The Duck Egg

Blue backed smile,
Toothless grin.
Fingerprints smoothing the curves;
Covering the scratches beneath.
It was a rough upper cut,
Knocking him right between the eyes,
Because they can't see him the way I do.
Under a fixed smile
And smudged, moulded lines,
White speckles,
Large freckles plaguing bobbled skin;
A duck egg, but not so, not as sweet,
Not that cuddly, baby blue,
But a deepness, like that of a lake,
A guarded, cold blue
Haunted.

He stands, a hand quavering up and down his face,
Nestling in an ever decreasing hairline,
He finally did it.
And He likes it this way;
On his own with a vast plane of anything,
Unamazed by it;
As long as it keeps the advancing space between him and the rest of the world.
An almost twilight sky closing in on him,
And the promise that, as it did,
He would find himself lucky to be alive tomorrow.
He appreciates it.

A dent in the silence leaves him to wander,
Not one for venturing,
He perches on a chair.
In front of the stairs,
Under the window,
Close enough to the kitchen to be shaken by the hum of the fridge,
All to observe to stars,
As he always did.
The moon threw shadows against his whitewashed face,
And made the clock spin, dizzily, showing many times at once.
As the stars shook themselves,
Hooking onto the dark blanket of the night,
Like bats, waiting for food, a victim.

Solitary, which here meant, a relished feeling,
A wrapped up, warm emotion,
Rather like that first overwhelming "I love you more than chocolate" feeling,
You got when you were a child,
That first thought that takes your breath away,
Something that you never thought could happen,
Don't understand,
But enjoy, in a strange way.

Light charged from the clouds,
Churning up the wheat,
Moulding the sky into a sinister pool,
Swirling the moon, cutting it into pieces,
Separating like rice in a pan,
Or a smashed mirror.
It was a reflection of himself,
A reminder of decisions he had made;
Something he detested,
The inevitable hermit crab.
On finding something that was not 'ordinary' in himself,
Hiding from it all, including those ugly,
Deep insecurities,
Like scars, they wouldn't leave him.
He threw off his shell,
Started anew,
Had a chance living with the 'sea slugs',
Who saw their faults, but hid behind nothing,
But, becoming afraid, he retreated back to the familiar.

He felt changed,
No longer his dark, deep blue,
Mysterious and interesting;
Instead, a mustard yellow,
The sickeningly, cowardly yellow.
Transformed from a possibility,
Sinking swiftly beneath the water,
Waiting for an opportunity to rise to the surface.
Now, the underbelly of the serpent,
Misunderstood,
Deceptive and evil?
The apple now rotten to the core,
Seeds remained healthy,
Willing and wanting of change,
A chance to finally prove something,
Hidden and buried beneath skin and flesh,
Ever hurtful reminder of surrendered possibilities.



Thank you Katt and Jammy for teaching me to spell serpent :) .. And I know you said it was pips, not seeds, but seeds sounded better :P

My favourite thing in my room.

The telephone
That perches on my shelf
Signals two times;
One past, one present.
An advance in technology;
An ability
For all things
To be reproduced
And sold in bulk,
For those who take a fancy
Of the 'retro' and 'kitch'.
Little phone
Feels unappreciated
With ten thousand
brothers and sisters
And parents who own so much
And care for naught,
Perhaps with the exception
Of their prodigal son;
Money.
He comes and goes,
Makes them elated one moment
And deflated the next,
But they love him
Not caring what he puts them through.


Little phone
Cries out for attention
For a time when all little phone's looked like him
That my parents were born and met in.
They smiled at my Little phone
And picked him up and took him home
And gave him to their youngest daughter
And didn't realise they had bought her
A Little phone with sixties character
That fit the space on the shelf
And with the music that she loved
Perfectly.


Little phone,
Reminded that daughter of a man
Who had taught her a lot
Who has witnessed all of these times
And still laughs as though he's the same age as her.


