Author: The Wombwell Rainbow

The Whispering Breath

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I’ve not told you everything he did to us. (whispering breath)
It’s why I’m sat on edge
of bed using upstairs phone.

Got to speak quietly.
My fault.
He keeps telling me

(conspiratorial breath)

I caused it
by what I did.

(questioning breath)
Is it something in me that’s at fault?’
Have l something wrong with me?
Am I a good person?

 I’m afraid of him. What he might do
If I do this or the other.
I have no feeling for him.

(accusatory breath)
He says I’ve made the Love go.
He threatens me
because this is the only way

to

get it back.
I’m terrified, love.

(weeping breath)
Doesn’t lack of love mean more love needs to be given, not hate?

(angry breath)
He likes Old Testament. ‘Eye for an eye … ‘
calls himself Christian.
Knows the Bible off by heart.
Laughs at my attempts

 to read it and so argue against him,

(determined breath)
Each person’s got to be responsible for themselves.

 

‘Never’ and ‘Always’ from The Place For Breath

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‘NEVER AND ‘ALWAYS’

1.

I lay with you. Two words make one.
You say ‘You’ve strong legs. Your too heavy. ‘

No space for breath. Our words.

Make too short. A sentence.

I kiss you.
You say ‘You have a firm jaw.

You smother. ‘

My word does not make room for yours.

You lay with me. Two pictures make one
My heart bloody in my mouth.

 I want to crush you into my frame.

You kiss me
I press till all feeling goes.

My frame has no blood.

2

too much leaves nothing else

a space, a breath, a gap. Almost a full stop.

 too little leaves an absence

a space, a breath, a gap. Almost a full stop.

Enough
is rare for both of us.

perfectionists

we put up each others

inspiration, expiration

for reasons to stay not to be alone

a single word, a single sentence

without company of another

a picture with a wall to itself, a room

to itself, a gallery to itself

reasons to be alone
but not to stay that way.

You are afraid I will wander,

hold anothers attention, anothers breath

in my mouth

because I am younger.

I think

how promises are never kept

 We both agree
‘Never’ and Always’
are not to be said. Words that do not belong in our sentences.

Pictures that we do not want on our wall

Explorations from ‘The Place for Breath’

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The place between me and you. The place between words between sentences is the same between pictures in a gallery. I find that which we have in common and fill in the gaps between our chat on telephone or in fact. Each time I am left with a different picture of you to contemplate. A different pause between one part of a sentence, and the next. I’m afraid at some point reaching a full stop.

Invisible Town (Ongoing Poem)

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Invisible Town: where children hunt/kill all small animals to eat. Taught by their parents to catch their breakfast, dinner and tea. No pets

Invisible Town: people live in gardens and tend to empty houses. Sheds store vacuum cleaners, polish for windows. People sleep on grass

Invisible Town: people go to sleep to work. Journey to work is getting ready for bed. Waking is returning home.

Invisible Town: in which nothing is kept. People watch how things are made, but once created these things are discarded. Creation is vital.

Invisible Town: where people live in cemeteries and the dead are buried in empty houses and streets. Babies are born on gravestones

Invisible Town: where it is romantic to give young girls/boys weeds, flowers are frowned upon. Any sign of decoration is abusive

Invisible Town: where diseases are a gift. Any spot/disfigurement brings instant adulation/fame. Health is frowned upon as unsightly

Invisible Town: where cleanliness is a crime. Dirt is sacred. No one baths/showers. Water is anathema. Houses/gardens must not be cleaned.

Invisible Town: Rich live in lowliest hovel, while poorest live in massive mansions with long drives and servants, but no money

Invisible Town: Any kind of trade is illegal. Emotions are swapped as currency. Love is the most valuable item. Anger is the least.

Invisible Town: If anyone uses their imagination sun comes out, blue skies, warm weather, everyone else smiles/laughs feels good.

Invisible Town: No one can act unknowingly. If they commit a crime/lie they have a natural death and are buried outside the town

Invisible Town: Hearsay, rumour suspicion are admissible evidence in courts. Material, circumstantial evidence is irrelevant.

Invisible Town: Breakfast is an evening meal, Lunch at Midnight, Dinner at dawn. Snacks are never occasional, eaten an hour after set meals

Invisible Town: Birth is a time of mourning/sympathy, death is a happy celebration. Graveyards are filled with market stalls/dancing.

Invisible Town: Everything has been discovered, all inventions have been made, there is no need for imagination.

Invisible Town: Birth is a time of mourning/sympathy, death is a happy celebration. Graveyards are filled with market stalls/dancing.

Invisible Town: where the unexpected always happens, and the expected happens unusually. Sun rises in evening, sun down is morning.

The Artist

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At Eleven years old
opened Dads teenage sketchbooks

Cows sat down in pencil
His Dads backyard full of tools
preliminary pencil sketches

Triumph motorcycles,

part oil coloured portraits

his Dad, his sister hangs

out washing in 1950s skirt.

sexually awakened by
his female nudes,
drapery hides modesty

extremely detailed Clwydian hills, mountains, landscapes,
rotting stump colours ablaze yellows, ochres, greens
I wanted to draw, sketch,
inspired.

Birds Edge

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Birds Edge
Dearne dips quietly under a gust
gust, ancient immigrant,
economic refugee, ancient
unease, at home when
never-at-home,
middle-name is Flit.
the gypsy gust a
strobe works trees
industrial estates prevails
Shanty town gust prevails
wherever industry
lays down its casual hat
reports it’s got a shotgun
sees you here again,
not responsible.
Gust knows where you live,
shoulders door,
that cracks garden into splinters
as if you’ve committed •••

Birds Edge
Dearne avoids gust
says, “You don’t want some of my old crap!”
gust words never said,
words never made,

to any that’ll listen.
Gust howls down the valley
Caresses with compliments one minute,
calls you a bitch, a bastard and a whore the next.
You make stories of the snatches it brings, filling-in gaps between the gusts:
iron-age forts, Roman roads, mill-wheels, civil-wars, ra:re.ru~siap,birds,bell…pits, strikes,’ -garig…;wars – ~
And quietly flows the Dearne,
while loudly blows the gust of waste, gust of renewal, gust of rev~lation, from the source to the mouth
of a hidden valley and its listening.