my little girl

we fight
and bite
and hate
and spite

she is beautiful
she is lovely
little bitch

cant clean
cant work
cant respect
cant thank

she's my girl
dont hurt her
i'll cut out your eyes

I will critisize
down size
cut down to size
size up

you wont dare
dare her
dare to question
dare me

dare you
dare who
dont dare to tell me
what to do

She is hard
she steals
peels, reels
feels. i keel
over in distress

she shines and pines
takes lines
undress her, peel
skins
under duress

I'm here
and all I can do is
Love her.
My daughter

Charlie in a bubble: Ode to Autism

Prologue
Charlie in a bubble
msitau, situam,
sit man, 'tis uam.
-----------------
Charlie poet laureate
spells and binds
words in detail
beligerent beauty

Charlie angelic reasoning
purist and wordsmith
frighteningly clear
frighteningly right

Charlie creates
new meaning and depth
profound simplicity
Genius innocence


Charlie transfixes and hypnotise
bounces and dances
pure joy
purely right

Charlie hostile hospitality
fears fatality
anxious future
in everyday worlds

Charlie won't unwrap
sees through
super and ficial
meaningless "things"

Charlie poet laureate
pure poetry purely
with such logic steals hearts
understands us all.

Charlie literally literal
knows what it means
understands his world
gives meaning to ours

--------------------

Epilogue

Charli's autism

Not ought-ism

but is -ism

can-ism and will-ism

you gotta laugh or we'd just cry......

London's burning seven seven 0 five

London’s burning
Flame red bus lost its head
Hit the roof, all dead.

Underground shouts gaping
Tunnel’s soot smoke suffocate Screams broke, Evacuate!
Breaking news
Emergency State,

London’s burning ClosedRail lines, phone lines, Life lines closed forever
What’s up? You’re breaking up mate….
No warning.
Too late
Emergency State.

London’s burningJuly 7th
2012 Olympic joy, Olympic dimensions, Olympic fear
We won’t forget that date
From Live 8 to G8
All sides deciding fate
From Afghan hills to Aldgate
All sides loading hate
London’s burning
Emergency State
07.07.05

PC

Personal computer, politically correct
Abbreviation and acronym
To what effect.

Only confuse, ridicule and rile
Those who once said,
“He’s a problem child”

Behavioural problems, hard to manage
Can’t say “Naughty”
Sort of language might damage.

“He has learning difficulties, self esteem issues”
“He’s just thick!”
Mum says as she cries into tissues.

“Must be aware, could be SEN you see”
(Thinks: “lock up the bastard
Throw away the key!”)

“No, no dear he is special, needs love and support”
As another ASBO’s slapped on
And Edu-psychs write their report.

Left on her own, mum’s pregnant, can’t earn
Dad’s drunk and left
Kids’ eyes watch and learn

Thus Owen and Rowan and Kylie and Kieran
Get pissed on the street
Throw up, swear and threaten

Kylie wants one like mum, (forgot that they cry)
Just fourteen, wants a dolly:
Got Kieran’s kid plus black eye.

So Britney is born into confusion and hate
Hard to manage, SEN and ASBO
Diagnosed by SENCO and state.

“No, no she is special, needs care and support”
Kylie cries in her vodka
Britney too is worth nought
.
15/08/06
.


SEN = Special educational needs
ASBO= Antisocial Behaviour Order
Edu-psych = Educational psychologist
SENCO = Special educational needs co-ordinator

The spirit is dead, but not the flesh

Worn down, down;
Old man.
Not expect hope to create
No hope she hesitate
And think
Before speaking.

Now the light softly dims
You beauty, repressed;
Like ancient hymns
Thought is musty, rusty
As the spirit sinks, not swims.

Worn inside out;
Poor man.
No time for you to be
You, no rest, no chance to flee
To think
Before you die.

We were the ones that got away
But you;
Old man had no choice but to stay
Spirit flapping so much caught fish
Never able to have a say.

Your spirit rests though, in daughters and sons
Long after your flesh will have gone.

Love poem to a violent Dad

If you hit me
I will kill you
Though I let you do it
Anyway

If you hit her
I will hate you
But you do it
Anyway

If you touch me
I will despise you
And let you do it
Anyway

If you hurt us
I will do nothing
Let you do it
Anyway

If you leave us
I will do nothing
I’ll let you do it
Anyway

In memorandum

Steve was killed
Shit luck
Drugs and booze
His life

Steve was killed
Pissed in allies
Scared the kids
His life

Steve was killed
Fun guy
Drink buddy
Ruined his life

Steve is dead
Lived high
Low life
His life

Steve is dead
Abusive ranting
Hideous panting
Useless life

Better he’s dead
Even Old Nick
‘ll refuse him
His useless life

Steve was killed
Mystery death
Girlfriend wept
Secret relief

“Steve killed”
Papers quoted
“Cool guy
Misunderstood life”

Steve was killed
Rail tolerance
Bloody nuisance
To station life

Steve is dead
Station patience
Old Bill’s lenience
To pest life

Steve dead
Shoplift beer
Last black eyed fear
Sad hellhole life

Thank God Steve is dead
That’s the point
Pointless life….
His only life.

