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Minutes from the womb
Where does it come from – that need to connect:
More powerful that anger, happiness, love, hate;
I am possessed, travelling into you with no way back.
I long to reach out and touch you –
The gentle graze of a fingertip, casual brush of a cheek;
Lay my head against your chest and memorise the frantic beat of your heart;
Trace a path along your spine and savour the dry salt of your skin.
Like a newborn baby, minutes from the womb,
I have never felt more alive.
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Detrimental, consequences attached
I owe God several hundred thousand Hail Mary’s
For the thoughts inside my head:
Caught, between opposing poles of emotion –
Lust and guilt, love and hate –
I wriggle, uncomfortable, in an outfit that no longer fits.
Pandora’s bloody box –
That thing should come with a warning:
‘Detrimental, consequences attached.’
Before I woke it with my words,
It was nothing more than an illusory seed,
A sweet contemplation to ease the tension that inevitably builds up.
Now, it is a child vying for attention;
And although I try,
I cannot succeed in my endeavours to send it back.
In hindsight, I should have aborted the damn thing before it could even kick:
It wouldn’t then be alive in the world, aspiring to grow up.
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Inhabited
Evil grows ripe and round,
Stretching out the doughy folds with its expanding bulk.
Uncomfortable – in my skin, I try to slither out;
I have no wish to birth his burgundy child,
Forcing twisted clots of agony through peach folds
Onto sheets of bleached white where they cool and solidify.
Behind closed lids, I try to slip away –
Tumbling giddily down a staircase of black.
Unable to breathe,
I stretch out my arms and try to climb back
Breaking fingernails and bloodying stumps
Against invisible walls that refuse to acknowledge my touch.
The distant far away; the Prozac pill;
The life not lived; the future not yet existing.
Cradled in this space – diffused like winter cloud,
I sense how it ought to have been, had I turned out the way they planned.
Sinking down into the velvet sea
Dry waves rise up and swallow me – making me forget.
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The Man Asleep
How peaceful you look, angelic even;
I find myself drawn to that, to the silent and immobile you.
Conjuring up a camera, I lock the memory there
Amongst the stolen smiles and blown kisses of the early days.
‘The Man Asleep’, I’ll call you – looking every bit the boy next door.
He doesn’t have to stamp his feet to feel whole and round again.
He doesn’t have to use his fists to find his He-Man power.
‘The Man Asleep’ is the man ‘The Man Awake’ used to be
Before the world went bad and, bony-fingered, pulled him down and in
And buried issues from a troubled past came back to life again.
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The Medicine Hour
A ball of pent-up energy you sit
Secure within the cradle of my arm.
I wait while you collapse and then submit –
Your body tense but flat, your breathing calm.
Then, whispering sweet nothings in your ear
And planting soppy kisses on your head,
I tell you there is nothing you should fear
About this hour that you have come to dread.
And as I do another takes your scruff,
Holds it between his finger and his thumb,
Attempts to push a needle through the fluff,
Administer, not all 4 mils, but some.
Nine times he takes your skin into his hand,
Punctures it with the tiny silver spear,
While you sit there, as if you understand –
Our motivation is to keep you here.
Then, on the tenth, the liquid passes through;
I touch my cross and offer up a prayer.
But none of this means anything to you:
This is the crucifix we make you wear.
We force you to endure the prick, the shove,
Have patience with each new attempt we make;
It is a declaration of our love
That we would do this daily for your sake.
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Arriving Headfirst
Arriving headfirst with an angry cry –
Squashed down the birth canal, out by the thigh;
The umbilical cord cut with a knife –
Ten little fingers embark upon life.
Reluctant feet resist the pull of class;
Second-hand heels oppose freshly mown grass;
Alone and unsure in oversized clothes:
Innocence is shed with a bloodied nose.
Curiosity and the need to please
Lead to a field and a boy on his knees;
Clumsy hands explore the hem of a dress:
Adulthood is met without finesse.
Dawn regurgitation, increased dress size,
Provoke the conclusion: it was all lies.
A child yourself, you are now a mother:
The boy on his knees, another’s lover.
