Coming to terms with rejection

change-curveI’ve been a bit lax recently in posting so here’s a few to make up for it. A selection that  kind of go together as a set. Lost love, sigh. (& the woman who taught me what a broken heart really feels like)

Not my best work by a long, long shot (Weeell, except for the second and fifth ones, I quite like them). But taken as a  series of scribbles, I can look back and trace the grief curve through them as a collection.

 All from late 2002 and early 2003.


Tell me

Tell me your dreams,
& tell me why,
You be the spider,
I’ll be the fly.

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Tell me you’re thoughts,
& fantasies too,
You lure me in,
& make them come true.

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Whisper to me,
You’re darkest desires,
& we can extract them
we can entrap them
we can enact them
– make them real for a moment

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Open to you
Secrets kept safe
Locked in you’re heart
Or minds Prison cage

Tell me, tell me, tell me

Tell me your dreams,
& tell me why,
I’ll be the spider,
you be the fly…


Tissue of lies

Tissue of lies,
– a strange fabric of choice for a strange fabrication,
Transparently thin, gossamer delicate,
But deceptively strong with only passing investigation.

Tissue of lies,
In mansize three-ply boxes,
You pass them around to dry crocodile tears in,
And wipe away the mascara scar trails with.
Two hundred sheets,
Plenty more where they came from,
Discarding one for the next as they fill waste-paper baskets.

Tissue of lies,
To erase the deceit,
That passes your lips,
Whose traces linger,
In Max Factor crimson.

Tissue of lies,
A pastel rainbow of choices,
Choose the colour with care for your next deceptive conquest…

Bargaining :

Rainbows & Roses

Is it over?
Don’t say it’s over.
I don’t want, to hear goodbye.
I can feel,
All your confusion,
But I don’t want, to make you cry.

We were rainbows,
Rainbows & Roses,
Give us a chance, another try.
You’re letting slip,
Something so precious,
Rainbows will fade, & roses die.

I still feel,
Your love around me,
When its quiet, & I close my eyes.
It keeps me safe,
When I’m tird & cold,
& its still there, when I rise.

& I don’t want to feel like this any more,
Feel’s like life has kicked me ‘cross the floor,
You were my Oasis & I was yours,
We were safe behind closed doors.

I know you’re scared,
I know you’re hurting,
I am too, need you by my side.
Still love & want you,
Please just trust your feelings,
No need to run, no need to hide.

I’m lost here,
Here without you,
But I look up, in starry skies.
Just tell me,
You still want me,
& then to you – I’ll fly.

More Bargaining:

Triangles & Squares (An apology)

I gave to you, that which you lacked from him.
And that which she could not accept from me.
I gave in the hope that perhaps one day,
You might want to give it back to me.
I also pretended to myself that I was giving unconditionally,
But its clear now that that presumption was folly.
I also suspect, that you all along knew the assumption I failed to see.
& that was why you walked away.
Or maybe what it was, was that you needed the gift,
To come to you from him not me.
But the irony was that I could see
That for all his words, he was not capable of giving to you.

So now we find ourselves.
Me here.
You there.
Both alone.
Licking our wounds & injured pride.

So what is next?
Will our friendship be rekindled anew?
Or are our paths now set to part?
Yours to the left, mine to the right.
Perhaps only time will tell.


The TV set

It was like watching TV.
An old black and white set.
Grainy picture.
Hissing, crackling sound.
But it was all that had ever been experienced and known.
The rental company turned up oneday.
And put a shiny new digital surround sound technicolor one in its place.
So vibrant.
So crisp and clear.
Near perfect.
So much more – a whole new experience in televisual entertainment.
But they came back.
Took it away.
Said it had been a mistake.
Put the old one back in its place.
It doesn’t get used anymore though.

I want the new one back.


Beware the Eyes of March

Eyes of an angel,
Eyes of steel grey,
Eyes like diamonds,
Eyes watching their prey.

I’ll never erase the look that night,
As your eyes glazed over in rapture.
As we blended our souls,
On brown sweaty leather.
As we fueled eachother,
Unleashing a passion.

