Airbags Deployed

Way ahead

was dark



Couldn’t see

for miles

for fog

for yards.




not a thing

was working.


blindly really

auto on.

Road bumps


or what

you will

were all

too willing

too available

too there

just there

right on it


Like that.


was down

a downer


was nowhere





the RAC

some squad

that rescues


on call saint




for all






still the






odds were




on the way

no chance

or chances






by tears




to steer



But miles

of belted





to land

to reach

other side

of void







Coin In The Cork

Did you really imagine that the champagne cork would hold the bubbles, tickled against your nose, inhaled, expecting taste with closed eyes, breath of a memory, stored with the photos, still whole, coin inserted just so, to have and to hold, all worldly goods…

Did you really think that, paused in time, time would pause, hold the sparkled scent, corked, as it were, effervescent smiles in frozen pose, dancing into the unknown, wondering, wondering, hopeful…

Did you really understand then that hope is gaseous, elusive, needs catching constantly, requires work and give and take and would you have recorked, back then with that knowledge, for fear of coin slipping from inverted hub…

Did we really, in our wildest imaginings, if ever wild they were, and they were wild, believe that all the corks and celebrations would link, create the raft, float us homeward, always homeward, adrift at times, paddling, questioning views but always homeward…

Did we know and would we have cared or believed that for every celebratory cork we would also drink of pain and swallow loudly, gulping back that first dance, want to shuffle off the floor, till we knew the music changed again…

And did we dance. Oh, how we’ve danced! And drunk from champagne bottles by the neck, exploding corks to atmosphere and airy, practiced expectations, rejoiced and wept and found the means to keep the bubbles scented in the cork, the coin still holds.

Cloaked Hearts

Last night, her truth revealed to me,

Her pride and self-possession,

Protective, panacea’d cloak,

For me, a timely lesson.

Neglect of her in such belief

That she was self-sufficient,

My mistake, ignored the signs,

No self is so omniscient.

Twas in a dream I saw the life

Of one I love, still dear,

To nurture this relationship

Must needs to keep her near,

As near and dear as blood can be

While distance tears apart,

Though just a dream, I see torn seams

Rending many hearts.

Strange the way a dream returns

In moments least expected

While water flows and cleanses clear

The mind has recollected

Mem’ries fond, from time beyond,

When girls held childhood toys,

When sharing all held joyful angst

And secrets told of boys.

In witches’ tales, stories regaled,

Imaginations shared,

Troubles halved, the tears, the laughs,

Two different yet ensnared.

Days now gone and men replace

The boys that we once knew,

The fashions, styles, so varied then

In the years that breached we two.

But holding on to all we had

This promise to correct,

The lion roars but in her roar

Is softest heart so few suspect.

The yellow road is paved so clear,

And ruby are the shoes,

We witches, by default, hand dealt,

To home, hearts’ feet pursue.

More similar now than then perhaps,

Bi-faulted in our ways,  

Separated by our years

Amid weathered changes to our days.

Storms arise and dreams reveal

What mind in day may lack,

Self-possession, pride, by two, 

Cloaked hearts feel own way back.


Balls Of Steel

I feel the need to justify this piece.

I don’t hate men. Far from it. There are quite a few I’d like to show my appreciation of. In my dreams!

But. I have a sister – two actually- and one of them has just had a kick in the balls by someone who calls himself a man. I KNOW not all men are like this.


OUR balls are made of steel.

WE keep them hidden inside,

Unaffected by temperature and treason.

Governed by reason.

And humungous quantities of love.

OUR balls allow hands-free penalties

And rarely swing with abandonment

Even while YOU think irrationally of

OUR reasoning

That broods on permutations

And shelters our most vulnerable parts

With drops of tears.


OUR tender parts need hiding from

The world of hurt we feel.

They need to rise and feed

The children, pack their lunch

And send them off with cheer and change

In pockets

That are not meddled with by hands

Fumbling for satisfaction in the moment.


OUR balls are mostly resistant to immediate gratification,

Tell YOU to ‘get them right roon ye’

When threat of compromise


Those we love beyond OUR own balls.

We are WOMAN! WE have balls!

They hurt.

And then they heal.

Ball Out Of Play

There’s a game that people play but I don’t get it;

it’s called take offence when none intent is there.

