SAMPLER

Avoiding puddles, I made for the pub
its dark crevices perfect for reflection
hunching my shoulders so no-one would see me
I drinked out back to my youth

Don't sit down in the water dad said
moments later my Woolworth knickers were wet
Come home now said mum
and pulling her arm from its bony socket we ran

Some strangled tune from a speaker hurt my head
and some noisy bitches with no style
croaked like strapped witches at the stake
and as a cockful of lads out on the pull
eyed their funereal garb
I wondered how they could desire a whore in widow's weeds

Tizer, burnt toast and a gas ring on low
was all I had at seven
a dad so thin and unbeatable
ringed certs in the morning paper
a mum with unloved hair and nobody
threw our stuff into a brown torn suitcase
we left the mice to the fat in the frying pan
their footmarks a dead infested give away

Had I been there an hour or was I there at all
was feeling gutted reason to wield a hammer
or was I being a fool
the cackling bleach heads with their sallow faced herberts in tow
pulled on the door allowing some freshness in
I gulped
its coldness smacking me awake
Fuck this I thought I'm going home
but being morose and being alone
instilled in moi a deadly peace
so I bit the glass once more


I got the bus and caught the train and counted out my wages
bought a coat and saved for shoes and scribbled in my diary
being overwhelmed at a party being smitten by Tony and being in awe of a poet called Blake
I shivered in the flat by my one bar fire planning to be the best


Drink, and you don't mind puddles
what's a splashed stocking when you're on your way home?

'Home is where the heart is' someone stitched upon a sampler
I know because its hanging on my hollow wall
the constant plume of scorching kettle steam
can't fade its colourful stitched sentiments
nor tear out its simple truth
I love you you stupid sampler

Just returned from a glorious shopping trip to Sainsbury's.
Nothing fancy was bought just fabulous humdrum in the shape of cabbage, brioche and chickens.

The drive home was splendid, calm roads, loads of sunshine and a quick pop to the garage for juice.
Came in to find Monty snoozing on the armchair. Sorry matey if I disturbed you. Shut up loser or I'll put hairs in your milk.
After having half a pint of tea I walked around the garden, planning. This harebrained idea of me knocking up a bird sanctuary is giving me much to think about. For example...Why?

Well, I love birds and I like feeding them and watching them so I thought I'd do something with the patch of badly kept garden by the conservatory! At the moment it's running wild with an odd assortment of stuff I've grown, some of the stuff even flowers, but it's not giving me satisfaction and to feel satisfied in whatever you do is essential, otherwise what's the point?

So the idea of having a space which is home to a few bird feeders and bird houses is titillating me. But what to do first? That's the question.
As soon as the weather calms down a bit I'll pop out and buy some shears and start tidying up the old conifer in the corner. It's a lovely old chap but his bits are hanging down and old chaps with drooping bits are so annoying. So, the first job is to slice at bits thereby making a clear space so I can see what's what.

Next, getting shot of the old plants, love them to bits but when your time is up it's up and so they have to go to make way for bird tables and and baths. I'll need to cover the ground with something or other, and not being a gardener I'll need to go online to find out what to get. Bit of plastic I should think. Anyway, these are jobs for when Spring is around the corner.



Doings today:
Making Fruity Indian chicken with a cucumber relish and spicy rice. To dip and scoop...Garlic and coriander naans.

Football Focus. What on earth has happened to Portsmouth?
What will Mr Cappelo do about Wayne Bridge and John Terry?
And have England's World Cup chances been blown by the carrying ons of Mr Terry? Nope.


Going through my Humax collection:)
Films to watch? Oh yeah. Denzel, Arnie. Harrison.
'On Expenses' to watch.
Masterchef. Love it.
American Idol. Talented young people, some with enormous egos, others very likeable.


I'm exhausted already!

I'm not working for Henry any more.

Last night and this afternoon were horrific for me.

All I want to do is go to Sainsbury's, watch films and plan my bird haven.

Honoured

Holding his sorcerer's gaze I anointed him
the old purple pencil, bitten by thought, tapped out, on his head of bone and fur, a love song
a love song.

Offering up a scruff to grab, the young cat embraced my leg
and paws like needles stabbed
and his eyes, his eyes, like emeralds in water filled cases, rolled.



Angela Norris

Oh It's Just Tuesday

Apart from writing a poem or two, transforming Henry's bedroom and sorting through online recipes I've had very little to do...

The poems I've penned lately have pleased me. Coming as they do out of the blue and without any effort on my part.
My creative angels have been whipping their wings till they bleed. Bless you and thank you darlings, your super human efforts have made me believe in myself once again.

Making H's room fit for humans has been pleasurable. The carpet looks fab and today I bought a pair of second hand crushed velvet type curtains in a sweet shade of peach, they will be hung tomorrow. Rumours abound that Henry is being let out of hospital tonight, but he's been saying this for a week. We shall see.

And leafing through recipes on the look out for something divine has proved fruitful. Found a few things which sent my taste buds wild. Apricot Brioche Tart being one of them. Possibly have it the weekend.

Talking of food...
Cooking tonight. Minestrone soup and garlic bread followed by Lemon Puddle pudding and cream. Haven't made this for yonks, so am looking forward to splitting the feather light sponge and finding a sweet sharp lemony custard hiding underneath. Yummy!

An Interesting Day

Chicken legs out of freezer
Chicken legs in.
Henry possibly vacating hospital bed.
Maybe not.
Multitude of new keys.
No locks.
Pile of washing.
No powder.
Cat hairs.
Broken hoover.

Carpet man.
Need to take doors off.
Colin flew in as Superman.
Doors came off.
Carpet went down.
So did tea.
Carpet man left wishing me luck:(
Colin shared his beef sandwich.
Colin got a friend.

Cats snuggled.
I re-arranged knick knacks.
Colin removed locks.
Put new completely unnecessary ones in.
Keys a-plenty.
Talked about work, slavery and peanuts.

Henry phoned.
Haughty spoilt brat gibberish.
My voice was very raised.
Henry might come home.
Henry might die.
Not coming home.
Will be home today, could be midnight.
Food required likewise bed.
Goodbye Henry.

Colin and I looked at massive amount of remaindered carpet.
Hmmm I said
Colin concurred.
Carpet made its way to my car.

Left for home with Colin and carpet.
Dropped him off in a layby
Carpet still lounging on back seat of Alex:)

I want to do something wicked.
Goodbye.

Ita And The Man With Tanned Hands

His gate swung
its creaking hinges a melody to the girl over the way
and watching from a distance
she wished

Tiptoeing over glades
she ran swiftly to her love
blades of grass
under her soft shoes
falling like lovers in raptures

In a room in his cottage
the man with tanned hands
etched,
sketched her name
using old tools handed down

Ita, Ita he mouthed as he brushed dust
away
away from her blessed name
holding warm metal
he branded her name into his heart


Stopping at his faded door
Ita took a special breath
the breath of one in so much love
it could be her last
and she wouldn't mind
to die in love is to die alive...


Angela Norris