because they were choosing to eat from a very dubious looking Portakabin and its even more dubious looking head chef. I was more interested in their gleaming, extravagantly handle-barred Chopper's and more specifically the unusual cargo they were pulling. In a glass trailer behind one of the bikes was a grey coffin. As they had a menacing conversation about ketchup, burnt onions and being misunderstood their mate was lying in state surrounded by cardboard, smelling of pachouli in a fish tank on the back of a Harley. It's what he would have wanted.

2008-09-01T22:02:00.002Z

Daddy- 'Salvador, say one word to describe Mummy'

A full 2 minutes contemplation

Salvador - 'Cheese'

Mummy - 'Salvador, say one word to describe Daddy'

Immediate response

Salvador - 'Cucumber'

2008-08-30T20:15:00.000Z

Been difficult to keep all the plates spinning lately

Salvador at the Forest Festival today

2008-08-30T20:07:00.002Z

Salvador loved the drumming workshop a the Lawns today. It did my headache the world of good.

2008-07-19T16:59:00.001Z

Salvador, Wall E & Eve

2008-06-29T18:16:00.000Z

Salvador unimpressed by slide stealer

2008-06-28T18:49:00.001Z

Salvador in front of the white boat, 'what colour is it Salvador ?' 'White .... not that one, the white one in the blue ocean'. 'Go and stand by it'.

2008-06-28T18:47:00.001Z

Salvador gives Izzy a kiss and cleverly maintains her silence

2008-06-28T18:46:00.000Z

A Salvador smile to order

2008-06-28T18:45:00.000Z

Cardboard both inside and outside of the box, ideal for model making

2008-06-28T18:42:00.001Z

Joshua goes for an elbow in the eye socket whilst Salvador concentrates on becoming an only child

2008-06-05T19:46:00.002Z

Hoovering with industrial wellies on

2008-06-02T20:08:00.002Z

Normally my judgement takes me towards traffic jams not away from them, but today I was delighted to hear of problems on the A34 at Oxford when I had chosen to go on the A420. Getting home at 5.30pm meant that I could take Salvador to the park for a very longwinded game of football that involved more rockclimbing than football and a strange obsession with walking through nettles.

2008-06-01T19:46:00.005Z

An indication of what lies ahead for us ;

Esther : 'and what will you say if Jessica pushes you at pre-school tomorrow?'

Salvador : 'You're twisting my melon man'

Esther : 'Pardon Salvador?'

Salvador : ' You're twisting my melon man, Jessica'

Salvador (screaming) : 'You're ..... Twisting .... My..... Melon .... Man'

This is all my fault.

2008-06-01T16:31:00.002Z

I wouldn't have wanted to start from here. I've got a temperature and a cold, my OU exam is due to be in the post Monday and I start my days on the road in the morning too. I can feel a Friday evening trip to the Open University at Milton Keynes coming on.

2008-05-31T21:49:00.002Z

Anyway I'm back, I just popped out to get a new job, nearly finish my Open University course and see the Ting Tings at Digbeth Irish Club. Never a dull moment round here. New job first, before Sainsbury's turned me into a serial killer I thought it was best to cut my losses and become a cereal seller instead. It's all going impossibly well so far but then again I am one day away from actually starting to do what they have employed me for rather than stealing tea bags from Premier Inn hotel rooms and wandering round Manchester. My final exam for the OU is due on Friday so I need to send it on Monday, not easy after a month away. The Ting Tings were great and helped immensely by the venue, apparently they were unable to do their soundcheck as a game of bingo was going on. Salvador has adjusted to me being home too, making comments like 'My mummy .... told you (points aggresively at me) to go and buy some eggs, goodbye'. Nice to be back.

