Ode to a departed tooth.

Tristan has been having dental problems... Ouch!

My teeth are out in sympathy.

He sent me the following which I suspect may refer to something other than a molar:

Your absence has left a void

which I have filled with pain

The exquisite agony

taunts me with your parting

Although I realise that when the pain goes

I shall remember you for what you really were

It hurts too much to miss you right now.

Girls I have teased.

Duck noodles.

How do they get the duck sauce into the pot noodles?

Hands and feet.

Last years notes.

When I am gone

first drain the blood and set aside

Burn me

Mix ashes and blood with cement

Cast bricks.

with which to build a folly.

Build it in the meadow where we were happy.

According to last years notes.

I can die now.

I've seen this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bU1LB4StySo

The Island experiment, Sandy Lamb and the World Cup.

To the Tabernacle last night for the'Island Experiment'; an evening of live music, which, considering it clashed with some football event or other was the place to be. A very upbeat happy occasion.

http://www.theislandexperiment.com/The_Island_Experiment/Home.htm

l

Among the acts was Sandy Lamb.

She is great!

Portobello Rocks

The effect of air-freight on poetry.

Sorry about the sound quality... I need a techie type to help on that.

Tilly, coffee and a hit spot.

Coffee with Tilly this morning at 'Coffee plant' on Portobello Road, by far the best coffeeshop in the area. (Three coffee's in a sentence, not good but Tilly has that effect on me). My cappuccino hit the spot.

I complained to her that Tristan's work was suffering as a result of her interference in his musings.

'For heavens sake Tilly'. I said. 'He's writing bloody romantic poetry when he should be doing his dark stuff.'

Tilly smiled beautifully, said nothing, sipped her espresso while I combed my besotted brain for words to rhyme with gorgeous.

'Shall I pop home and get my husbands thesaurus?' She asked.

That hit the spot too.

http://www.yelp.co.uk/biz/coffee-plant-london

Oscar Hazell.

I may not understand everything he is doing but I will defend to the death his right to confuse me.

http://oscarhazell.blogspot.com/

http://oscarhazell.tumblr.com

A poem written in a silk shirt that you hated.

Her life was a discoball constructed from shards of shattered bliss

Lies

the blunt but self sharpening things

you bring into the bubble of bliss.

The knife you hold to your wrist

should I threaten to leave.

The new man you prefer to the last man

Who all forget to leave a forwarding address when they go

to

meet clandestinely in the pub

To discuss

the blunt but self sharpening things

You leave lying around

Amid shards of bliss.

Oh. And bullshit.

Murray Lachlan Young.

I rarely plug things or people but Murray warrants a good plugging...

http://windswept-productions.com/