My Candle Burns Underwater

Two Cities..jpegIn a word, insomuch of a breath that was taken in vain

This thing occurred.

A tale of two cities. Forgotten bliss. Memories of hope. Now.

I die. I don’t believe. I try. I do not specify.

Maybe. A Life on the stage for me. Assignations. A plea. Nothing.

Scattered frozen peas. Of an idea. Art was the answer all along.

Now I have something to show. Of ideas caught up in tallow that burns slow.

Maybe I have come of age. Now. Tomorrow. I have been here before remember.

Remember your name and date of birth and what will follow will follow. I have a talk. I have a talk.

My candle burns underwater. Flip the coin of ages.


‘So, Did you find the new play inspiring Jim?’

‘No, I found it expiring rather than inspiring, I’m afraid’


I have found my inspiration

I am looking under the ocean

And I am finding a respite

from the never ending light

And the train that is approaching

Seems to be encroaching on my skills

like the sea around Britain – further inland it goes.

I have found in her a salve for the unjust progression of time

Somewhere to rest my head and to breathe freely.

For a time spent reading what I might have written

had my path through life been different, if I had called

at different stations. Maybe I would still be waiting.

Perhaps we would have met at

a Virgo’s Dance and talked and drank without moving.

But in a dance we now are, me with her book and her with her writing schedule

that with a glance swift  I did look, perchance to meet the authorly gaze of

the one of which I speak.

Now revived from a slumber deep

I have much to do and upon much I have relied so the

new will not be too hard to exorcise. My eyes!, my eyes!, my eyes!

Do not deceive me as page after page come before them

fresh to devour or skim over or to revise wisdom old

and new in a mental franchise.

Seeing you as if for the first time

It’s scary seeing you as if for the first time. Everything looms large – larger than life. And I shrink. In my eyes, you are sixteen feet tall and I now armed with an adequate tech feel like an amoeba about to get bleached. There have been cartoons made on this subject. And it’s not like I haven’t been in this sort of situation before. I decided that discretion being the better part of valour, my absence would not go noticed.

And writing and drawing is my thing, maybe animation, but living breathing theatre about which I know nothing seems a bridge too far, too far and it’s going to be full of people who are living breathing workers and sexers, thinkers and doers, And me I write in my garret and barely put myself out of doors. I could show them my writing maybe. But as for a play I would not know where to begin. I should be better prepared than this. I feel like a bumbling fool. What do I want from this? Company. Human company. A Relationship. Friends. Am I so shallow!

But I could put myself in there and see what happens. Aged 42 I feel too old. I am disgusted by my own prejudices. They are not even mine. Put yourself out there is my advice should you want it. Don’t lose your nerve. I lost that years ago, along with my virginity! I am Mr upside-down man and I am stuck in an upside-down world. And nothing will get out of my way.

At least I don’t sound like a fool anymore. Well, I read like an outre which is better than an inny. Well its true i have finally become a real wanker!


Funny, I left school with my eyes on the army thinking, ‘its thirty years of work then I can retire’

Now I think Its thirty days till next I work again. And work in something fabulous.

Now it’s all will the unions let me, a multitasker, exist in a world of normative roles,

Now it’s can I impress with my portfolio and will my social skills shine

In the world where the Kardashians rub shoulders with the theatrical elite, I wonder what currency goes

In the world that’s built on fantasy can I find space to grow and to shine.

And find an ocean in which to float for a while.