2008-05-25T20:30:00.000Z

Salvador making Rice Krispie cakes today

2008-04-23T17:51:00.002Z

My new secretary Isabel (Allende) notes down my words of wisdom at the Queen Elizabeth Hall last night

2008-04-18T22:06:00.000Z

2008-04-18T20:12:00.001Z

Happy Go Lucky and her son Lucky Go Happy

2008-04-14T18:04:00.001Z

Jungle Geordie

The last time I saw Carlitos
he was dusting spider webs
off his humbug football shirt

emerging from the forest
with a mud clagged ball under his arm
and a grin on his face

that was the last time
I saw Carlitos

until today

when I saw Carlitos staring
at me from page 6
of ‘The Guardian’
dressed in a native’s smock
with a scowl on his face

feathers in his hair

and a headline above
him that said
‘Channel 4 crew kill
isolated tribe with
common cold’

2008-04-12T16:03:00.000Z

2008-04-12T15:58:00.001Z

A visit from a lady from Frommers

2008-04-10T22:54:00.000Z

It turned out that I had nothing to worry about. This was partly because the traditional Andean diet is based on three staples — corn, potatoes, and quinoa — that are all celiac-safe. More importantly, I found that the Peruvian people were incredibly kind and took painstaking care of me, sometimes checking ingredients three or four times before bringing my main course to the table.
This wasn’t only true of the more expensive restaurants, but in the most casual eateries. A perfect example of this is the Moni Café-Restaurant in Cusco, the city that every traveler passes through on the way to Machu Picchu. Moni is an unpretentious, inexpensive spot that’s well away from the tourist crowds in the historic Plaza de Armas, and its specialty is vegetarian cooking. The recipes are very simple (my starter was a pumpkin soup made only with pumpkin, garlic, and cream) but the food is incredibly delicious. My main course involved all of the Andean staples: called the Sacred Valley Curry, it was a combination of giant-sized corn kernels with potato and quinoa in a tomato-and-onion sauce.
The staff was incredibly kind and helpful… so much so that I went back for another meal later in the week. That’s the thing about finding a restaurant you feel confident about while you’re on the road — it makes you feel right at home.

2008-04-01T20:45:00.000Z

2008-04-01T20:42:00.004Z

City tour, listen please

After they built the Sydney Opera house
but before the hanging gardens of Babylon
were hung
and the pyramids were just a triangular blueprint
in a sun temple filing cabinet
the Inca’s created liquid gold
to drink on their days off

Please try to keep up with the guide
you’re in Cusco now
LISTEN, very carefully
and I will TELL YOU

They used this liquid gold
to quench their thirst
as they crossed the Atlantic
on the first powered flight
and to celebrate the splitting of the atom in a small village near Calca

Because as a direct descendant
of the Inca’s
I KNOW

That grey stone slab is a crouched condor
for example
and we are stood on the tail of the Puma
that Cusco takes the shape of

I’m the one WITHOUT
the umbrella
over here
come on

The golden liquid was so popular that the Inca’s
sold it to Americans
and you can drink it now
Inca Kola
over there
in that shop
looks like piss
tastes divine

2008-03-31T18:29:00.000Z

You’re never alone

A stashed hoard of gold blocks
screwed to the wall at the end of the ward
doesn’t escape my red eyed glance
as I stagger through the Priory doors
and nervously unfold my habit

rubber bed liners skate under me
but I’m already through thin ice
trapped under a microscope slide
glugging down death
as my skin shivers, quakes
and evaporates
the last bottle ever

(for now)

On my feet again
I make a mad monk’s waddle
in my string tied dressing gown
to the box of ingots under the stairs
and for the first time in my life
buy a packet of cigarettes.

2008-03-30T11:32:00.000Z

the little silver train

lent against a wooden truck
grubby face covered in muck
waiting to leave in the little train
precious grin flashing again
a toot and puff
and the engine takes off
belching smoke from tiny funnel
rattling into dingy tunnel

I see you next two hours later
stone faced, dead eyed, crouched in a crater
cowed by heat sapped by dust
coughing phlegm snot red rust
under ground a mile or more
picking, hacking at earth’s core
gelignite bangs, a strange smell lingers
as you mine silver with pitted fingers
I ask your age and fear the answer
‘twelve, señor and condemned to cancer’

