writing

Dare

I am the good girl,

The play by the rules girl

Obey, abide, stay on the right side

And I’m told, everything’s going to be alright.

But inside I’m divining that new stars might be aligning,

Shapes I’ve never seen before, they make me feel like molten gold.

Daring to begin, performing roles I’ve never seen,

Before a friend tells me over lunch that it’s a sin,

I brushed it off   but it’s sunk in.

I didn’t know that my exploring was corroding years of doting

On the notions, those outmoded, that then goaded, questions pouring,

I was soaring then came floating,

Down into the gloaming,

And everything looked different,

And like I’d never known it.

You learn to masquerade, to hide,

Become a master of disguise.

It’s strange to conjure up a past

Where you hoped that you would not be asked

To hold that adoration clasped

Like water running through your hands.

The right direction is emerging

And still my thirst needs quenching.

When a book explains beyond hers and his

To inform teachers and their school kids

The usual rags smear their grease all over it.

Or when schools have the freedom

To erase us from the curriculum,

Is the path to relationships

Not even more treacherous to manage

when your fumbles loves and kisses

Are completely missing?

As if you’re non-existent.

Imagine what that absence does to a young mind over time…

When mirrors lose their shine,

Obscured reflections leave us all blind.

 

It’s the weekend and I’m caught up,

Tongue tripping to keep this form up

When sparks fizz,

And lips meet,

And we knock hips

And bump teeth.

But I’m in the bubble, I forget,

Take a step back, just check…

Can’t rest.

But I dare to trust,

That those who paved the paths before us,

We share the same stuff as they were made of:

Heart and strength and deep reserves,

Educating ignorance even when it hurts.

The love that dared not speaks its name has long been amplified,

Its ripples reaching far and wide

Decibels take on the tide,

And into these familiar waves we leap

Every time we dare to speak.

E.C.

First performed at ‘Dare to Speak’ for LGBT History Month. 

Photo by the author.

Film – An Apple a Day

Film making tends to involve recruiting a team of people, and even when it can be done on low or even no budget, some money is usually helpful, and on a professional level essential.

So I wanted to set myself the challenge of making something at home, on my own, with props and any equipment already in the house. It felt important to prove somehow that at the heart of a film is a story, and that is something, with no backing or help, that I can be capable of. So, this film is a bit rough round the edges. The autofocus self adjusts sometimes. And there is a segment of content I would have adjusted if I had picked the music in advance (I picked it after, and did pay 99p for it, although I now wonder if it might have been around the house too). I sacrificed some music sync at the beginning so that image and picture matched more towards the end.

The story: A commitment to healthy eating is challenged by a tempting sweet treat…

https://vimeo.com/205228813

Strength & Sadness

Strength and sadness

Constant companions.

Casting shadow and light,

Competing in flight,

Rising, racing,

Undercutting each other,

Always tied to each other,

Each comes from the other.

Sadness, galvanises,

The sense in your core

A forewarning,

Tears shed in care

Love to spare.

Strength can be softening

An offering to others

Whose hands may be tied

Or whose sadness has swept their strength to the side.

It’ll be fine

When you have no real idea

Calm in the face of fear,

Not for yourself

But for everyone else.

Though the pair are poised opposed

The gaps between them close

To nothing.

To be so sad that

All you see is drenched in blue

And still walk one foot at a time,

To be caught under duvet like cement in your bed

And still breathe,

That’s strength.

To drop a hint for help or not tell,

That is still

A well,

Of unknown depths,

Of sadness and its strength.

EMC

Photo by the author, Interior ABC, Glasgow

Take it Easy

Pushing through, improving

When you feel like you’re not moving,

Tethered, same old mooring,

Feels like you don’t know what you’re doing.

 

Like a boulder on your back,

A form of self-attack,

Circumstances may have stalled,

And now you beat yourself down small.

 

‘Should’ can help or hinder,

Indicating mistakes or wrongs.

But magnified, turned inward

can also cast some shadows, long;

I should be better

I should be further

I should know all of the answers

I should have done this

I should have fixed it

I should be creating chances.

 

When all the power’s in your hands

And things are not according to your plans

So the logic goes, who else is to blame;

You set the fire, feel the flames.

Embrace your own autonomy

Your independent thought is free,

That is your responsibility.

But if you’re trying your level best

When the arrows just won’t rest,

Know that you are sound,

Sometimes solutions are waiting to be found.

They may require chipping out and carving, dug with your own muster,

But some assistance or opportunity can come from another.

Supportive words, a listening ear, or two,

Someone who believes in you.

And the light might not always cast itself in your direction,

But keep seeking,

Hand outstretched,

everywhere,

And it may just be met, half way in mid air.

 

A lattice of interlocking light,

Shines bright as kindness keeps alight

Our hearts like stars,

Connected by these threads

Like kites, balloons, or paper planes bobbing on a mobile above your head.

 

Paths leaves scars as you find your way

And in the pause of some relief

Breathe in  deep

Before submerging –

Because it will all come round again,

The rushing, never ending, one of those days, lack of sleep

This time when it’s really what you need,

For passions of whatever kind,

That soothe your heart and give you peace of mind.

