Index

"and" 
This is a poem describing people and mini dramas passing by the bench in the park where I had taken my m&s lunch bits to eat in the sunshine. I love people-watching, and am an innate nosey-parker busy-body. And I love ideas and words - always too many! - as much almost as I love my music, and my notes! - too many notes! [as the emperor said .... ignorantly]. 

The park is the Borough Gardens, so close that it is like an extension to our own little garden. The picture is of West Walks when the old railings had been removed, prior to the restoration. 



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"and”

and you’ll be able to stay with dad
            some times
says the fat non-mum to the sulking 
            unloved child
whose sun was hidden grey
            nowhere else to go
            poor girl divided
by the ignored wisdom
of solomon the so-called wise
and I start to eat my
sun is shining
            here in the friendly park
            the flowers and
            sleepy lazy 
to be yet not two bees
but dying wasp on dry wood
and four girls eight legs
saunter thigh by my
averting gaze each pair
fatter than the last
            crisp in the packet
and I eat my vegetable
            25% fat and obese
            one-pound-skinny-
belsen-boy-samosa from m&s
and the little girl is cross
            and screaming sad inside
            the prison of her care-less
family that is the question 
whether tis nobler to stay
            together for the 
            sake of the
            kids who have no say
and I drink my
friend’s fear of 
daughter’s pulmonary artery
op to come
bless southampton
general fruit smoothie
again from m&s
            in the friendly
and not-so-friendly 
park my ideas
            of life of death
            of dying wasp
and of me. me and dying.
and the pain. and the rest.
            and two tall
            too tall for me
boys-yet-men
one with squashed ear saunter
bye bye and from lunch break
bach to work
in my mp3 in a funked-up way
           and the kaleidoscope of
nursery rhymes too
fill my world with joy
          less the parky pain 
          and not at all the pain 
                the pain
                     of the unloved
                           inconvenient
                                   little girl
          and the fat non-mother
          and the 25% fat-stat
          and the earlobe-less man-boy
          and the fate-fearful dad
and I bin my thoughts
and rubbish my bits
          and my bobs
and wander
neurologically speaking
back to base to work
          and
rumination post samosa
and my picnic in the
          friendly yet
          maybe not so friendly
park




         

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