Autobiography
RADIO MEMOIRS
Radio IP - One of my earliest and most precious memories.
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All that glitters ...
... the cross she always wore – twenty two carat; the one I bought her for her twenty-first.
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- 3043 reads
Weather Report 2
Going too high on the swings When there’s no reply
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The Girth of the 4th Dimension
A good way to grasp time
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- 512 reads
Picnic
It’s all I have to bring today: this small notebook. I pat my pockets theatrically Now where could it be? A corner peeks out like a handkerchief I heave out the rest.
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- 833 reads
You
You are underweight and blonde, emerging like a shrivelled purple fish.
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The second one asked after the hanging hind and up the highest mountain.
Rills and runnels, rock and tarn, cwm and cloudy crag.
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- 2380 reads
TRAVEL GUIDE FROM THE UNDERBELLY------2
,,,We strained and stressed and spit and farted, and somehow we managed to lift the damn thing into the straining arms of the Chinamen ,,,
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- 935 reads
First Impressions I.P.
Feline Power - I.P. Effort
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- 2017 reads
Can I do anything right?
Did you ever have one of those days?
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- 2209 reads
Mauna Loa
My anger is the hammer That nailed Jesus to the cross. It burns the fragile earth, Scattering pieces of hearts at my feet. It's likely that some of yours is there,
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- 751 reads
Distant Point
The enveloping cold shrouds the fields; The sheep, camouflaged, sleep. You can hear the crispness of the air Almost crackling with loe energy. Everytime you breathe you see your mark is left,
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Critically Conditioned
Presented with your requests I crumble, Disintergrating into my foetal position. Protection from you is futile. You force and force yourself upon me And I flinch, I bite, I oppugn.
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- 665 reads
Black Dog
My black dog barks Skin shredding sonic rings; He does not quietly sing. He does not softly sing. My black dog bites. Teeth-mark scars around my wrists; He does not gently kiss.
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- 513 reads
Saturday Morning
Are you awake? I walk into a supermarket on Hoe Street so I can hear him. It’s one I haven’t been into yet. I pretend to look interested in the cereals. Yes, since eight.
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- 1413 reads
I am Good
I am good at writing. See I am doing it now, one handed. My name has been in magazines and some books (see CV). I can explain didactic rhythm and spondees to children.
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- 738 reads
Art of Cooking
Wetstone ground, rasped in smooth small circles; You taught us how to hone a sliver of hate to a glint, Slip point 'twixt gristle and bone as hens' bane;
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- 3444 reads
A Phetchaburi Island of the Mind and Other Things I Dreamt Last Night
dedicated with gratitude and admiration to my friend Theresa Wright I dreamt I was in a popular reality show: !!!PIANO!!! in which Mozart and Beethoven are reduced to pretentious mechanics,
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- 715 reads
An old battered suitcase
An Ode to a special kind of man!
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- 1989 reads
New Haven
New Haven Razzel had lived their since she was born but she never knew that what she saw was what she was, but what exactly is what she sees?
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- 759 reads
The Not So Sugar Coated Mind of an A.D.D Child
So you should kinda get it from the title it's a comedy based on reality.
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- 562 reads
Things My Daughter Taught Me
Taught me ... I wouldn't be remembered for how clean my floor was. (edit)
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Springtime! I.P.
Another springtime!
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Guardian angels
Guardians of the tree of life or winged goddesses of Egypt, from Sumeria to Babylon and beyond you are known moving between heaven and earth, fusers of dimensions, who instruct,
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- 1386 reads
My Psychotic Brakes
When I was born, the Chicago mafiosos threw a baby shower though we'd already left for California and then Oregon, never to return When I was very young, or when I was very sick
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- 717 reads
Me.
I'm not exactly sure where the inspiration for this particular piece came from. I put my pen down on the notebook page and this is just what came pouring out.
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Valencia Street
Valencia is a self-operating gypsy folk band - the players come and go, but the instruments keep on playing!