2008-03-30T11:22:00.001Z

Water resistant
to a depth of 1000 tears

insane
clinical fact
not word
you and the white coated girl said
on my birthday
when you gave me the watch
that marked my madhouse minutes

surgical silver surrounded
a nervous wrist tick
covering cuts, not wounds
my mental giblets bulging
at each twenty five hour
tock throb of a locked ward day
punctuated only
by the medicine cart
and its punctual pill push

escape came, long wrists later
to another place, with an unlocked door
but no way out

I took your timepiece
and hung it from the ceiling
thinking maybe it was time I joined it

but never did

ripping it triumphantly from the artex
on my final day there
dried out and free, I clocked out
without you
and went to Paris
where, hunched on a bridge
round the back of Notre Dame
I launched your watch
into the river

dark droplets pitched back
as ripples pulsed
along a dying wave

below the surface
a stopped face dulls
and second hand
tremors tremble unseen
deeply
in Seine

2008-03-30T11:17:00.001Z

The big top

Llama carcass licked clean road kill
marrow sucked dry, bones angled
like discarded whitewashed stilts
eyeless socket pits stare cage bars

inside the restless diner wakes

steel struts stripe the rug thin lion
rib cage rising through African skin,
king of the jungle, pride of
savannah, mountain prisoner

pacing off his push me pull you
meal, Serengeti sun imagined
on every icy horizon
through his deadly dull distant gaze

our tamer lion, jailed in a trailer
on a buff dust road snaking Andean peaks
en route to a sawdust circus ring somewhere
hears whipcrack gunshot echoes on canvas tent walls,
red stripes restrain, chair lifted,
the big game begins

2008-03-30T11:15:00.000Z

Galapagos

marine iguanas sat punk ragged and spat salt
black grey gremlins with bile minds and shuttered eyes
sea evaporating on pallbearers lips

a bay distant on an empty beach
I stood in shallows
only a knotted handkerchief away
from being my Dad

and watched in growing awe
as a fish eating tuxedo sculled towards me
circled my submerged ankles
then rushed harpoon beaked between my knees
like a subterranean wine waiter
splashing my black and white world with beautiful brine

2008-02-12T22:34:00.001Z

Esther (all her own stunts) makes off on Salvador's bike (kindly donated by the Robson's) as Salvador follows wearing the protective headgear we now insist on every time he is walking upright on a hard surface.

(note to Robson's - Bob helmet too big for perfectly formed genius head)

the bike thief

2008-02-12T22:33:00.001Z

2008-01-26T22:13:00.000Z

I haven't forgotten the blog but work and my OU course have taken over a bit lately, hopefully I'll be able to post some photos of Salvador soon.
In the meantime, here is a poem I wrote for my course.

Jules Rimet

The golden goddess lay under leaves
thrown in the roses by sixty six thieves
coppers look, detectives seek
she’s been missing for more than a week
nothing would please a bobby more
than to get a result from their door to door
but they reckoned without a canine chancer
whose cold wet nose gave them the answer
like a snuffling sleuthing truffle pig
piebald Pickles arrived to dig
the marvellous mutt dipped his snout
and only pulled the World Cup out
a mongrel star brings three lions alive
on Camberwell Road, the A215

2007-12-29T07:48:00.000Z

We've been looking at the world like the multi-coloured dot at the end of a telescope held the wrong way round.

All so close but far away.

Christmas and the build up to it was work, work and more work which was no surprise, the late introduction of night shifts really didn't help. Our re-appearance is of course totally due to a conversation I had with Salvador in the dark, in bed, in the early hours, this morning. He has been broadening his mind with some more cartoons and at our duvet meeting told me that Silver Esther was looking for Tweety Pie. Good old Silver Esther.

FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS MAMI!!!

2007-11-24T21:54:00.000Z

Mami un año mas, desde aqui te deseamos que lo pases lindo en compañía de todos los grandes de la casa y de tus nietos, en especial de Pablo quien esta contigo.
Recibe un abrazo grande de Salvador quien practico todo un día para poder cantarte por telefono y de buscarte y buscarte, el día se terminó para él y ya está durmiendo.
Abrazos y besos en tu día y siempre!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2007-11-17T22:34:00.000Z

Still here

We're all still here, we've just been a bit busy with everything the past few weeks.

