These are the beginnings
The walk after seeing
My mother sat; not on the bed in tears
But crouched by the radiator
Crying - " What have I done?"
I thought that then,
Intially, as I have always thought,
As they have felt they have always had it harder
Than most; Mother, in '91,
Was one of the first to get the,
'New fangled cancer treatment',
She should be famous, of the 1100 women
To recieve it, to push the stats of survival upwards.
I became a drinker and lost
Lots of dear but isolated things; the dances
Of love where music faded without song-
Couldn't remember much anyway,
Aside from the sex, why?
Why not the touches, the held
Softness of her love to me?
I reached for her but she wasn't there.
I walked the streets.
The blood flowed,
Like the sheen rain pavement
Mirrors that held no image
In the stones,
There wasn't a room at the hostel, but
Kevin shared a joke or two, his hands
Were burnt from something
On the pads of his thumbs, like
He had wanted to erase something
From a hard surface quickly-
He smelt of cheap whisky, not on the breath
But through the pores, bleary eyed, frayed hair,
His jeans stained - he asked me if I used and I
Thought of my mother; her back towards me suddenly.
He gave me a blanket, no room, directing me
To Andrew who took me by the hand,
A burly 30 something and told me of the solace
To be found in a man-
But I needed sleep.
So, he took me to the underpass of the motorway,
The lights hurt my eyes, he toppled a burnt out sofa
For me to stand on, a key to open
The door- I had my blanket, my torch, my mother like
A sygil and I rose.
Thunderous, he left me there. I lit the candles.
Around, the room was a service tunnel blocked off.
At one end, a mattress, human waste, an old woman there.
Doubling up, I wrapped close, lent to the task of self love
Of heart, she watched me, passed me her bottle.
To show comradery yet distance, I wiped the lip
Throughly and swung.
Seven am came quickly.
She rolled, snug in defeat, I was amazed I had climbed
So high and surely would sprain my ankle on the drop!
There is nothing like it, the stark morning air,
I felt more alive than ever before.
Near this motorway place were new houses, developments
That reminded me of Loutraki and Greece, Ikea based and I laughed.
I needed food so went and had some -
The Salvation Army took me in.
( Who the hell serves mashed potato for brekkie?? )
Toothless knuckle red men, stinking of whatever
They could afford. I wandered in having been told
Of the place and was viewed like a pariah
Even of them.
Slight stubble.
Second night on the streets -
Cold eyes, dead eyes-
The woman I shared the filth with
Sank slowly down next to me to eat. Newport 2010.
The walk after seeing
My mother sat; not on the bed in tears
But crouched by the radiator
Crying - " What have I done?"
I thought that then,
Intially, as I have always thought,
As they have felt they have always had it harder
Than most; Mother, in '91,
Was one of the first to get the,
'New fangled cancer treatment',
She should be famous, of the 1100 women
To recieve it, to push the stats of survival upwards.
I became a drinker and lost
Lots of dear but isolated things; the dances
Of love where music faded without song-
Couldn't remember much anyway,
Aside from the sex, why?
Why not the touches, the held
Softness of her love to me?
I reached for her but she wasn't there.
I walked the streets.
The blood flowed,
Like the sheen rain pavement
Mirrors that held no image
In the stones,
There wasn't a room at the hostel, but
Kevin shared a joke or two, his hands
Were burnt from something
On the pads of his thumbs, like
He had wanted to erase something
From a hard surface quickly-
He smelt of cheap whisky, not on the breath
But through the pores, bleary eyed, frayed hair,
His jeans stained - he asked me if I used and I
Thought of my mother; her back towards me suddenly.
He gave me a blanket, no room, directing me
To Andrew who took me by the hand,
A burly 30 something and told me of the solace
To be found in a man-
But I needed sleep.
So, he took me to the underpass of the motorway,
The lights hurt my eyes, he toppled a burnt out sofa
For me to stand on, a key to open
The door- I had my blanket, my torch, my mother like
A sygil and I rose.
Thunderous, he left me there. I lit the candles.
Around, the room was a service tunnel blocked off.
At one end, a mattress, human waste, an old woman there.
Doubling up, I wrapped close, lent to the task of self love
Of heart, she watched me, passed me her bottle.
To show comradery yet distance, I wiped the lip
Throughly and swung.
Seven am came quickly.
She rolled, snug in defeat, I was amazed I had climbed
So high and surely would sprain my ankle on the drop!
There is nothing like it, the stark morning air,
I felt more alive than ever before.
Near this motorway place were new houses, developments
That reminded me of Loutraki and Greece, Ikea based and I laughed.
I needed food so went and had some -
The Salvation Army took me in.
( Who the hell serves mashed potato for brekkie?? )
Toothless knuckle red men, stinking of whatever
They could afford. I wandered in having been told
Of the place and was viewed like a pariah
Even of them.
Slight stubble.
Second night on the streets -
Cold eyes, dead eyes-
The woman I shared the filth with
Sank slowly down next to me to eat. Newport 2010.
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