You paint yourself blue,
all dinosaur prints
and the worry of trolls
eating farmyard goats.
I tell you the fences are strong,
even if the trolls offered good money,
the lady at the gate would never let them in.
You nod at the common sense of this.
I do not say how there is so much
that I cannot keep on the other side.
Not when there are tiny trolls
growing inside of me. Their teeth
of uncertain sharpness and tests
still to be done to see if they will
stay under their bridges
or come creeping out at night
after the lights go out.
There are stages,
gaps in knowledge.
that catch in the throat.
The crocodile clock
that suddenly ticks louder for me.
The lost boys searching for their mother,
and those who do not hear
the mermaid’s song which murmurs
brave people die too,
brave people die too
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Just the possibility of an invasion. Soldiers on the border of surgery with their radiant smiles and bright green skin. Martians with ray guns. But apparently I am the patient and must not make jokes. I must sit in the … Continue reading
My mother barely let me watch television
and then only educational stuff like Sesame Street
that couldn’t possibly damage my young mind.
As a result, I had waking nightmares
that Cookie Monster was climbing out
of the TV set shouting ‘Cookies, Cookies’
and trying to shove me into the blue furriness
of his open mouth with the crumbs falling out.
The thought of those crumbs still makes me
feel slightly queasy. Fear is what we make of it.
When you were little, your mother pulled
the cushions off your eyes because
she was determined to demonstrate
that you were being ridiculous and there was
nothing remotely creepy about ET.
Everybody’s favourite Extra Terrestrial.
By twenty two, you completely agreed with her
and sat down to watch it again thinking
it was about time you got over this.
But the moment the ball rolled into the bushes,
you broke out in a cold sweat and switched it off.
Even now just a photo in a magazine
of that glowing finger makes you start in surprise.
Fear has no intention of phoning home.
When you were in bed, you saw the witch
from Snow White appearing at your window,
you heard Gollum whispering precious,
you felt the cold hands of China dolls
touching your face, you smelt zombies
breathing in your ear. You worried your aunt
would turn the sun off, you’d lose your Mum
at a party, that a hook would shoot up
from the pavement and drag you down and kill you,
that Santa would come into your room on Christmas Eve.
You feared that moment when the horse bolted
and the saddle slipped off, not the fall itself
but the moment you knew you were going to fall
before you hit the ground. People wearing masks
in shopping malls, the Chuckle brothers, the toilet monster,
being alone, dying unhappily, finding yourself far from home
when you lose your loved ones. Fear never grows old.
A friend told me that when she first received a diagnosis of cancer, they locked the door and that’s how she knew it was bad news. This project is about opening those doors. We want to make an online creative space for those affected by cancer, those who work with them, and those who wish to connect. We will use video and interactive documentary in combination with poetry to talk about the impact of cancer on people’s lives. We will create digital gifts that you can send to someone you care about. We hope these gifts will be moving, funny, insightful and emotional. What they will not be is silent.
Here’s a poem about my first meeting with designer and film maker Kerry Bradley which hopefully gives a flavour of what we hope to achieve. If you would like to get involved or to know more about the project, please email email@example.com. Also check out my personal blog https://livingasanalien.wordpress.com/
Tea At The Landmark Hotel
We sit in a glass dome of piano playing
and afternoon tea. The scones so posh
I barely dare to eat them. You tell me
how your first memories are of worrying
that your mother would die,
how she was diagnosed when you were seven
and taken when you were twenty four.
These tales of trauma shimmer in the reflection
of the teapot. I spread the cream and thick scarlet jam,
remembering my own mother eating strawberries
in a garden with such intense relish
because she knew she had so little time left.
Some people think to speak of such things
is morbid. They shut themselves up
in the silence of their fears.
Yet the words of loss between us
make the sky above such an intense shade
of Autumn blue, I think perhaps
there is an art to kindness.
If only we let ourselves pour
the silver glitter from the spout,
drink the magic of grief
that knows we are all the ghosts
of guests haunting a hotel lobby,
admiring how the tea tray
catches a pool of sunlight.
by Aoife Mannix
Anorak are starting out on a new project to create an online creative space for those effected by cancer, those who work with them, and those who wish to connect; Using video and interactive documentary in combination with poetry to talk about the impact of cancer on people’s lives.