No.28

An ancient moon sits atop the sky,
throwing light as brightly as the day it was born.
Close by, stars cluster,
eager to add their glimmer.
Silhouettes of palms
and banana trees
work like shadow puppets,
illustrating the foreignness of the scene.
A chorus of insects and frogs
and the low voices of mandinka conversation
are punctuated by distant drumming.
Still the heat clings to the earth.
But a soft night-time breeze
- barely flowing over your skin like silk -
eases away the travails of the day.

No.22

You're gone again,
And my head is filled with you again.
I have plenty to do
But daydream instead
Of you, again.

Come back soon.
I've had enough of missing you.
Somehow, your absence
Is more of a distraction
Than your wonderful presence.

No.21

7 times.

You don't answer

7 times.

That's 7 times more than I'd like.

It makes me

7 times as mad

As I was before.

And makes me

Think I love you

7 times more

Than you love me.

Number 8 is trouble.

Number 8 is borderline hysteria.

But you don't know that,

Because you didn't answer

The first 7 times.

No.20

Questions I would ask you

What do you do.

Why do you do it.

What do you think about in times of nothingness.

Who do you vote for.

How do you eat your food.

How many times have you existed only in a moment?

Can you stand short socks.

Are you ticklish.

What do you think of earlobes.

How do you hear your voice.

What colour are my eyes.

Can you do a crossword.

Is life what you imagined it should be?

What colour will you paint your walls.

Do you like to dance.

What do you think of the sea.

Do you like your family.

Do you like fairground rides.

Why do you play guitar.

Can you fall in love with a song.

Can you lift me.

What's the first thing you notice about a person?

Do you like camping.

Do you like pens.

Can I joke with you.

Tell me everything.

No.18

The all of you

Plus the small of me.

This works.
The evidence is two-fold and abundant.

Addition results in multiplication:
You and me squared.

I'm not enjoying these mathematical analogies
But a pattern is emerging
This is happening repeatedly
To the power of I-don't-know-what.

Attempts to find some sense
Are feeble and truly,
Unnecessary.

Sense is not the point.
Maybe a biology lesson
Would be better.

No.17

Crispy thing,
Let me inside your shell.
You're a little tough today.
I want to see again the kernel
Nestled in your core.
I'm a human nutcracker,
And you, my love,
Can sometimes be unyielding.

No.16

The dresser

Is more than a dresser.

Its many-compartmented form

A wooden reproduction of my mind.

Too many things clutter the shelves and crowd the drawers.

The charity shop cake stand that keeps my jewellery safe.

That wonky lighthouse I made out of cardboard.

The Chairman Mao alarm clock I bought in Wutai Shan.

Books, postcards, photos, trinkets, music, lamps and strings of lights.

Each object escorted by a tale.

A little like Tracey Emin's Bed I suppose..
the subject matter a little different.

I store my very self within the central cubby hole

Just as I did my grandparent's dresser

More than twenty years ago.

No.15

I'm transparent,


But sometimes you're granite, I can't break you.


More often than not, you crumble at my touch.


We disintegrate together-


Eventually into a heavy sleep.



And the next morning,

I know you, 

All over again.

No.13

I'm having a useless couple of days.
I feel useless and listless and crap.
Deflated, defeated, down in the dumps,
Oh, life has delivered a slap.

No.12

It's the most beautiful evening.
My room is calm, the summer breeze is flowing in and the city is twinkling.
There's a funny feeling in my tummy that seems to have taken up residence.
It is excited and scared and tremorous and a deep breath in and welling up, fighting to reach the surface..
It is a big slow smile, a secret smile to enjoy for myself.
It's a quiet realisation, a dawning.

Tonight feels full of promise.

Tonight, I am beautiful, like he says.

No.11

Feeling smug

Is a private indulgence

I allow myself

From time to time.




Of course it's true

That no one's ever been

As much in love

As me and you.




And of course you are

My north, my south

My east, my west,

And of all the girls you've known

I will love you best.




And so sometimes

If you are wondering what I'm thinking about..

I will be feeling smug,

And hoping to be caught out.

No.10

Pylon, glitter catching on a wall.

Curled photographs smile from a blu tack gallery.

Every part of mind is taken

chock-full of things.

Inside there is a graceful folding motion

in the dark.

Origami. Translucence.

A dancefloor lighting up in rainbows.

Feet tip-tapping.

The soundtrack is Bjork.

Shapes crease away, disappearing.

They can be found again.

Relax.

You think no longer.

What could possibly be more beautiful.

You think no longer.

No flash of light catching on glitter takes your eye.

Shapes,

Sounds,

Mouth eyes sight 

Body

Thought

Pylon, glitter catching on a wall.

Dissolves, dissolves, dissolves, dissolves, dissolves.

No.9

Night portrait

I could paint you

If I could write something beautiful

It would be yours.

Pencil working in the darkness

Sketching the shape of your even breaths.

They are cello strokes, warm

and soft and vibrato.

No.7

To remember falling asleep.

To remember waking.

Slippery, featherweight moments

Caught in a domed hand, a flighty moth.

No.6

Here I am in my head

looking out to sea.

Standing in the tickly barley field

that shimmers yellow-green-gold

in the summer sun.

Here I am in my head

smelling the air,

smelling the wind.

Feeling it skimming my skin,

chilling me a little.

Here I am in my head

counting the seagulls.

Counting the clouds now,

not getting past four.

Here I am in my head

pebbles crunching under bare feet.

Listening to the sea

pulling through the stones.

Looking right through 

the glassy water

at my waxy underwater skin.

Here I am in my head

Remembering

Imagining

Wishing I was there.

No.4

And who knew

that night

with cider in the pews

and promise glimmering

in the dew drops

of the falling night.

Who knew that note

would hold so long

and hold my heart within it.

No.3

Talk about a voyage of discovery.

I'm making a map of you, little flags marking points of interest

and warning of potential hazards.

Tiny rivulets of understanding

wend their way to greater knowings of you.

You are a complex being;

but aren't we all?

The difference is, you are the most fascinating concoction

of personality, ethics, values and behaviours,

and pure alchemy draws me to you.

Sometimes, you confound me

in ways both bad and good.

My map is not yet complete.

I take guesses,

Make assumptions, coloured sometimes green,

and fill in the gaps in the topography.

These are my mistakes,

but ones I would excuse you too.

We are, after all, only human.

I am the Magellan of you:

I explore you with the wonder of new worlds.

I've found that the heart is just an organ..

But that love resides in lips and legs and fingertips. 

No.2

Your postcard

I love it

It's a piece of Ireland,

It's a piece of you.

Your handwriting

Your words

Your thought.

Your name after three kisses,

an afterthought

In case I hadn't realised

who was writing.

No.1

It's my secret addiction.

I can't satiate myself.

I drink you in

But my need is limitless.

Your beauty is obvious.

There's a neon sign above your head.

You've looked into my eyes

And hypnotised me.

The moon was amazing tonight,

I wanted to share it with you.

I wanted to put it in my pocket

So that no one else would see it

Just you and me.