she couldn’t go to rehab the cat needed to be fed

she’d go next week when the sky would be blue

when the delicate hues of green

could be seen among the trees

and the baby smiled silently in the crib

she couldn’t start the treatment cos she’d bought that piece of steak

she’d start on the first when the rabbits jump in threes

when the number she was waiting for

leapt out the frying pan

and the puppy licked the bone contentedly

she realised she’d never get well or get clean

listening to Marianne Faithful whilst dusting empty bottles

she slumped into the chair as she

dived into further depression

and more bottles that were empty cried quietly for her

she was a dirty little maggot so the neighbours said last week

to all the journos and anyone who’d listen

dead for days with no way

of telling cos she smelt rotten anyways

and the baby, cat and pup died too

I choose to follow

You painted the skies in a glorious palette

you hung stars in the exact right place

i stand in awe

I stand in wonder

I stand and wait

Where is it you want me to go?

How do you want me to be?

Who do you want me to serve in your name?


You know already

it is there in your heart

it has been bubbling for a while

but now I will light it

I will go where you say

I will be how you say

and I will serve You through serving others.


What amazing love you have

that knows no earthly bounds

you choose the weirdest folk

to do your bidding

I choose to go

I choose to follow

I choose love, Your agape love

in all I do

O Lord, O Lord, O Lord


who knows the Secrets of the Broadband black box

The box of possibilities is Pandora’s to me

Advert offered speed, reliability, the world {wide web}

I get sludge, moving through mud


The wires in the back laugh at me

This simple black box 3 inches by 3

Offered freedom and spewed servitude instead


The blue wire violates my time machine

That has stayed still ever since

No distant lands of ether to discover


My wifi has lost my 412 in the 512

k “work from home” a loser’s paradise

A dreamless dispassion of unemployability.

the alone of loneliness

I stepped aside
I moved position
I got left behind

My mates produced kids
My mates produced CVs
My mates produced new strands to the corporate rhythm

I left the office
I vacated the family
I walked the mountain trail

My mates got new cars
My mates got lucky
My mates got the prize – wife, kids, job

I produced nothing
I sit and I stare
Sometimes even words are scarce in my solitude.

But what they don’t get
What the world don’t get
I was always lonely even in a crowd

I was the silicate swan, too precious to touch
I was the sharp gravel path, too hard to touch
I was the composite explosion, too dangerous to touch.
I was untouched, aloof, alone
The stereotypical Lonely Girl.

A Day at the seaside

A woman
was impaled by a beach umbrella
and had to be freed with a bolt cutter,
police in the US said.
Mary Radley, 68,
was at Seaside Downs in Santa Monica
on Monday when part of the apparatus
pierced her right ankle and
was driven completely through due to the “force of the wind”,
so the nice reporter from the local newspaper said.
Borough Police Chief Timmy Lloyd (he’s a fine catch, ladies)
said fire crews used a bolt cutter
on the umbrella to free her, and
then put her in an ambulance.
Mary Radley, 68 said nothing when the nice reporter came to visit.

Though I did eat all the chocolates later and smiled.

{this is an exercise for a course I am doing}