We went to see the Verve in Camden last week,they were superb. A drunken Chris Moyles stood next to us, this was not superb. We went to see Pink Martini in Hammersmith last week, they were superb. Our seats collapsed during the interval, this was not superb. Salvador is now demanding to listen to Nick Cave in the car and singing selections from the Grinderman LP.

2007-10-22T21:23:00.000Z

Salvador freefalls from a light aircraft flying at 10000ft straight into the arms of Colin

2007-10-22T21:17:00.000Z

2007-10-22T21:10:00.000Z

All my words have been used up by my OU course so I haven't been posting here. Things have been going pretty well, I have changed jobs and Esther has got a drivers licence. Salvador is demanding to play cricket in the garden every day even when it's very cold.

2007-10-03T10:41:00.000Z

Happy Birthday Salvador

We are 3
every single day

Mummy, Daddy, Salvador
a trio, threesome,

triumvirate if you
are being posh

this third day
Salvador is 3

still number 1

to us two.

In 2004 you
were nought and

appeared from mummy
with a crumpled

Sid James face
just when we

were too tired
to carry on

2007-09-30T20:21:00.000Z

The Party's Over

2007-09-30T20:16:00.000Z

2007-09-30T20:14:00.000Z

2007-09-30T20:12:00.000Z

Trainman

2007-09-30T19:59:00.000Z

Oh man! Wonder if he'll ever know

I thought I was going to end today believing in God.
And Heaven, because I was sure that Hell was ready to turn the gas up at lunchtime.
Without Hell there can be no Heaven and without Heaven, where does God live?
The reason for this philosophical conundrum?
A Birthday Party full of 3 year old's.
No worries.
Hell had frozen over specially for the occasion and we had a Heavenly time.
But God was I glad when it was over.
Salvador's celebrations were a great success largely due to the fantastic help we had from Mike, Colin, Debbie and Mum & Dad.
The hall and party room were perfect and Salvador bounced and bounced and bounced on the bouncy castle.
Afterwards he gave an impromptu drumming workshop for Kerry, Mick and Christine at home, complete with a bow at the end delivered with a performers flourish.

2007-09-29T20:15:00.000Z

Here is PJ Harvey in a pink cat-suit at Glastonbury a million years ago.

Of my few remaining Glastonbury memories, that pink cat-suit is the most vivid.

I suppose it is not so much the cat-suit, more the feline Polly inside it.

I am sure I could smell the leather that day as she gyrated and wailed away.

In fact I can smell it now.

I'll never forget that pink cat-suit.

Her new album 'White Chalk' is fantastic, but she wimps out in a flowing white smock.

If I'd have been her record company I would have demanded 'Pink Cat-Suit' all over again.

2007-09-27T18:39:00.000Z

The webpage for my Open University course opened up today and I peered in to find the Temple of Doom, Pandora's Box, a can of worms and something very exciting waiting inside.
Crouched in a corner were a few other new students who all seem as apprehensive as me. 'Bricking it' was one quote I particularly liked. The course material and background materials look amazing though and include an online archive of 'The Times' from 1785-1985 (sadly only used so far to see a 1985 league table showing Swindon and Chester fighting for promotion).
Elsewhere on the web I have seen a rumour that Bjork is set to appear in Lima on 13th November at the Museo de la Nacion, this time last year Uriah Heep were playing there, where did it all go wrong?

2007-09-26T21:18:00.000Z

One of the few advantages of being on the M4 regularly at 10pm is the view across the countryside when there is a full moon.
The area around Lyneham and Wootton Bassett looked genuinely beautiful tonight.
Then I remembered a proper full moon, millions of stars and the Milky Way wisping across the sky in Bolivia and realised that my definition of 'beautiful' is not what it used to be.