Locked in a frenzy,
Looks of desire,
Eyes hiding nothing,
As we fucked by the fire.

But something was missing,
As you gazed up at me,
Biting yout lip –
became plain to see.

Your eyes told me secrets,
Your eyes told me all,
The lies that you lips said,
– I’d been played for a fool.

Eyes full of ice,
Eyes full of venom.
Eyes full of acid.
Eyes full of poison.

Acceptance :

Gentler Times

Maybe once again in more gentler times,
I’ll be yours again & you’ll be mine,
Punishment we’ve chosen doesn’t fit our crimes,
But maybe things will change in gentler times.

Maybe sometime in less damaged lives,
We’ll know each other from the look in our eyes,
& We won’t hurt each other & recognise the signs,
Because we’ll be living in more gentler times.

Maybe we’ll find in simpler days,
We’ll see the whole spectrum – no more shades of grey,
Then we’ll understand & won’t fade away,
& We’ll be together in simpler days.

Maybe someday I’ll believe it when I say I don’t miss you.
Sometime I’ll believe that I don’t need you still.
Maybe one day I’ll believe it when I say I don’t want you.
Someday I’ll believe that I don’t love you still.

Maybe sometime in less damaged lives,
We’ll know each other from the look in our eyes,
I’ll be yours again & you’ll be mine,
& That’ll be the sign of more gentler times.



A Cobweb of Choices

imagesAnother Un-Newsletter. This one from October 2004

A Cobweb of Choices.

Earlier this week, I stepped outside my front door first thing to put out my wheelie bin and it really hit home that Autumn is now upon us. It was chilly and the morning dew was glistening in a cobweb on the tree in my front garden. It reminded me of a dreamcatcher, with a tiny sparkling jewel at each junction, catching the morning sunlight.

I crouched and watched it and its little resident for a while as it deftly made his way across its’ home to remove some debris that had stuck to it in the night, like a house proud housewife from the ’50’s. I briefly grinned to myself imagining it with a tiny dustpan and brush, busily sweeping away and tutting under its breath at the mess. But its’ progress across its web wasn’t in a straight line, it took roundabout route, pausing from time to time to stop before it again headed to its destination.

It occurred to me that our journeys’ through our lives are more akin to that spider in its web than perhaps conventional wisdom of life being a linear series of events one after the next, toppling like a line of well positioned dominoes, would have us believe.

But imagine for a moment your life existing as an infinitely large cobweb with you at its centre, each step you make is a choice, and each choice brings you to a new “jewel” and another set of directions to head in. Even choosing not to choose a strand and pause for a while, is in itself a choice, in fact the only choice that we don’t get to make in our life is that choice isn’t optional.

Given that the only choice we don’t get to make is that we have to make choices, and each choice in itself creates a further set of strands of choice – How do you make your choices in your life? Are you even aware of all the options you may have at each junction? Do you choose consciously? Do you take the most direct route to your destiny? Or do you choose to perhaps collect a few extra “jewels” along the way? Are you fully aware of the possibilities you step away from when you step towards each new set of choices?

New Beginnings


There are sometimes good days in depression too. People who’ve never had it don’t realise that necessarily. (& yes, there are some deliberate nods to William R. Henley’s ‘Invictus‘ in here).

New Beginnings.

Forever, new beginnings.
Forever, happy endings.
Forever, always winning.
Forever, love remaining.

I’m the pilot of my journey,
Two halves reconciled.
Erased the old programming,
And the new one’s re-compiled.
I’m back in possession,
Of the keys to my heart.
Back on the road again,
Making a new start.

Phoenix from the ashes,
Rise above the past,
Welcoming the future,
Free again at last.
I’m back in the driving seat,
I’m back in control,
Master of my destiny,
Owner of my soul.

And I’ll let the river take me,
Where it wants to lead,
Don’t need a map or compasses,
Because I’m fin’ly freed.
I’m back in possession,
Of the keys to my heart.
Master of my soul again,
Ready to play my part.