I’ve seen it all, enacted in my family,

with exes; dearest siblings pulling at their hair.

It’s a power sort of game that leaves a flavour;

a bitterness that tastes of dank decay,

when wealth of hate showers forth in spittle

but not for any words they had to say.

It’s for being who you are but they don’t like it;

like you’re happy and they can’t believe that’s real,

so the vitriol or silence seek to thwart it,

expunge the love, let crusty scabs not heal.

It’s a game I see in work and with companions,

as if life is just too easy so let’s fight;

a soap opera to my reality, really,

I don’t get it! How can this attitude resemble right?

Naivete has always been my virtue

and my vice as well, if truth be told at last;

I never comprehend that I’ve offended

for it’s the last thing that I’d seek, so always ask.

I’ll move my knight to your rook and I’ll ponder

the route to trap and check the king, no vice,

I’ll throw the dice and play the cards and wonder

if betting on the game is worth the hellish price.

I’ll move my dog and hope that I collect some

prize or fund for playing my game fair,

but changing rules, anarchic games that some love,

are way beyond the bet I’d ever dare.

There are bastards in this world, please don’t doubt it,

I know god loves them just as much as me,

but I decline to play the games they’re playing

and leave, I hope, with vestigial dignity.

I’ll watch from sidelines when my friends are challenged,

I’ll bite my tongue and pray for some control

but never when I see a bully smirking;

I’ll jump right in and save that goddamn goal.

The penalty of those who play this game; you know,

the one, where winners there are none, or broken souls,

is loneliness forever, never reaching,

destitute in spirit; fragmented whole.

Eric Fears Blind Willie McTell

I’ve never done this before. And I did it wrongly on the first take.

I put my I-Pod on shuffle and wrote down the first three songs that played.

So I had:-

Just Like A Woman    Bob Dylan

Well, I do! ‘Cos I am!

Nice Guys Finish Last   Cobra Starships

Whole other post!

Chelsea Dagger   The Fratellis

Aren’t they great?

But, apparently, that’s the wrong way to do it. So I followed the instructions on

I asked the three questions individually and pressed shuffle after each question. Feels a bit voodoo-ish. I know it’s not a word. But I quite like made up words.

So, new shuffle mix with comments.

I feel like……?     Wonderful Tonight. Eric Clapton

I do as it happens. I have some work to do relating to education but I’ve just enjoyed a lovely bath with sandalwood and jasmine oils and I feel quite wonderful and mellow. So quite apt. Apart from the bit of work I’ve still to do. 😉 This song, however, causes some annoyance and hilarity. Whenever we’re going out and I’m all ‘dressed up’ my hubby says I look nice. Nice, for feck’s sake! I’ve told him that Eric Clapton would never have had a hit with this number if he’d sung, ‘My darling, you like nice tonight’. There’s just no implanting poetry in some people’s souls. 😉

I want to…..?  The Fear. Travis

Well, this meant nothing to me. I didn’t listen to the songs when I shuffled them. Just asked the questions and pressed shuffle. I know Eric Clapton’s so well I could sing it to you. Much as I like Travis I couldn’t think what this one was about. So, I’m listening now. Hold on………..

Nope, sorry. I like it well enough but obviously not one of the reasons I bought the album in the first place.

I need to…..?  Blind Willie McTell.   Bob Dylan

Now pretty much it doesn’t matter which of BD’s song it plays. I love them all. This is a poet. And poetry set to music takes everything to a whole other level.

Until I met my husband I only knew a few of Dylan’s songs and some of those were covers. Once I listened to him I was blown away. He might be a love/hate sort of artist for many. I love him. Although, I’ll never sing ‘Forever Young’ at anyone’s wedding again. 😦

Really, gorgeous song but not when the marriage in question ends in divorce. Splat! Not so forever anything really.

And this reminds me then that my ‘more senior’ husband has introduced me to aspects of life I was oblivious to prior to meeting him. Twenty-six years of marriage later (well, 34 years if we count the ‘getting to know you’ phase and the ‘doing your own thing’ phase ) I like to think that maybe I’ve introduced him to some aspects of life that he enjoys. I’ve just asked him and, apparently, the answer is a resounding, ‘Yes!’ So I’m good with that.

Now he might just be saying that ‘cos I smell of sandalwood and jasmine. But, you know what? ‘I feel wonderful tonight’.