 

EMC

 

 

 

 

Mind Control

Worries, stresses, unfettered,

Nerves, blush flushes, untempered.

Heat nicks my pins

Travelling toe to head,

Rushing water in a sinking ship,

It fills me up with dread.

 

Waking from a sleep,

My companion is on its feet.

I’m catching breath on ragged mesh

Tight wound, its marks impressed.

 

We’ve halted in the tunnel,

There’s no info and no signal

The doors are locked, the air gets hot,

And I envy all the couples.

 

 

If this chain reaction flies in full –

It’s the captor, it makes the rules.

 

Crouch down in corner,

Find out here it’s cooler,

Put my mind to work

And mine it for all its worth.

Eyes clamp shut

In myself I trust.

Paint across the conjured canvas,

Place my panic far at bay

Picture the fear flowing,

Hastily away.

 

These ancient mechanisms

Our in built defences

Go too far, strive too hard,

In their attempts to save us.

 

EMC

 

Getting Home

It’s Saturday night, it’s central station

And everybody’s winchin

Seeking some cessation

of the realisation

that fun is crawling to a halt.

But not before it’s been exhausted, squeezed clean of every sweaty droplet.

Burger king does a roaring trade

If chips were water we’d all be sober.

Chips chips burger chips

Fish and chips and curry sauce

Mixed with drips from spirit lubricated lips

Sauce and slaw and oil and batter

I burned this off already, just through my evening’s banter.

Shoes are pinching,

Heels are stabbing,

Feet on fire

Dancefloors made of burning coals.

Where’s my flats I thought I’d packed

Find the toilets

Oh god the stairs.

Try find change while feeling rage at the hell heat in my feet,

And then it’s 40p to pee. It’s a scandal it’s outrageous.

Contemplate peeing 40 times but I’d end up there for ages.

And now there is the final sprint

Running always running

I’m out of breath I’m risking ankle,

Ticket money coat bag fankle.

I made it skiting through the doors

I slip I slide, glad not to fall.

There’s singing and there’s shouting,

Bare feet on grimy floor

The train’s delayed, I need again,

Toilet queue is out the door.

And finally we’re moving

And I feel like going snoozing.

Bundle up my meagre jacket

And make a pillow for my comfort.

Late night lullaby;

Phone calls home

For lifts and food

Ready waiting pizza,

Filters in, improves my mood.

Looking back I might have liked

To keep track of stops encountered.

Tapping on my shoulder

Takes me from my slumber

To find I made a Platform blunder – reading 6 for 9,

It’s too late, I’ve gone too far, I’ve reached the end of the line.

EMC

Photo by the author. 

Prefer audio? https://myspace.com/emcletters/music/songs 

In Plain Sight

She felt the ground soften under her feet. It mulched and shifted under sole. Made small by her surroundings, branches reached, waving leaves at the clouds as if in conversation.

Holding onto peeling greening bark, she supported herself. With a cautionary tilt of her head through long brown hair, Laure paused and checked it really was clear, that she was alone, that no-one could see, and began to cry. The well she thought she’d exhausted the day before had refilled of its own accord.

The monster in her heart found its voice in her tears. Air couldn’t reach lung before what remained was expelled. The deficit made her head light and she sat before she fell. Her heart stopped. Not of excitement or fright. She thought this must be what it is to break, to be snapped underfoot.

Trying to count breaths in and out, rhythmically, she reached an uneven compromise. Her hand rested on the half submerged roots of the tree she had chosen, arching into the ground. Blurred branches hung over and above her, a drooping canopy, diffusing sunlight through the green. Raindrops began to fall, bubbling in the puddles at her feet. Some were burst by sharply pointed strikes. They swam into the gully of the roots.

One brisk eye rub and the canopy came into clarity. The criss-cross of intersecting branches looked like it formed a letter. Laure reasoned the shape existed independently, and she only noticed it because it reminded her of the first letter of an important name. A reflection of how her mind was focused on it, searching. She was reserved for that name, it was ingrained, and every object became a mirror of it.

To make sure it really was there, she leaned away from the trunk slightly, knees still bent, to trace her fingers over it. Sure enough, one slope connected to a pinnacle met by another slope, and crossed in the middle, marking the letter A.

The wind blew in and around the leaves as further letters began to form. Branches lay across each other, giving — to As and Ts. Looping round, buds provided the . to is and js. The canopy yielded, lowering. It bent and undulated, pushed out of place. As branches tried out new shapes, they began to find new formations. The canopy of letters began encircling the central trunk, encasing Laure underneath. Temporarily shocked, panic erupted until she noticed that she was not being pinned but enveloped. The part of the trunk she had been sitting on sunk back to create a concave nook of a hollow. She sat in it.

Although contracted, there were still gaps between the leaves. Laure risked a push of the woven structure and found it pliant. She could hide here, and no-one would know. If she wanted to leave, a push and a squeeze under the periphery and she would be free. She pulled it closer.

EMC

Photo by the author.