Saturday, 5 September 2009


little plums, by reaching up for


that hang like on a Christmas tree

under Autumn sun.

Feel for solid fruit,

pull down by closing finger grabs

in tiny time

yes, gorgeous for a while

but me (and mind) are off into ‘tomorrow’

hypnotized by stuff to do,

hell-bent to plan an avalanche

and soon my Tesco plastic bag is full

with blue and burning stars, heavy and

brimmed with purple energy. Little plums.

Friday, 4 September 2009


We ate a little dinner on Sunday evening

as family sitting around a dining table

(Van Morrison played a background beat)

and discussed how exciting the disco had been

so Andrew would clock it and tell to

Natasha, his teacher, next day of the dance

when he suddenly clapped out a huge ovation

for our cook, author of a sausage repast,

and we all joined in as never before:

never before so excited about being

together and noisily together thanking creation.

Wednesday, 2 September 2009


It was a talking day. Full

of words. He ached for

a trip to a Musical because

he hadn’t asked for two hours

so now he did ask, played a game with dice,

looked at Youtube and did an ask again.

Bedtime, he laid down but, at five past one, sat

up and asked for ‘live on stage’,

flopping back down when no one came.

Later, in moon brightness, he had a pee and

noticed rain that wasn’t there before

and how it was a Tuesday.

Marmite-toast for breakfast, in between

talking about Mama Mia, theatre and asking after

Lloyd Weber. Then he asked for Showtime

with a grin – Phantom, Cats, Les Mis, Chitty,

Oliver – live on stage - Musical please!

Dad said OK but nothing new occurred

so he asked again – Oklahoma -

and, in the presence of mystery,

magic struck with a knock

on the door. A Postman

carrying tickets. A hit! Encore!

Now – he takes a breath. What’s next?

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

Tate Modern - this and that

Barbara Hepworth, sculptor:

intense burster of space

in bole movement, inert

twisting outwards, caving backwards

earth material in an age of

in-ness, this-ness,

donuts, tombstones, flowers, questing

inside – outside –  outside – inside.


Andrew can’t see a point;

it’s better to sit on the floor,

let people walk round and


signals from a work of art

smiling out his inner man.

Monday, 31 August 2009

The Real Deal

Any time

I travel faster than a body’s capability

(on a train, a car, a plane)

an inevitable and minimal vibration,

tickle-whizz of


stirs my belly to

a tiny pulse of fear, excitement.


Sometimes, in the lifting or


Andrew squeals

and engines have become