Home from Home

Colourful and calling
Out in conversation,
what language, a
Sing song along
I’ve never heard before.

Not dull or dank or grey
To merge into Scottish summer skies
or nearby brae
Instead rainbow feathers rush
A pink and yellow blur
Like drumstick lollies
Sweeties
For the lovebirds.

I hear that you’ve escaped,
originate
in a garden, penned
in an aviary too small for your ambition
And flair
Lighting up the trees and sky with warmth,
Softening the edges of brutal buildings
Edged with barbs, hard.
Like the population have learnt to do.

Painting the town,
A floating feather mural,
Leaving smiles in soggy footprints,
“Did you see those birds?”
Far from but quite at home.

E. Capaldi

This was written in response to a call for work about birds in city environments.

picture used under Creative Commons license

Halloween 🎃

What Are You Going to Be?

Scooby doo, and a crocodile
Nod hi when catching
Each other’s eye on the 9.45 into town
As you smooth down your Daenerys dress
In this sudden uncharacteristic moment, you… express yourself.

What would be fun,
What’s not been too done
What am I going to be…

Angels, devils
Jokes or efforts
Some go hell for leather
Could be youtube experts.
Or it’s a costume out the packet
Or somewhere in between
Bits and bobs bought from specialist shops,
Dust off moths from
Clothes at the backs of wardrobes.

What would be fun,
What’s not been too done
What am I going to be…

Confuse the ghouls,
Surprise the spectres
So they don’t mistakes us for kindred spirits,
But what they don’t realise
In the paints and masks
the covers the facades,
Are who we are,
Or part of us, an element,
something underneath.

Our superhero costumes are usually under shirt
As we do what we must to get through trials at home or work.
But for one night, we get a spin of the phone box,
And emerge.

There’s a witch at the bus stop
A pirate on the till
A unicorn in the toilet queue,
While the ring master waits for a free cubicle.
Pop art girls wave their goodbyes, walking Lichtensteins
Two legged spider friends go to dance
A wonderland rabbit running late,
hops quick past,
Dorothy’s plaits twist,
A Stormtrooper’s pissed
Men are women
And women are men
And people are characters
Rules transcend.

When immersed in a night of undress
What you put on uncovers the rest
Who we are, who we want to be.
Who would you be if you could be…

It’s all mixed up, what we want each other to see,
the signals we send, tapped,
to be mapped,
requiring translation,
From the subtle to the blatant.

The morning after
The 1st of November
goth eyeliner down your face,
Braving the walk of shame. Jaws is waiting for the station gates to open,
tomato sauce in their morning roll,
Spell broken.

Every day can hold more scares;
Than beleaguered die or a talking bottle of beer,
Day to day affairs
Can be infinitely more absurd,
Than merely dressing up.

Maybe a costume’s just a costume,
Nothing more nothing less
But the day still begs the question;
What are you going to be?

EMC

For National Poetry Day

It’s National Poetry Day, and it’s now Autumn, which make the following by Keats the perfect fit.

To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
      For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
   Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44484/to-autumn

Pictured: Keats’ original manuscript, 1819, in the public domain, used under creative commons license

My Spine

Today I created a poem based on the order of book titles in my collection (thanks Huddersfield New College library for the inspiration!). Without realising I’ve probably placed certain titles together in a certain order, and when read as a text some of the words make sense or take on new meanings in unexpected ways. What do you come up with?

“Hot milk

we should all be feminists

why be happy when you can be normal

a girl is a half-formed thing

Harmless like you

your family your body

men explain things to me

if I’m scared we can’t win

hystopia

brand new ancients

I love this part

Spectacles

The Bricks that Built the Houses”

Update: Film News

Found out this summer that my short film will be at the Scottish Queer International Film Festival 2017! Screening in the Scottish shorts programme, ‘Pull’  is in great company and it will be fab to see it play to an audience. For details: http://www.sqiff.org

Otherwise been writing and submitting poems and stories, hopefully some news on those soon, and performed poetry at the West End Festival, Village Storytelling Festival and with LGBT Health and Wellbeing. Planning on getting back to more performances, more filmmaking, more writing, just… More! Screenshot_20170903-225737

 

 

Monument

I am at the monument to gay people persecuted during the war.
Steps lead to a point
Which looks to a future, the sign reads
Water in the canal comes up against the strong stone,
And recedes.
There are a group of women sitting on the steps dressed all in black.
They have champagne flutes in their hands
And are speaking a language I don’t understand
It looks like a celebration,
And in a way it is,
They move forward and place white flowers
At the furthermost point
Position them carefully across each other.
Memories flow over and into the water
Carried through the air
Moved by their grief.
The celebration of a life left,
Taking the next step, the loss felt.
I hope the person knew how much their friends cared.
There are tears now,
But they pool close
To one another.
EMC
Photo by the author 

Graduation

“Today marks a gateway to a future

which can hold on for just one more minute.