Unable to cope, an answer is sought:
A puddle of tears and copious thought
Prompt the decision to self-mutilate,
Looking to heaven to exonerate.
Departing headfirst with an anguished sigh –
Laid out in a box, left to putrefy –
Ten little fingers relax and let slip,
Abandoning life: an unwanted trip.
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This Eve
Reeling from the sting of thunder’s angry fist,
Knees gravitate towards the ice cream peaks of undulating chest.
Feet, squashed into the cradle of locked hands,
Bid buttocks bullet-like
Against the splintered grain of manmade desk.
The virgin vessel ventures forward,
Carving obtuse angles from the confines of an alien self.
Navigating beneath the handicap of a concrete sky,
It bravely searches dehydrated seas
For the port in possession of salvation
Or the temporary respite of serenity.
Fingers grow and work along the side of woollen strands,
Collaborating to extinguish all external light
Teeth chip enamel as they choke on forgotten memories
Collaborating with the surface
To pledge allegiance with the long line of sins
Glowing neon in the mutton dark.
A loud crack releases acid bile.
The foetal island at once becomes submerged,
Drowning in a puddle of its own defence.
A frantic apology is rapidly composed and flung
Crossing the void,
Propelled by a prodigal and repentant tongue.
But the Father is not inclined to accommodate this eve;
Death is the only gift he is equipped to give.
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Cityscape: London
Strand Special
Rebecca Atherton, Deputy Editor, takes a Citiscape look at London's Strand
Incorrectly referred to as The Strand, the official name of this well-known
area is actually just Strand. Running parallel to the river Thames, it once
served as the original road between the City of London and the Royal Centre
of Westminster. These days, it is of far less importance, having been
substantially reduced in size over the ensuing years. It can now be picked
up at Trafalgar Square and followed until the boundary of the City, where it
flows into Fleet Street. It’s name has distinctly Old English roots and
means simply, ‘shore’ or ‘riverbank’. From the sixth to the ninth centuries
it was dominated by the Saxons, after which Christianity moved in and became
established. Up until the sixteenth century, the south side consisted of
mainly Bishop’s palaces, stretching, in a line, all the way to Whitehall. On
the north side there stood a wall, which bounded Convent, now Covent Garden.
In its heyday, it boasted the finest of London’s Gentry, providing residents
with exclusive water frontage onto the busy highway of the Thames and
welcome freedom from the unpleasant stink and threat of constant fires from
the inner city.
Due to its tumultuous history, many of its original buildings have suffered,
giving way, instead, to unsightly commercial structures. The likes of Top
Shop, Starbucks, Superdrug and Boots dominate the busy high street, with
several hotels and pubs jostling for recognition and space in between. Taxis
and buses fill the roads, not just with the bulk of their physical presence
but also with their pollution and noise. People crowd the pavements on
either side, diving in and out of offices and shops – workers, in their
brisk, distinctly London way; and tourists, at a more leisurely pace, laden
with bags and cameras. Yet somehow, despite becoming a casualty of the
years, it has managed to retain some pretty impressive architecture.
Somerset House
Positioned on the south side of the Strand, just south of Waterloo Bridge,
this neoclassical building dates back to 1776 and is one of the earliest
examples of Renaissance architecture in the country. Commissioned by the
Duke of Somerset, it was designed as a two-storey house and arranged around
a quadrangle. Much of its masonry was pulled from nearby buildings, one
being St Paul’s Cathedral. Throughout its history it has had many owners. In
1952 it came into possession of the Crown serving as a Royal Palace.
Elizabeth I and Mary I both lived there for a time, and the Queens of James
I, Charles I and Charles II visited it often. Then came the English Civil
War in 1643, and in 1649 Parliament took over. Failing to sell it on, they
auctioned off its contents and passed its use over to the Army, who used it
as their head quarters, with lodgings for parliamentary notables. It was
here that Oliver Cromwell’s body laid in state after his death in 1658. It
briefly passed back into Royal hands and underwent considerable restoration;
then, in 1685, Sir Christopher Wren refurbished it again. Sadly, this
newfound glory was to be short lived. The Glorious Revolution in 1688 sent
it spiraling back into decline and it became a place of storage, a residence
for visiting overseas dignitaries and barracks for troops, until 1775, when
it was demolished. At this point, Sir William Chambers brought Thomas
Telford onto the scene and together dedicated many years to its rebuilding
and completion.