Ode to Dyspraxia

Prologue
(Doctors discuss dutifully – cannot relate…
Help the poor boy, refer to 1. the state)
Gangling gaggling giggling boy
In the too loose shorts
Stick legs flapping forth
Furious sensitive smile bulges
Enthuses and grouches
Giggles and slouches
Alternate poles – cannot
2.Equilibrate
Mixed up roles – cannot
3.Wait

Floundering flouncing funny boy
In the too wide shoes
Flat feet flapping forth
Flinching and flitting
Ball kicking. Wall hitting
Teeth grinding. Anger spitting
Contradiction rules – cannot
4.Meditate
Emotion’s tools – cannot
5.Elaborate

Fiddling flicking fussy boy
In the too fluffy gloves
Fingers fidget fumbling frantic forth
The pen can’t hold
Scissors too cold
Big buttons won’t mould
Fine skills – cannot
6. Manipulate
Finger tips – cannot
7. Extricate

Nervous nervy neurotic boy
In the too football shirt
Hands flapping, clapping forth
Delicate balance, bungling stance
Protecting goal with spatial ignorance
Flailing frustration and flinching dance
Neurones buzzing – cannot
8.Navigate
Mixed up messages – cannot
9.Communicate


Literal lively lovely boy
In the too wide world
Brain held up, toomuchtraffic/impulses spew forth
Primary wires crossed at 3
Teacher cross, slow at literacy
Bully crossed arms “Don’t cross me!”
Legs crossed blithely empathy free.
Confusion reigns – cannot
10.Hesitate
Misunderstood mind – cannot
11. Integrate

Song of an abused American soldier

All the fuss
Uncle Sam
Has jammed
His way
Into my private
Partnership
Twixt nations
And rations and refugees
On their knees
Touch my privates
Uncle Sam
Ain’t too hard
You killed
Higher ranks before
My delicate bits
Blown to bits
Uncle Sam
Don’t give a shit
If I’m black
Or Arab
Or daughter
Or son.
Ain’t too hard
For you
Cos I’m
Not your kid
Don’t touch me
No more
Nothing
Is sacred
You like ‘em young
Uncle Sam
You lift my skirt
And pervert
Is all dead meat
Love that hole
It’s bombed
Not natural
Man made
And soiled
Virgin earth
Cries out
To save its
Sons.
Uncle Sam
Loves the child
Of the house
Next door.
Blow him up
Don’t hurt
No more
Uncle Sam
Watch and
Twitch
He’s your whore.
Squirm you bitch
In your power
God loves US
Uncle Sam
Bush loves
You all.

2.6.06

How those embarassed react....

My son

Mixed language, messy wording::wild, winding, bewitching words.
Baffled stares, “Please explain?”

Confused sentence, better shout::worn out, wounding, wonderful words.
Muffled stares, “Come again?”

So hard to explain, mixed blessings::wacky, wasted, wise words.
Shuffled chairs; subject change

This, my magical son

i lov yuo daddi - a lov pome

“I love you” he said
as he kissed my hair
“it’s our secret, only our affair”

“I love you” he said
as he brushed my lips
and gently kissed my finger tips

“I love you” he said
soft hand just a sigh
gently rested upon my thigh

“I love you” he said
as his hand moved down
and opened my Barbie dressing gown

“I lov yuo daddi”
as my mind goes black
weight feels like it will break my back.

30/08/06




the hands that touch.....they love or violate? Just paint - this time

To the Convert:

God is love
Love is God
Hey Catholic wannabe
Be baptised and belong

Doesn’t it hurt?
So sad
Never accepted
As one of them

Brand new catholic
Repents
And confesses
And prays

How sad you were born
Too Anglican.
Try to convert
Never accepted.

Always the sinner
Tries doubly hard
Don’t worry though
Catholic school for the kids.

Eucharist and
Penance
Father smiles
Sycophant

Unlike you, gets
Large donation
Of cash, God’s love
And forgiveness

Still you’re
Too Anglican
But lucky Priest
Gets the holyday.

Majorca on the cards
For Father. So good,
As you pray and hope
You’ll be part of the flock.

For Julia 2.8.06

Without faith

hand dipped in water
lamb burnt to the slaughter
The Father sold daughter
in the world without faith

guilt washed in water
crash, burn falling mortar
the son killed daughter
in the war without faith

baptise contanimated water
love burnt (no-one taught her)
the child/mother has daughter
in the home without faith