For now,

It’s about being proud.

All the hours at the library,

vindicated.

Study booth book tower uncomfy pillow,

Theorising throwing a silent housewarming

party to cries of “the library is my new home…”

 

All the stress,

Intellectual and mental health tests,

When it felt like it might be sink instead of swim,

Toes in at the deep end,

Push up, and here you are,

Reading the Thank You page,

The parents, carers, partner, friends, the helpful experts who lent a hand.

 

People hug and beam,

Proud as punch,

Punch-drunk on a heady elixir of fulfilment with a dash of fear

Of the unknown, that rogue.

But here is the finish line, for the current round.

What next? What was it all for?

Hold those thoughts,

the day is yours.

 

EMC

With its meditations on the nature of humanity, the arrival of Wonder Woman couldn’t be more timely

 

Diana, Princess of Themyscira, is (in)famously the only leading woman of a comic book film since 2005’s Elektra. The invisibility of women in superhero films is endemic and so entrenched it has become the norm (try and imagine a 12 year absence of male led superhero films being entertained). In the hands of director Patty Jenkins (Monster, 2003) Wonder Woman delivers a suspenseful story dynamically told.

 

Diana Prince is given the context and history of an origin story, as an only child of the Amazon Queen nipping at the heels of her impressive and ferocious fighting sisters, her idols. Relationships are explored between mother and daughter, friends and siblings on this woman only paradise.

 

A harmonious life, it is abruptly disrupted by the interruption of Chris Pine’s WW1 pilot. Diana is compelled to leave the confines of Themyscira with him, aggrieved at his stories of war and suffering.

 

There are light touches of humour deftly played by Lucy Davies as Pine’s secretary (cue the response to her job description, “We call them slaves”) which pitch against the horrors of war and Diana’s earnest outrage. This is where Wonder Woman departs from superheroes before her, in her significant capacity for compassion and empathy. Gadot imbues this fierce warrior with a warmth that enriches both character and story.

 

In a plot which sees mortals developing chemical weapons,  and enact mass killing at the German front, it is the goddess who ends up bringing a humanity to proceedings.

 

The palette of the film evokes vintage footage and steeliness,  so that in full Wonder Woman action, Diana does not look so incongruous on the battlefield as one might think.

 

There are pointed moments of deliberate attempts at ‘girl powered’  dialogue and attitudes, which mostly succeed. However,  a throwaway line describing Diana as being distracting sits poorly – there doesn’t need to be any reinforcement of the idea that men can’t help themselves when a woman is around, even if she is this wonderful. The token slightly sleazy companion who seems included to reflect more regressive male attitudes also detracted, even though this same character delivers a bold statement on racism that was a welcome one. This unevenness in the treatment of the character may reflect the writing and story team (male only). For a film which will undoubtedly reach a young female audience, there is no need to tell them that men find women fighting each other a turn on. It would have been better to see Diana have more female characters to interact with, Peggy Carter and Diana taking on WW2 together is a tantalising idea for example. For now, this writer remains pleased that attempts to tether Diana to a male love interest were brief and her story remains one of a journey to discovering her own powers and purpose.

 

Jenkins’ assured direction of this anticipated and much needed addition to the world of film balances thrilling action with a humanity that should leave us all wondering how we could better navigate a difficult time in our history by looking towards the qualities of this wonder woman.
This film passes the Bechdel test (due to conversations between Diana and her mother). 
Emc

Release

Teeth brushed clean,

bra unclipped,

first fresh air,

shoes unslipped.

 

Downpour in the heat,

fresh clean sheets,

flash-filled kitchen floats on the scent of coffee beans.

 

Post-hike pint,

pre-booked taxi arrives on time,

first shower after the fest,

sink into pillows instead of wet grass-mess.

 

Downers on the outside,

crashing loud, a landslide,

blissful moments just in reach,

unfold,

if incomplete.

Side by side,

Weighted nights by fleet-foot rays of light.

 

EMC

Photo by the author.