Forever, new beginnings.
Forever, happy endings.
Forever, always winning.
Forever, love remaining.

19th August 1999

Rainbow’s Endings

marishaz121100001A song that never was

Rainbow’s Endings.

There’s no guarantee’s,
To find a happy ending,
Just dreams and fairy-tales,
Broken hearts in need of mending.
But there’s no need to let that stop us,
From never even trying,
– Never giving up,
And forever always striving…

And we can just keep searching,
And chasing rainbows’ endings.
‘Cause if we ever stop our looking,
May as well give up on our living.

There’s no pot of gold,
Or simple way to fortune,
So treasure ever moment,
‘Cause they’ll be over much too soon.
And our futures are all figments,
Of our lucid imagination’s.
So stop waiting on their arrival,
Love the now in jubilation.

And we can just keep searching,
And chasing rainbows’ ending’s.
’cause if we ever stop our looking,
May as well give up on our living.

There’s no magic wands,
To bless you happy ever after,
And as we keep moving on,
Seems to keep on getting faster.
And never let them tell you,
That they control your pleasure,
‘Cause you’re the only keeper,
Of your present, past and future.

So just keep on searching,
And chasing rainbows’ ending’s.
And never stop your looking,
And never give up on your living.

1st April 2000.

As the world turns slowly magnolia…

downloadAnother Un-Newsletter:

As the world slowly turns magnolia…

Isn’t it strange just how deeply satisfying hitting something with a big hammer and watching it fall to bits can sometimes be?

Today, I found myself up a ladder, around the back of my house busily chipping away with a big hammer and cold chisel at my old bathroom window frame as I was fitting a new one. I briefly wondered to myself if Michelangelo felt this good when he was chiselling away at the block of marble that was later to become David. Having said that, any attempt I were to make at sculpture would almost certainly look more like something Picasso might sculpt rather than Michelangelo.

I’m in the process of re-decorating my house, ready to put it on the market,  so I’ve slowly been de-personalising my house as prescribed by all the interior-design-cum-property-value-guru’s its in vogue to have on TV at the moment in an attempt to make it as appealing to as wide a market as possible, in the full knowledge that anyone who should purchase it will immediately re-decorate in their taste anyway.

In a way though the destructive smashing of things, is all part of the creative (or re-creative) process – taking something to bits only to reconstruct it, or something else, hopefully “better” in its place.

But as I slowly eradicate all the “me” in my house I see it becoming a bit more bland and a bit more mundane brush stroke by brush stroke, I realised that in some respects, in an attempt to make ourselves as appealing to as much of the world at large as possible, we often in effect brush over some of the best bits of ourselves in a nice shade of mundane magnolia, busily trying to fit into the world at large, to be accepted.

So next time you are in the office, look around at the people you work with and ask yourself, what bits of them they keep under a smooth sheen of vinyl silk and perhaps more importantly, tomorrow morning when you’re in the bathroom looking in the mirror, brushing your teeth, ask yourself what best bits of you do you keep hidden from the world at large and wonder what you, or the world would be like if you shared that with us all……..

Sept ’04


11Another one from out of depression. A few years later, a friend of mine was reading some of the stuff I’d written, and made the observation, that although depression is a dark & less than pleasant place to be, things of beauty can still be created and found in it. It look a while for me to understand where she was coming from – that beauty is everywhere if you can find it, but it did really change my perspective and view on depression & being depressed.Until then writing had merely been a way the only way I had externalising unpleasant emotions.


Soured wine,
Poisoned well,
Bitter pill,
Hollow shell.

Ramses’ Curse,
Vampire’s kiss,
Glutton’s dose,
Oblivion’s bliss.

Broken heart,
No good to man,
Medusa’s stare,
Satan’s plan.

Serpent’s bite,
Venomous sting,
Hunter’s snare,
Shattered wings.

Fragile heart,
Tortured brain,
Tormented soul,
Perpetual pain.

Crippled soul,
Twisted psyche,
Siren’s call,
Vengeful harpie.

23rd Jan 1999