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- 1300 reads
the impressionist
i'm told i do a near perfect impression of myself. maybe one day i'll get it right
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Thinking of The Great Marble Craze
Remembering a strange trend from my childhood
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What goes on in his mind
if you want me to continue then leave a comment
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The Old Days
Bikes that had engines concealed in our lips, Or cards held to the spokes with 'Cellotape' strips.
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Perfect Symbol (March 17th)
Happy St. Patrick's Day
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- 1955 reads
Southwold Revisited (The Sound of the Sea)
A walk on the pier in the pouring rain, not her best idea.
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- 6389 reads
Do, but Don't
Don’t laugh, giggle, Don’t cry, sniffle,
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- 470 reads
A Riddle for the Cheshire Cat
I'd like to go to the strip bar but when I get the money rarely see the point... after all there are many other ways to be soon parted with one's Sacagaweas, but I ought to go more often
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- 1686 reads
Vanessa
My blue dress is still hanging in the wardrobe. And today, as I turned the corner onto Maryoteya Road, I thought of you.
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- 3060 reads
Supermarket haikus
Two linked haikus about the impact of supermarkets on our self perception - I wrote them just now for a friend who is doing her PHD on the impact of supermarkets.
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- 900 reads
An Ode to American Cars
As a kid I used to ride with my folks in a battered old green Dodge pickup as weathered and dented as it was solid, up craggy Oregon mountains and down pot-holed red dirt roads
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- 742 reads
Going to Taco Bell with Dirk
My housemate Dirk works hard and late (he earned a literature degree from an Ivy League university before going "crazy" for years) Now he studies computers at the local university
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High on Snow (Inspiration Point)
High on Snow (IP) (13th March, 2009, 20.49pm) Edgeless precipice; you look down, precarious, high on snow. I watch you. Naïve, I stumble in the light, troughed in some unbefitting,
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Et in Arcadia Ego..
Utopia?
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The Barber killed my baby brother
Where do baby brothers go when they cut their hair?
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Am I only a number?
I am not the lucky one in 13,983,816 who wins the lottery.
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An obituary of my golden days
An obituary of the best days of my life
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Dear Maám
A letter to the teacher in high school who disliked me
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Lessons of life
lessons of life my two month old son taught me
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Lost in New York - Pt II
Fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut go the pigeon’s wings slapping the walls of its tiny concrete airshaft by my window. I sit up in my mattress and rub my eyes,
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Some thing about being transgendered
This is about my feelings...I'm going to make you guess what it is that I am writing about...
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Photographs
Sometimes, photographs take you back.
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This Man
The ground grows cold under my starved body. My vision gets hazy as I drift into dream...
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Lonely taxi journey
I am travelling home for Christmas With a taxi driver who knows everything And he reveals way too much. Within seconds he is recounting tales Of his excesses in the East
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- 1480 reads
Night Bus To Abingdon
I leant against the bus stop, two am, cold and eating a greasy burger with an egg in. I swayed slightly under the influence of an evenings drinking. As I finished the burger the bus pulled up.
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- 4993 reads
The Tooth Fairy
The tooth fairy said a bad word;
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In the Green Room
(for Alison Dunne and Michael Donaghy) She’s washing dinner dishes as I sit at the kitchen table, leafing through her copy of 'Remembering Dances Learned Last Night.'
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- 884 reads
Death Shall Have No Dim Onion
Shopping by woods this snowy eve, I wonder why each word I read gets muddled up, goes quite mad. How did my eyesight get so bad? I look at poems I once held dear
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- 1723 reads
The Downside of Knowing a Poet
Don’t write. Don’t phone. Don’t wait outside my door in the rain. Yes, I adore you. I’d do anything for you, except ever see you again. Your sorrow is so tangible
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- 516 reads
Here is Where I Died
Here is where I died
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Matthew Steenson
Would it surprise you to know that ridicule beat sympathy by a landslide?
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- 1481 reads