Dreamsnatcher

With your expectations and redundant forms

Tight budgets safe from grasping fingers

Systems bound with blood red tape

Sensible shoes and measuring glances

Crazy titles, meek intentions

In censorious sentences you parcel out her life

and say ‘it’s not safe to dream’

 

So I will meet you at the door

One hand raised

 

She is a dancer floating ‘mid meadow flowers

A sweet enchantress of open hearts

A philosopher of unencumbered thoughts

A lover of all good things and cake

A listener to sounds the dark earth makes

A composer of funky flowing rhythms

An enlightened muse to all who know her

 

So I will meet you at the door

One hand raised

 


Spinning a yarn

My daughter takes me to places I would otherwise never go. Last Friday, on a sadly predictable grey and miserable afternoon in North London we arrived, somewhat circuitously, at what looked like an outpost of London zoo, a concrete bunker replete with iron railings, a steep ramp and with a pile of crinkly leaves carpeting the entrance.

Somewhat tentatively we made our way inside. ‘Hi Iona, so you have brought your mother with you today?’. Without a hint of embarrassment Iona grinned widely caring less about her mother, and more about the hour or so ahead. Read More…


Thoughts from the Light Show

Last week I went to an amazing exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, the Light Show.

The first hall hosts what looks like a futuristic elevator, Cylinder 11. I stood mesmerised as the light pulsated. Remember the Weather Project in the Tate modern, it’s creator, Olafur Eliasson, returns with a water garden, strobing lights capture water droplets midflight, reminding me of Japanese gardens amid the volcanic landscape of Iceland. Followed up with a series of rooms all lit with a single colour but combining to produce a rainbow along the back wall. So extraordinary that strangers even start talking to each other. Read More…


I have a dream

Last week sitting in a dreary convent school in Camden, all polished floors, shiny bannisters and labyrinthine corridors, I dreamt.

There is talk of a new further education college in Camden. A place where a daughter like mine might attend. Read More…


New Years resolutions drifting…

13 days gone and slowly the days are drifting, ill kept resolutions falling already by the wayside and endless introspection rising.

However, Iona, my beautiful daughter, will leave her special school in July and at the moment is facing through me, a blank timetable. No job, no college and not even a day centre. Every time I think about it I wince, my shoulders hunch and my wrinkles deepen.

Read More…


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