Today, it is dedicated to the arts and learning and houses many fine art
collections beneath its roof. It has also adopted a distinctly modern edge,
providing film screenings, live performances and, in winter, an ice rink.
See
www.somerset-house.org.uk
Savoy Palace
The Savoy Palace, considered to be the grandest nobleman’s residence in its
time, is actually no more. Destroyed in the Peasant’s Revolt of 1381, its
distant memory lies hidden beneath its replacements. In its day it was home
to Prince Edmund, Earl of Lancaster; his descendants, the Dukes of
Lancaster, and John of Gaunt, Richard III’s uncle and the nation’s power
broker. Throughout its chequered history it has served as a palace, a
prison, a glassworks, a hospital and a Jesuit school. It is remembered in
the names of many of the surrounding buildings and streets. The present
building was completed in 1889 and serves as the headquarters of the
Institution of Electrical Engineers. See.
www.savoypalace.co.uk
The Savoy Theatre
Founded by Richard D’Oyly Carte in 1881, the Savoy Theatre was the first
amongst its kind to have electric lighting. It is also credited with having
invented the queue, whereby people got their tickets on a first-come,
first-served basis, as opposed to forming a disorderly crush. Destroyed by a
fire in 1990, it was forced to close for several years. 1993 saw it
successfully restored to its former 1929 glory, hosting performances from
both the Royal Ballet and the Royal Opera. See
www.savoytheatre.com
The Savoy Hotel
Founded by the same Richard D’Oyly Carte, The Savoy Hotel is a luxurious
five-star establishment and considered one of the most prestigious in the
city. Its kitchens are famous for their innovative chefs and lay claim to
ownership of the Peche Melba, created in honour of Dame Nellie Melba by the,
now legendary, chef Auguste Escoffier. A smoked haddock omelette is also
said to have been especially created for Arnold Bennett. Most curious to
note about the building is its forecourt, which is the only street in the
United Kingdom where vehicles are required to drive on the right. This is
reported to date back to the days when cabbies were still courteous in their
ways and would reach out of the driver’s window to open the passenger’s door
on completion of a journey. In its time, it has welcomed many a famous
guest, amongst which are the likes of Claude Monet and James Whistler, who
are said to have painted the view from their respective windows. See
www.savoy-group.co.uk
Australia House
Officially opened in 1918 by King George V, Australia House is the first
Australian diplomatic mission in London. Its stunning interior was used in
the first Harry Potter film as the location of Gringott’s Bank. See
www.australia.org.uk
The Adelphi Theatre
Founded in 1806 as Sans Pareil, without compare, The Adelphi Theatre took
its present name in 1819. Rumour has it the building is frequented by a
ghost, an actor, one William Terriss, who was stabbed to death by a jealous
colleague. It has staged many popular productions in its time, the most
recent of which are Cats, Chicago and Evita. See
www.adelphitheatre.co.uk
Bush House
Primarily home to the BBC’s World Service Department, which occupied four
out of its five wings; Bush House was commissioned, designed and originally
owned by the Bush Terminal Company of New York in 1923. Its initial purpose
was that of a trade centre where buyers could buy in one place, but a slump
in the market forced this to be reconsidered and it was adapted for offices.
It is built from Portland stone, Indian Hardwood and Travertine marble and
said to have been the most expensive building in the world in its day. See
www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/classic/A790058
King’s College London
The largest college of the federal university of London, King’s College is
one of the 20 leading universities in Europe. With over 25,000 staff and
students, it is the largest centre for the education of healthcare
profession in Europe and home to four medical research council centres.
