Think happy
Run far – hit those 13 miles in March
Make time for voices and faces
Give up time spent facing a glowing backlight
Eat well
Drink good coffee
Laugh often
Get out and breathe
Stay in and revel in good books
Resent less
And love most
Love like it’s being sold off by the tories
And only has months to survive
Watch him grow
Watch every change
Never judge
And chalk it up
For when he turns 40
Then read him this

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They pounded the ground with their feet
That had walked from length to length
Of a world they had taken for kindling
And a dustbowl was left

They tore up the words
The golden voices
Captured in lines and loops
Ripped through the pages

Ripped through the cities
Ripped through the bodies
Of the women living
Of the girls living

They tore down the temples
They tore down the homes
They burned all the books
They branded the cattle

And named them their own
Their keepsakes
Burying thoughts
Burying yesterday

Burying tomorrow
A new world
Older than the stoneage
A pale and milky dustbowl

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Sound That Changed Me Part 2 

I rest my head against the window
Refusing eye contact with my opposite
Taking in countryside
Drowning out the conversations
About lovers
And ham
And fencing
And accounts
With thoughts of yesterday
Staying in my head
Keeping my blinkers steady
My eye fixed on the stain
Three inches to the left
Of the man facing me to my right
And then I hear it
The sound of breath held
And tears plugged
The holding back
Of the deluge
And I look under my lashes
Side-eyeing and I catch it
The tear drop
Making its way down the nose
Of the man in his suit
You’re turned just away
Staying in your lane, I in mine
But ever so slightly
I respond to your sound
I place my hand on the table
And stretch my little finger
Until it touches yours
And I leave it there
And you leave yours
Your heaving breaths slow
Your chest falls and rises in calm
We sit, finger to finger
Peace passed between us
The train pulls in
And you stand up
And step away

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Sound that changed me Part 1

I was in the room
In hour 52
And your arrival was my exit
I was floating on gas
And bouncing off walls
And my blood was the sound
A wet tennis ball
Against a wall
Over and over
And my cries were in my head
And in the echo
And the tennis ball kept bouncing
And then you
You were the sound
The only sound
Piercing and through
Out in the world
And in my head
A voice heard for the first
But known as if for ever

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Warrior Woman

She’ll be up at the dawn
And she’ll lift her kids up
And she’ll lift her friends up
And her mother too
And she’ll lift him up high
Though he throws her down low
Holds her down low
Keeps her down low

She’ll wipe at the surface
And she’ll dig in the dirt
And she’ll wade through the shit
And she’ll pocket the pence
And she’ll make it stretch far
To food and to cloth
To a gamble for him
To smokey bars and empty jars

And she’ll wait and pretend
And she’ll love them and hold
To the slight little frames
And their fragile bones
And she’ll tuck in and kiss
And she’ll humour his woes
And listen to bile
And his blame on the world

She’ll lie there and take it
The beatings inside
Of a body re-used
And a mind he ignored
She’ll turn to the wall
And she’ll set her alarm
She’ll be up with the crows
And be up at the dawn

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Fragments Of You

It was a quickening of the beat
They said
Then a slowing
Then a stop
It was fast they said
But it lasts for ever
In almond eyes
In little grips
That opened up
And became beautiful hands
That tinkered pianos
And guitars
That sang your songs
And breathed in your scent
Of Rosewater and Jasmine
That he’d tipped onto a scarf
For those two little-fisted urchins
To have something of your essence
In the shape of a collarbone
In the hard on soft
The wood under velvet
And they’ll remember the feet around waist
The jutting hip holding their weight
Heavy heads resting on shoulders
And they’ll hurry backwards
Flitting through the days
To capture you in stopmotion
The negatives fading
That autumn held in a million bubbles
Of photographs and perfume
Of necklaces and pletrums
Of diaries and youtube clips
Of nailpolish and half-used lipsticks
Of the kohl pencil that your girl will try
One day, a Tuesday ten years from now
And she will draw your eye
On her eye
And she’ll watch you
Watching her

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The Giant

The giant came thundering down the mountain
Fists swaying from side to side
Taking out forests and towns
Collapsing bones and lungs underfoot
His weight sending the hardest heart waxen
Onwards he skipped and jumped
Raising towers, bridges, walls
Trailing his spoils behind him
Until he rests in his cradle
The self-styled mountain king
His land flat and ordered
Exactly as he’s made it
A God of all things
Of all but the she
Sitting quietly in her corner
Out of his destruction path
An onlooker spinning and weaving
And Recording his work
That she’ll share with her daughter
And her daughter’s daughter
The bedspread covering the bodies
Will recall the tale
Of The God who came crashing to earth
And who stole our world
But who failed to plunder
Our greatest of gifts
Our secret weapons of choice
Our songs, spun through thread
And our echoing Voice

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