A while ago,
When both of us
Could snuggle comfortably together
In your lap,
You could de-weed the garden,
And shout about the dissappearance of your 'spuds',
You looked at me and smiled,
Thinking you were superman, to me.
You still try to keep the appearance
Although your muscles and bones
Give you away,
Your back hurts
And your legs are sore,
You still let me sit on your lap
Make me laugh
With anecdotes that make me miss
Times I wasn't born in
And I smile
When you keep your £20 notes
Because you think they're 'pretty'.
Talking to your sister,
She tells me about how,
When she was little,
You used to give her your rations for sweets
Because you didn't eat them
(And I know it's a lie,
But you love her so much you didn't care)
How when she was born
And the nurse told you that you had a sister
You asked her to take her back,
Because you already had a 'stupid' sister,
How you laughed when your son, Tony,
Reversed your friends car
Into a telephone pole
When he was four.
I can see when he talks to you
He thinks you're superman too.


Little phone,
You are just half a year old
I want you to know that you are appreciated;
Remind yourself
You are loved.




I don't know what inspired this...but yes; I love my Little phone...and my Grandad :)

These small hours.

At the beginning of the holidays, we were asked to think about death; what we think will happen and what we want to happen. Death has affected me in this holiday in different ways; my brother was recently taken to the doctors and told he had a virus; rest, fluids and all that. Last night, after hearing much hushed talking from the lounge accompanied by my mums panicked voice; which, to be honest, isn’t all that rare. He wandered into my room, pushing his back towards me asking me to look at it; what appeared to be a red rash had formed over his right shoulder blade, my sister followed him in mouthing to me that they thought he may have meningitis and were taking him to the hospital. After they left, my sister put on a movie for us about hockey; hockey is my favourite sport and I can’t watch enough of it, so I even surprised myself when I found I wasn’t watching, but staring through the TV or looking to the door. Luckily for all of us, it was merely a scare, where he had been coughing so much he had strained some blood vessels in his back creating the appearance of a rash. The relief I felt to have him home with us safe was unbelievable, up until this point I had never really understood the saying, you don’t appreciate something until it’s gone; of course, I understand what it’s trying to say, but I feel it’s something you have to experience, like how people always talk of love and say that if you aren’t sure if it was love then it wasn’t or something like that, I think it’s the same basic principle. My brother and I, like most other siblings, fight like cats and dogs, in our family this is something particular to me and him; him and my sister get along like a house on fire; when they came home he bundled himself close to me on the sofa and I revelled in having that time with him, it was like getting another chance and we chatted and laughed over the movie much to the disapproval of my sister.

Others, however, are not so lucky; at the same time I was laughing with my brother, calmed and reassured by his safety, another boy was fighting to survive. Today, we were told that a friend of ours had died; a boy my sister had known since she was five; we’d stayed close over the years, my mother and his were good friends also, her two daughters were around my age and in the summer we would travel up there to go to the pub and have lunch together. For me, this is the first person that I knew relatively well to have died; I’m lucky enough to have all of my grandparents still living and well, so this was almost earth-shattering. I couldn’t comprehend how the boy who I had, just a few short years ago, played on the star wars game with and watched TV with was gone, he was just a kid.

For whatever cosmic reason there is for existence, I don’t understand it. At this moment in time, I am an agnostic, unsure whether or not to believe in a higher power; not to say that I will do the same as any person who has lost someone and ask this higher power “Well, if you exist, why did you take so-and-so from us? You obviously don’t exist.” That isn’t how it works. I think there are things we can’t explain, perhaps it’s the brain slipping up or maybe its true, for now I don’t know; I don’t know if I believe in ghosts or past lives yet. Personally, I would whole-heartedly love to believe there was a higher power, what a relief that would be. But that is my point; relief; is there any other reason, but the fear of death and to explain the (rapidly decreasing) unexplainable? I am so afraid of death. This is probably one of the first times I have admitted it, but today, with all that has happened, I want to be honest. I think about death at least once a day; I think I have done since I was about ten years old; I used to sleep in the car merely because if we had a crash, at least I would die in my sleep, how I wanted. I know I do it, and probably, unwittingly let it control my life. People don’t want to think about it, we are afraid of the unknown and death is the king of the unknown; it is scarier as it is the one thing in life that not one of us can change or avoid. I hope that one day I can be okay with it, I would love to get tired of it and be able to say genuinely, as my grandmother does “I never want to get THAT old! Hope I go before then..” While laughing and nudging my grandchildren in the side…But, for now, I guess I’m just not that brave. And I think a lot of people would be the same.   

