Summer Snow

I opened the door to a late summer snow

Cold recoil of my naked flesh. 

The sun was pale with frost, and a

white sky was falling on ripening fruit. 

Your outline on the garden bench, 

a photo of her in your hands. 

I walked toward, holding all 

my questions in begging bowls. 

You glanced, grief-eyed, 

a moment's meet, then stood 

and turned to go. I ran

to where my name was never called,

the proof of you already dusting over. 

I sat where you had sat, and waited 

for the snow to clothe my shame. 

Mad Bad and Forever Young

Mad, bad, Reading Festival. Two of us amongst the teenagers, blissfully unaware of looking any different. Happy deluded us.

By the end haute cuisine is a paper plate of greasy noodles washed down with a slug of Jack D smuggled past security in a plastic bottle.

By the end you V sign the army of sexist comedians in the not so Alternative Tent, but love Tim Minchin's bigot - blasting mirth and mascara. And love that he draws the biggest crowd.

By the end you have danced to the Strokes' entire set in your wellies and collapsed in giddy giggles whilst the kids walk on by.

By the end the mud smells like slum and the entire site looks like your son's bedroom. But you can look into the long-drop toilets without gagging.

And in the end you laugh in girl-eyed wonder at the fireworks flowering in the sky as you leap up and down in shouty synchronized ecstasy with 70,000 others, yelling ' SUPER-MASSIVE -BLACK-HOLE '. You have covered your face in diamante studs and your wrists in glowstick bracelets. You are high as kites with only music in your veins.

And the words 'Grow up!' only prompt the reply 'What for?'

Both and, not either or

http://www.twitvid.com/4JTZH                                                                                                              London's burning. Fires blazing out of control. Ordinary people's homes and livelihoods being destroyed.Scared people locked in their houses hoping the wind won't blow the flames towards them. Gangs pulling open car doors and attacking people trying to drive home. 

The riots began in Tottenham after a man called Mark Duggan was shot, but now... what's going on is just an excuse for violent criminal activity. 


And Mark Duggan?  'Hardened north London gangster and drug dealer, or loving family man who would never seek confrontation?' asks the Guardian. Well maybe he was both. Both and, not either or.


I remember my very first day as an assistant in the Probation Service, decades ago. My manager took me to see a young guy in prison. He wrote romantic, sentimental poetry - I was moved by its beauty. As we left my manager said :


- Know what he's in for? He smashed a woman's face with a broken bottle.


Both and, not either or