In The Event of Love Please Resuscitate

In The Event Of Love Please Resuscitate

My chest ticked like the engine of my first car, irregular and just barely. I had struggled through life gasping for air for forty years and had last decided enough was enough. Whilst alone, I would do what I had dreamt of doing so often, and feared far more. It was my time to go, and I wasn’t too disappointed.

I rested my hand on the oxygen bottle, my finger poised over the release valve. A single, swift flick of conviction whilst the sky reflected my mood and all my troubles would be over. My hesitation was my salvation.

She was new, well-dressed and bore a smile that steadied my breathing. Her eyes were brown, her hair black as oil, her skin like polished mahogany.

“Hello, I’m Francesca,” she said, busying into my room. “I’m your new nurse.”

Francesca offered a hand. I released the valve.

“Any last words before you get sick of me?” she giggled like a Caribbean tide tickling the sand.

“Please resuscitate,” my reply. And for the first time in forever, I meant it.

Dripping Away

A dripping faucet marks the seconds in accumulating mercury pools,

slatted silver flashing through Venetian blinds

to stripe those huddling globules in divisions of time;

they won’t be divided, won’t be categorised for convenience.

Every dashing, steel behemoth shakes this pool,

every footfall of every thing sends shivers,

judders of reality from this grouped liquidity.

One might call them family how they strive to be,

or, perhaps, just droplets of water caught in a sink.


In pools of life and love and words, we congregated,
People lost and found and lost again, swimming
Uphill – were those the words – swimming uphill,
But we were and we did and we do and we could
Because we had to, as the waters washed by.
And all we could do was dream where they went
Whilst we, the swimmers, sought out our pools,
Because that’s what we always did: it’s all we knew.
I still dream about the ocean that largest pool of all.


Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum
An incessant drumbeat
Struck on hollowed skin
Measuring moments
Cataloging a life
Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum
Remorseless it drives
This unfulfilled shell
A clock wound tight
Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum
Dilemmas of the over stimulated
Or is it under
Closed eyes gathering night
Heartbeat or headache?

Ba-dum, Ba-dum, ba-d…..



Crinkled ground

Sheafed in swaddling ice

So cold, so cold

Looks dead, feels dead

Shivering to night

Hiding from day

Yet persistence pays

Patience and time

Life is purposeless

Without struggle

So chooses

No, insists upon

Making hard work 

For buried seeds

Buried, nuzzled

Waiting for the day

When once again

They’re sunburnt