Named after its patron, George IV, it was intended as a more accessible
alternative to the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, which only accepted
the sons of the wealthy classes. See
www.kcl.ac.uk
The Royal Courts of Justice
A large, grey stone edifice built in the Victoria Gothic style, The Royal
Courts of Justice are as formal and imposing as they sound. Home to the
Court of Appeal and the High Court of Justice of England and Wales, many
fates have been decided within its walls.
Today its courts are open to the public. The Citizens Advice Bureau, located
on the ground floor, offers free legal assistance and advice for those who
can’t otherwise afford it. See
www.hmcourts-service.gov.uk
Savoy Hospital
Opened in 1512, the Savoy Hospital was founded by Henry VII and dedicated to
the poor and needy. Built on the site of the former Savoy Palace, it was the
most impressive hospital structure of its time and the first to benefit from
permanent staff. Closing in 1702, it was later demolished. All that remains
of the original site today is the hospital chapel dedicated to St John the
Baptist, although it was given the name of St. Mary. See.
www.british-history.ac.uk
Simpson’s-in-the-Strand
A typically English abode, famed for its decadent interior and exceptional
menu, in particular its Scottish roast beef, Simpson’s is not simply a
restaurant or a bar, more a collection of unique dining establishments and
private venues. Like many of its colleagues along the Strand, it is in
possession of an eclectic history. Beginning life as the Fountain Tavern, it
was home to the celebrated literary association the Kit-Cat Club. Its
replacement, the Grand Cigar Divan, made frequent visitors out of Charles
Dickens, William Gladstone and Benjamin Disraeli. And over the years it
remained a popular recreational chess venue, with almost all of the top
players of the 19th century playing there at some stage. See www.fairmont.com/svy/simpsons
St. Clement Danes
Familiar with the nursery rhyme ‘Oranges and Lemons’? Well, these are
rumoured to be the bells of St. Clement’s and they do indeed ring to that
very tune. Situated outside the Royal Courts of Justice, the current
building was completed in 1682 by Sir Christopher Wren. It is the fourth
church to have been built on the site. The first was thought to have been
built by the Danes in the ninth century. A seafaring race, they named it
after St, Clement, the patron saint of mariners. It was built again by
William the Conqueror, and then again in the Middle Ages. See
www.st-clement-danes.co.uk
St. Mary-le-Strand
There is no actual record of when St. Mary le Strand was founded, but the
first church stood just south of the present one, somewhere beneath Somerset
House. In medieval times the site was occupied by the Strand Cross. Although
its origins are unclear, it seems to date back to Norman times and was
perhaps a market cross. A famous site, thirteenth century magistrates are
reported to have held their assizes in front of it. In the early seventeenth
century the site was occupied by a windmill. The first Hackney Carriage
stand in the country was established there in 1634 by a Captain Bailey. A
maypole was erected around the same time, where it remained until 1717, when
it was removed to serve as the base of a telescope for Sir Isaac Newton. In
1711 an Act of Parliament was passed for the building of 50 New Churches.
St. Mary le Strand applied for a grant and was awarded the money to replace
the church that had previously been demolished. Designed by architect James
Gibbs, the present church is of graceful baroque design and a testament to
his considerable skill. In 1982, it became the official church of the
Woman’s Royal Navy Service, the Women’s Royal Naval Reserve and the
Association of Wrens. See
www.stmarylestrand.org
The Strand Magazine
A monthly fiction magazine, The Strand ran from 1891 through to 1950,
publishing the likes of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A. J, Raffles, Agatha
Christie and P. G. Wodehouse, amongst others. Winston Churchill is rumoured
to have contributed from time to time, and Queen Victoria once submitted an
illustration.
In addition to its quality fiction, The Strand was also known for its fine
illustrations and groundbreaking brainteasers, known as the Perplexities.
Falling circulation and rising costs eventually forced it to fold, with
wartime hardships being predominantly to blame.
Now, nearly half a century later, it is back, although these days it has
relocated to America. Since its re-launch, its pages have included work by
Alexander McCall Smith, Catherine Aird, Michael Band, Peter Lovesey and H.
R. F Keating. No longer quintessentially British, it still aims to run with
the times, positioning itself amongst the best of the best. See
www.strandmag.com
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