Old love, New love, Red love, Blue love.

She was the one

Who brushed her hair

Who put on the lipstick

Had a crush on the younger brother

But spent the evening with the older brother

Giggled along

With the gossip

And cared for those

That cared back

The one that appeared to be

One of ‘those’ girls

If you didn’t look closely

But was really the other way around

She was the one

Who would laugh

If it was funny

Who could cry

If it hurt

Who wasn’t afraid to show

She was the one

With a heart

He was the one

With the glasses

Perched on his nose

Who, could be said to

Give too much

And want nothing back

Who was a gentle soul

Who sat on the grass

With his best friend

And punched the kid

Who was mean to him

He was the one

Who was the “good” boy

He was the one

Who people knew

They could depend on

She was the one

Who trusted her friend

And took the ride

From the guy

She’d met a few times

Who she thought was nice

Who she felt she’d known

Her whole life

He was the one

Who took them skating

He was the one

Who may have been

A little bit

Oblivious

And followed his friend

To the chip shop

Instead of walking her home

Oblivious

To her disappointed face

She was the one

Who linked their arms

As they crossed the road

And never looked back

Knowing once and for all

That she had

The one

They were the ones

Who got married

Who bought the house

Where putting up your white picket fence

Wasn’t allowed

Who had a baby girl

And another

And watched them grow

Ride the bike

Win the trophy

Bring home

And kill

The school plant

Who begged

And begged

To get a dog

And name it Helen

They were the ones

Who shocked them all

With the baby boy

That burst in

And started the cycle

All over again

Ride the bike

Win the trophy

Bring home

And kill

The school plant

Fitting in

Like the wave

The ocean didn’t know

It was missing

They are the ones

That can make their children

Run in terror

When they kiss

After all this time

That can make

A house a home

That met in a car

With pillows in the back

Over Twenty five years ago

To those of you who know my parents, this coming year is their 25^th wedding anniversary. At the beginning of this year, they were considering renewing their vows, my mum asked (well…told) me that she wanted me to do a reading, of anything I wanted, a poem, a piece of writing, anything that I thought appropriate. This plan fell flat around the middle of the year, with my mum claiming she didn’t want to be the centre of attention, she had her day twenty five years ago; now they plan to have a dinner with friends and family. I decided to write them this anyhow, even if they never get to hear it.

Reaching the dinner table.

Yes, I know it's very long...sorry. I don't know if you can call it a poem, but I'm actually quite proud of it :) A small documentation of just a bunch of people that stuck in my mind from London. So, here it is...

However unlikely it may seem

That one sound can bring comfort to some

And terror to others

Much like the flickering lights

And closed in spaces,

You appear indifferent

You are calm, able to smile

It must be nice,

In your world.

For it’s obvious to me

That, for now, you aren’t really there

As for you, you make me smile

A reminiscent smile

At an age I feel I may have passed

Or even never partaken in

A small chuckle behind your hands

And a gossip about a man

That you have never met

But despise all the same

“He said he’s going to propose in two years.”

Spontaneity and romanticism may be dead after all

“She can’t have said yes…”

I wonder if you realise how cliché you sound

Or that the woman next to you

Is shuffling closer to me

And rolling her eyes in my direction

Wondering if I will judge you too

You too, make me smile

Not for a time that has already been

But one that I may experience

In a foreseeable future.

I can see in her eyes

This was not the life she had planned

As daddy’s little ‘princess’

How long ago was it,

And how much does she miss it

Now that she must learn the rules

Of something that doesn’t come with a manual.

