Performance, Writing, Drawing, Montage, Knitting and Sewing.
Commissions welcome.



Where to start?...

But before we start, art, fart,
I just wanna honour you honour you,
as part, of a straight from the heart heart explanation of this creation.
Because it's a lineation illumination with imagination you see.
But you have to understand sleight of hand a few things at first the worst.
So I'll make the lisp as crisp and tame, so you can clasp and forge and feign
the feel of emotion through this commotion (and I'll try to stay sane) while I explain.
I'm a public dyslexic whose medic assessed it
with Avascular Necrosis as the diagnosis
of the mandibular condyle with a refill of happy pill
creating while intaking so I don't go down hill.
It's an up hill treadmill with the odd little stand still
(and this maybe over kill or worse still over spill)
Which starts as a small tic, a pinprick through fabric,
turning into slapstick in front of you public.
So I'll take the black flak, which forces a step back.
I'm still riding bareback though I'd like my chair back!
While waiting for my claque, imagining wisecracks,
I will try and highjack this cul-de-sac comeback.
So give me a chance, while I'm waltzing this dance,
 and I'll provide romance, if you offer finance.


My Dad Died, I got all red-eyed and cried, though I'm sure he tried, not to. Just over four months ago - clarified.
He had a heart attack out of the blue and it was true he was a gonna full on a fried day morning he was sound, then he hit the ground.
 When it'll was little (I'll noncommital) he had a few bee hives, behave he'd say and "just stay" ok then in with his big bare bear-like hands wear no protection, on reflection, collection of the lovely runny honey money. Logic - this was before we found I'm allergic. He got another hive, what a dive, an empty one (a wouldn't tempt me one) a couple of years ago and a warm swarm found it and moved in.
 The day of the funeral (I wasn't in Newcastle) was guttural. So antihistamine to saccharin was took. Knowing my luck, after the shock, I figured it wouldn't do me any harm. Calm, then, I stayed as I saw the men carrying the coffin, not coughing, trample amply across the other graves to my Grandmama (my Dad's Ma) while the sheep baared in the next field. Twenty-two years ago the same knave grave digger my Dad had asked for Gramdmama to be burried far down deep to keep a place a space to rest in sleep heaped, my Ma and Da, above (when the time comes) Grandmama. The time line chime's and rhymes and a lifetime closes and is lowered. It was over, but I'd found the four-leafed clover and was about to walk and talk and squawk and stalk away, when there was movement (and room for improvement in this line, but back to the rhyme) above the coffin, I'm not laughing, but still down deep in the knave's grave a runny honey bee, flying not dying spying or crying maybe, but all the while underlying life and death.
 Sometime before or after my sister, bless her, did witness appropriateness in lightness out of politeness, the bees and their knees (for they refused to leave without them) at the live hive swarming. A second queen's been keen and is setting the scene, is upping and leaving (us all grieving) and landing in the boat next door. Though there was more than four so they haven't gone far.
 My Dad did speak in the week, the cheek, that he had seeked and peeked in the hive and there's honey money ready to be sneaked out. But there's no one with the know-how to do that now. Ciao.   


Well I was thirty two when I noticed a line
   (I was thirty one when I saw the gum gone)
but I felt like four when I walked through that door
and into your life,
                           it cut like a knife
the aura of you.

Well I'm still thirty two, and I don't know what to do
I got the teeth fixed and filled up with goo
but I notice the eyes,
                                 that cannot disguise
all that they see is you.

Well I'm now thirty three and with a pair of lenses
I see you more clearly, but my jaw really clenches
so I saw the dentist,
                                and all I can sense is
a presence of you.

Well now I'm thirty eight and misplacing a few years
the bones been dissolving but so have the fears...

                   ... to be continued.

You - me

I can't even think straight
let alone write
the thought of you
was no intention to site
Your beautiful smile
beautiful white teeth
the beautiful bone structure
and whats underneath?
is something to wonder
the rest of the day
something to ponder
and ponder away
'til arriving home
the thought of You
realisation of
only being a view.
I can't even think straight
I don't wanna see
the whole scenario
of You minus Me
the way of Your life
the way of Your world
the way of You
and how things unfurl
in something to wonder
in long sleepless nights
and how long thou dust wonder
alone without lights.
Alone on thy own
the thought of You
on arriving home
realisational view.