Apart from the sodding school work I’ve still to do.  😉

And my comments might have been a whole other realm of interesting if I’d gone with my original selection. Just sayin’ 🙂

P.S. No work now. It’s taken me feckin’ ages to to do this and search the songs and embed them. And if anyone can tell me how to embed videos that don’t come from You Tube I’d be grateful ‘cos I’m constantly making an arse of trying to embed videos into comments and upload video readings onto WP without posting first to Facebook. All advice welcome. If it works.

Btw, thanks, (I think) to Suzie for posting this link. It actually was quite fun. Music always is. 🙂 Hope you’re feeling better, Suzie. Let music work its magic. 🙂 x

What If?

What if every place you’d ever lived could tell a story;

A recounting of your life by many walls?

What if every word you’d said and deed you’d done there

Were embedded in the rooms and in the halls?


What if one day when you wanted to remember

All the living that you’d done in houses past,

You put glass to wall and stories fairly poured forth?

Would you recognise the days and years all passed?


If a record of your days in each was written

And portrayed poetically in film or book

Would you read, survey, enjoy all that you saw there?

Be happy so to have another look?


Or would walls be haunted by memories that maimed there

And bleed distempered paint into the rooms?

Would the years and months and days be reflective of your dreams

Or a nightmare lived, encased in fetid tombs?


What if those you’d known and loved were all still present

In the fabric of the buildings that you’ve known?

Would their eyes be wide like yours at the secrets all revealed

At the manner of your ways not always shown?


What if where you lived right now had all new plaster

And a sheath to shelter brick from broken tithes?

Would you take the chance to start afresh and try there

To edit and improve upon your life?


Extractions hurt. We know it.

Even lignocaine

Cannot completely obviate

The sense of searing pain.


Communication’s difficult.

We know this truth as well.

No anaesthetic, analgesic

To help your truth to tell.


For some, it’s just too painful

A hardship to reveal

What they think or may believe,

Even what they feel.


Some struggle with this facet

Of a person’s character.

Like guessing at a game,

Charades for him or her.


There’s always some new method

Of extracting what is worth

Being said or spoken of.

Sometimes silence is a curse.


What is thought is guessed at

But that’s another game,

Communication’s worth its weight

While hidden feels like shame.

By And By

I dreamt of you last night and again this morning

In slumber’s sleep and early waking hours,

I lay with you in darkness through till dawning

And pondered love as deeply held as ours.


My dreams are full of wonder at all loving

How gifted we may be when it enfolds.

I treasure them, eyes closed, then on opening

And expose heart to all my love beholds.


There’s magic in my dreams of love unfolding

And passion in my soul for who you are.

I whisper into ether, song rejoicing

You lead me, fill me, guide me, northern star.


Should dreams enhance all hours alert and watching,

Perfecting every moment to arouse

Splendour in the passion we are holding,

Eyes open always, never more to drowse.


Should life supplant all hopes of dreamers’ weaving

And build a barrier to all our plans,

I’ll close my eyes forever, hold fast to my perceiving

Of who we are in dreams, simply woman and one man.


In life we walk a path so often treading,

In dreams’ inertia fantasies unfold,

Collide in dreams, inhibitions shedding.

Come my love, in dreams, let’s both be bold.


Meet me in my dreams till eternity is ending,

In heavens purest realm I’ll find you, by and by,

I’ll know your spirit’s call so sweetly yearning

For miracles of love within mind’s eye.

Dream Lives

Trying their best to ignore what they feel,

To live in the present, where everything’s real,

Dreams are ephemeral dice.

Knowing that others’ needs must be met,

They sublimate thoughts, attempt to forget

Chances to live their lives twice.


A strange twist of fate to glimpse for a moment

Alternate path that seeks to torment

And prods at the softest of hearts.

She’s just a girl with longing and tears,

He’s simply a boy, heart ridden with fears

And the two must stay far apart.


Recollect selves but dream the sweet dream,

Imagine the moment where nothing seems

Impossible to realise.

Shift back to now,

Remembering how

Reality is somehow more wise.


Never forget, though, that dreams may come true.

It’s strange and confusing but often they do

In the weirdest of wonderful ways.

They sanctify souls that search for all bliss

To know heart’s desire, love’s sweetest kiss,

Till nights’ searching fulfills all the days.