I ask myself if you appreciate her

As much as she does you

It wasn’t like she expected

It’s hard

And she feels alone

The train rocks you

As she does

Until your eyes droop

And you sleep soundly in her arms

She smiles, finding happiness

In being here

With you

She will try her best

For you

To be a good person

To say yes more than no

To tell you the truth

And stand by you

My stop approaches faster than I expected

And I shift in my seat

Feeling an uncomfortable heat

Trapped in my coat

The coldest winter in over thirty years

Apparently

She’s trying to make eye contact

With you

Across the aisle

And across me

I almost feel violated too

As her stare bores into your closed lids

Your eyes dart underneath

Trying not to open

As a giggle breaks out across the way

Breaking the quiet

And one eye cracks open

To glare in that direction

She looks again

Seeing that flash of panic

Cross your face

As you realise she’s back

I chuckle to myself

As your eyes crinkle shut

And you pretend to doze once more

We reach the escalators

And bottleneck together

To allow two lanes of traffic

A slow lane

And a fast line

As they rush up to the office

With coffee in hand

Sloshing back and forth in the cup

And splashing their Armani suit

I can relax

And run my foot against the bristles

On the side of the escalator

Like the children behind me

Finding the simpler things in life the best.

Dinner is on the kitchen side

Waiting for me

Although you’ve already eaten

You decide to sit with me

Asking me about my day

With the genuine interest

That you always seem to have

That I love about you

That makes me smile

When I see your disappointed expression

As I say

“Same old, same old.”

Sink or swim?

Today, because I had no other means of getting home, I joined my mum and my five year old brother at his swimming class. The pool is privately owned by a friend of his, so it's just them in the pool in these sessions. I watched him get in the pool, anticipating him taking off and steaming to the end. However, as his friend powered up and down the pool, I was disappointed to see my brother flailing and spluttering numerous times.

It was surprising how much it bothered me that he simply wasn't as good as his friend. Me and my sister have always been avid swimmers since we both learned; I couldn't seem to understand why he wasn't as good as I thought he would be automatically, not realising that I was in fact older than him when I learned and, most probably, took longer than he did.

It wasn't until the session was nearly over and I was hunched over on the floor that this struck me, as they played a particular 'game'. The instructor brought out two diamond shaped rubber toys, which, when she pressed a button on the top, flashed for about a minute. The aim was that she threw them and the boys had to swim down, get them and bring them back to the steps. I didn't have high hopes for him as she threw them both a decent way away, setting his friend off first, who retrieved it and brought it back like a fish. My brother watched them; occasionally glancing to me and my mum, then went to get his. As he had before, he got about half way, swimming beneath the water, and then returned to the surface, spluttering for air. The instructor held him up by his arms, telling him firmly not to touch the bottom of the pool with his feet, otherwise there was no point to the exercise, then asked him if he wanted to swim down and get it. After my earlier disappointment, I hadn't expected him to effect me in the way he did when he looked down and said, with such dejection:

"It isn't flashing anymore..."

His instructor told him it was because he'd been 'too slow', then hurried him back to the steps to start another 'game'. I was angry at how she seemed to brush him off, but realised it was all part of a process of learning; obviously I'm not a swimming teacher.
Although I thought I already did, I want to fully accept that if he isn't good at swimming right now then so be it, he'll get better; there are things we can and can't change, but we can change how we react to them.

In the meantime...

While sitting here, not really sure what to do with myself, or this space, I've decided to upload something that I find equally inspiring.
These few photos are the more editorial shots from a wedding that me and my dad photographed together for our neighbor's son and his wife, they were tight on money and, as always my mum volunteered me for it. However, I'm glad I did; it was a unique and exciting learning experience for me, giving me new photos to show, one or two grateful hugs and a few more invitations to shoot for other people. I also had the privilage of working with probably the most adorable and well mannered children that you could ever meet, not fussing once when I asked for a photo.