Gin and Knitting Needles.

There was violence in her legs

it resonated up her spine fed the

synapses in her brain fell from the

edges of her mouth shot from her eyes.

A stifled suppressed violence

blanketed by darkness and lore.

‘With my body I thee worship’.

She had no choice but to endure

this violation –her husband’s

want – he reads her signals all wrong

the anger. Something else she hates -

the way her body reacts wet lubricated

but reluctant-willing? Animalistic even?

He rolls off - farts and wipes himself on

grubby sheets while she quietly weeps into

her pillow, pulls down her nightgown her

knees up, as his semen runs from her and she

wants it out of her;

OUT! OUT! OUT!

This the night of my conception.

Weeks later she attempts to kill me.

Gin and Knitting needles a red hot bath

stabbing, piercing, lancinating through her

cervix, a devastated crying, weeping drunk,

sweating in bloodstained water, those long

cruel devastating, size six knitting needles.

Can’t even afford the two pounds for back

street Annie.

Yet I grew on. Another nine months gone

and she’s so very scared as Aunty Pat wipes

the sweat from her brow as this - a simple

berth in some back room naturally takes it’s

course….

“It’s a bonny lad Edna…and he’s

all right - he’ll be alright Edna, he’s ok – fine,

he’ll be alright….. he will!”

And I’m number five child, one other

dead - stillborn - there’s two more to

go and many more nights of violence

and violation. But never - never again

knitting needles or hot baths. The

occasional Gin though – call it survival

also helps with the guilt call it anaesthetic.

**“Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?

Magnolia blossom

The rain gently patters on the

Windows-

Whispering your

Sweet secrets as

Our long afternoon seems

Stalled in beauty-

This Beauty of You.

And your smile is a

Chorus of all

Your wondrous being

Singing just for

Me-

Just me.

So if I could capture our

Moment in some Jar

Screw down this moment

For us – for eternity -

To re-visit again and again-

Then I would.

Instead of witnessing

This beauty like the

Delicacy

Of Magnolia Blossom

So enriching and yet so

Fleeting

And duly

Gone!

She’s got it.

She’s oblivious

of her beauty

what it

does to me

bringing me her

femininity -

her grace -

spring buds of

love.

Her hair the colours

of corn fields
flowing

like a river

shaping her pretty face

a gilt
frame - those

brown eyes

just a hint of

sultry

desire.

She brings me
Strawberry afternoons

where the Sun kisses
our skin

as we lay in the

arms of each

other.

She brings me

old love songs

with new

meaning -

the

rich promise of

tomorrow’s

nirvana.

She’s unaware of

her glamour her

style her elegance-

her

felicity.

and me?

I sit in

the cobwebs of

my dark afternoon

and watch her -

observe her

in my

mind.

And we’re

dancing – in her

warm - sultry

enchantedness

we embrace as

she smiles and turns

my insides to

custard.

She’s blind to

my love as

another day slips

over another

empty horizon

yet - she sings to me

in her smile

in her

movement

in her aura -

in this

her

dreamy

seduction.

Tracks.

Another missed train

pulling out of the tracks

of your mind boy

rattling, rattling - over

your joints

every joint –

boy.

You missed another

journey boy

another chance to

escape the

smoking chimney stacks

scared streets

screaming, screaming

hopeless children

empty days

empty days.

That train was a

chance boy

a chance and

what do you

do with chances

boy

you talk, talk, talk.

to yourself

like some fucked up

automaton

Miss the next one

boy the next

one

listen to your

lonely

masturbatory

voice boy

death rattling

through your

mind boy

like the tracks

like the

fuc*ing tracks

of life.