WAS my Blog (Hey! I’m not really a blog I’m a magazine - but not your usual sort of) Magazine. BLOGZINE. It's stopped being anything now, as of April 9, 2008.
But what is online stays online, and what's here is what happened while it was happening. The Chinese above, in Pinyin, is huānyíng, and it means “Welcome” and it’s meant. The girl (pictured) is my television lawyer, just in case. E&D is (or was) a mix of poetry & reviews and sometimes charmingly gentle rhubarb (sometimes with hot custard); it has a heart of rolled gold & the word ‘acerbic’ (is that related to ‘cynical’?) doesn't come into it. There are music reviews too, of gigs at the local music halls. This bit was on hold for a while because I was in China for two years, but now I'm not, though I'm going back soon. Anyway, everything here is all a kind of mysterious (I’d like to say it’s sensuous but it isn’t) zone of gentle & benign happiness (whatever the hell 'happiness' is), where headaches disappear & people are friends, & your shoes never need cleaning, & I hope you enjoy it.
This is a re-designed site, launched in October 2006. You can view the original website, and all the stuff published there, by clicking here.
Oh, & if you want to find out about my poetry, please go to my Home-From-Home which is a site almost as heavenly as this one.
I try my best to spend my mornings.
The radio is distracting. The plastic flowers
on the desk stick out bling a kangaroo in Moscow.
This is not Moscow. I don’t know any Russian
and am politically inactive
because of my revisionist upbringing. It’s good
thinking about you. You’re like reading
a poem by Frank O’Hara, but being a lawyer
I guess you must be more structured. Either way
look out for dune buggies.
‘A guy’ called Gridtin
has appeared on my computer screen
highlighted in red. Name only that is.
It’s hard to think about him and his problems
and you all at the same time so I think of you
and the mellow guitar of your still not hostile hair.
Time for a cigarette. One of the ones
I gave up yesterday.
Back now. Gracious,
this poem’s so much about me it’s not true.
I sometimes think I can’t care about my lungs very much.
Music is something to do with smoke over my tonsils
or you and it’s very sunny the way
the squirrels jig around in those trees
avoiding water-bombs who’d have thought
sand made these windows just for me
instead of passing the time
In the meeting room? What are they saying?
I bet they’d be talking about you if
saying “watch out for that dune buggy!”
I’m not sure this is in good taste. It might
leave a lemon in the mouth beckoning
towards cleaning fluid which is never looking.
How we’d like to say hello to the octaves on the beach,
the height of waves between your toes
at work in your shoes in your legal office
where the wicked witch presides
over another sundering. “It’s enough
to make your feet curl
and give you irreparable cramp.” That’s where
this started and spindled out
like a spider at Christmas receiving a gift,
which is the biggest hooray today
next to thinking about you.
avoiding dune buggies is on your wish-list
along with refreshing hour-glasses. I’m
going to turn this upside-down again
spilling plastic flowers everywhere. Keep looking.