Poem

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 

A New Day

It’s New Year’s Day,

For once nature is noisier than the neighbours.

Cars still cross and tarmac creaks,

Under the weight

Of too many After-Eights.

 

Birds continue tweeting and feeding,

Unaware of the landmark change.

Their cycle continues,

Much the same.

 

Expectations, hopes, fears;

Leak out of window panes and door frames,

And fill the bracing air.

Solar embers ignite the sky,

Sending plumes of white cloud spinning,

Pigment collision.

At the peak of winter, a peek at the warmth soon to reach us.

EMC.

Photo by the author.

For Orlando

It is said that sexuality doesn’t define,

And no, don’t write me off.

But it is written through me,

Entwined on each fibrous level.

Meshed, hooked and looped from eye to toe.

It even began to taste sweet.

So it shatters my heart,

Rips the tissues apart,

When infiltrated by those who have hated.

 

Occupying secret spaces,

We have shared language and masked our faces.

Rites of passage thought wrong,

Wandering the straight and narrow for too long.

Until, you dare to deviate otherwise.

Hands contorted from decades of doors prised,

open.

 

I am tired, but they can’t wake up.

From the playground taunts to the political haunts,

Every word led to here.

EMC

Originally exhibited as part of the Stonewall Season, November 2016.

Photo by the author.

Thresholds

Unknown to myself,

Hidden in my heart,

Like a hunch in your gut,

Or a voice in the dark.

 

Strange street signs and alleyways,

can’t see where this leads,

One step at a time,

I trip over my feet.

 

Neon letters glow

With an electric pulse,

A beacon flickers below,

And tells me where

 

To head first.

No hand to hold,

Go it alone.

Bodies move on impulse, and slip by close.

 

These are the bright lights,

They thrum and surge,

And I retreat behind them,

into the club.

 

EMC

Originally exhibited as part of the Stonewall Season, November 2016. 

Photo by the author.

 

Back to Front

People can play it mean,

When trying to hide revealing feelings.

Wounds that go deep,

Create scars that rise steep,

A peaky trip,

The altitude makes you sick.

The toughest walls

Muffle the inner calls,

For love, acceptance, a hand to hold,

A cheek to kiss,

A person to miss.

Love involves an evolution,

Leave behind seeking retribution

For past hurts,

Be brave enough to trust.

Easier said than done, when your heart’s on the run.

It’s an inner fight,

A conflict of rights,

To protect your damaged heart,

Or be loved for every part, of you.

Arctic ice will flow wherever the gusts of fear blow.

A global warming means thinning ice,

Skating on the edge of a knife,

You risk falling in,

You’ve forgotten how to swim,

Muscle memory kicks in,

Let it give you fins, and swim.

EMC. 

Photo by the author. 

All I Want…

All I want for Christmas

Is to sleep till noon

Scoff chocolate, schlep about,

Blanket fort and pillow spoon.

 

All I want for Christmas

Is to shut the holly-wreathed door,

The blinds, and the curtains,

And dance around the tinsel strewn floor.

 

Grapes of a peaceful kind,

Spiced, mulled wine.

Bank balance zero,

Gift giving hero.

 

All I want for Christmas

Is to be around my folks and friends,

Made a lot easier when,

Their love translates to presence;

Presence, present… priceless.

 

Whether it’s spiritual or seasonal, winter or yule,

Don’t let those connections slide,

Baby it’s cold outside, keep it warm on the inside.

EMC

Photo by the author.