Hold your treasures tightly

black and white doodle

I don’t mean possessions, I’m not at all materialistic. I find money and things get in the way of the real stuff.

What I mean is the people you love, the habits you’ve formed together. The smiles you share and the games you play.

The odds and ends of life always turn out to be the best bits.

Alex and me have a thing for curling up on the sofa to watch some TV at the end of a long day – and busy evenings with the kids and their friends and everything else going on after work – we don’t usually get there until 10pm. If we’re not watching something together (and at the moment it’s The Handmaid’s Tale – which is another blog post entirely), Alex is so patient and will watch any sort of thing I choose, though he draws the line at hospital emergencies, and so I have to watch them from behind a cushion. Or sometimes I’ll draw and doodle while some film is going on. I’m very annoying – I ask too many questions about the plot, so that’s why I doodle instead.

I usually just draw whatever I can see; all the tiny, familiar but worthless objects that make a world cosy.

It’s nice. It’s boring. It’s love. It’s home.

Hold onto it tightly, and let all the rubbish fall away.

 

Kissing in the long grass

 

illustration of lovers

 

It’s easy to forget that kissing in the long grass is a thing, delicious as it is.

It’s the sort of blue skies Summer afternoon lazy lying in the park love that you get away with now and then. Warm skin and cold ice cream. It turns golden in your memory.

I want some more of it.

Take me kissing in the long grass again.

 


 

Disclaimer: I don’t know who the man in my illustrative romantic fantasy is. If it looks like you, call me* I’m sorry, no likeness intended.

*Mr M. is away again, but he’s very protective and of fierce Scottish blood. He has a kilt, and he’s not afraid to use it. On second thoughts, don’t call me 🙂

Addendum: he’s quite sexy though, that guy in my picture. And young. Gosh, whatever has come over me. Perhaps he’s one of those guys from the Greek island. Perhaps he’s the gardener from the end of the road. Perhaps I’ll have a cold shower.

 

 

 

 

Doodle with me

Doodle with me
my love,
pick up your pen
and draw.
Don’t get out of bed just yet.
Open your heart
and
outline
me
with the curve
of your smile,
breathing soft
and breathing slow.
It doesn’t matter
what you want to say.
You don’t have to know.
Let your story
tell itself.
Doodle with me,
my love.

To find out more about the utter genius of Jose Gonzalez – hop over here.

****************

PS: I had this post all lined up for tomorrow. But on a day like today, when our hearts are heavy and our souls sad and weary, we need love poems and pretty clothes and wonky little homemade films, I think.

pretty skirt and belt

Tick The Box

oh no
it’s happening again
i’m opting out
getting sucked into the black vortex
going on a rampage
in my dreams
last night
all night
i shouted at
phony
politicians
for letting us down
i gave
eloquent speeches
on Lesbos
to wild applause
about womens’ rights
and all the suited men
at the back
abandoned their infantile
body language
and
skulked away
sheepishly
in the face
of it.
i know why
of course,
it’s obvious.
the person
i like having sex with
is far away
with only
bratwurst for company,
drinking too much
and
watching action movies.
Apologies to the men
who have wondered
with their eyes
in his absence
but, no.
(Idris Elba,
if you are reading this,
it would be difficult for me
to be strong
so please do not contact me.)

On our brief weekends together
I thought we might
sit on the beach
holding hands
watching the sun go down
but as it turns out
we go to Wickes
to buy silicon sealant
and nails
and then
we grapple and fight
on the shoreline
like two stupid walruses
squashing our young
in the war for supremacy
you with more heft
I with more cunning

but no less ugly

 

TM 29th May 2016

 

 

 

 

Deep Silence/Lost

painting by picassoI was lost
in Picasso
deeply immersed
and you went off
with my camera.
It was interesting
later
to see
your eye
reflected,
but at the time
I felt bereft
searing artwork
onto my eyeballs
as photographic memories,
then cross,
and then,
growing ever more
panicked
at your being
NOWHERE
I can’t speak French
I hate the thought
of my ineptitude
but I was going to have to
find the words
for
husband/short/glasses/takes your breath away a little
and then there you were
calmly cataloguing
Picasso’s wife.

I have never been so relieved. I leant into you and breathed you in.

We were lost
together
in Paris
free
deep silence
between us
no words
and we knew none
anyway
and couldn’t be bothered
to speak
save for
cafe au lait
steak-frites
and
of course
the universal
sign language
for
let’s go back to the hotel

Trudi Murray 25.4.16

Controlled Burning

IMG_0735

I’ve been hanging out with my husband for almost 24 years, after we met at a party. I thought him the most outrageous, irritatingly extrovert but magnetic man on Earth. I can’t get enough of him. He’s going away for months and months. I shall miss him.

******************

Controlled Burning

[for Alex]

It’s the shed
that’s been worrying me
going out at night
to lock the door
with all the things
that lurk
in the veg patch
and the tools
so handy for murder
propped up
against the walls.
Mice?
With big eyes and teeth?
Don’t mention them,
rats neither.
Tails as long as their bodies.
Stop it.
I’m serious
stop it.
Any living thing arrived upon unexpectedly:
I am not one for surprises
of a squeaking nature.
I could send a child
out there
but I did not set out
to have children
for protection
and it is hard enough
at 42
sleeping with the landing light on
in case one cries out
and I have to shuffle to their aid
at 3am.
Forget the shed.
I ought to be more mindful
of the controlled burning
laying waste to perfectly good scrubland
in order to save
the hot desire
of four weeks’ worth
of dry forest.
Trudi Murray 29.3.16

Cutlery Drawer

We used to sleep
tangled
like teenagers
legs & arms
and my hair
like a dark curtain
entwined
all night
feet & hands & hearts
sharing the same air
passing back and forth
a warm portion
a shared identity,
jointly surviving
a snow drift
stranded together
after tumbling in an avalanche.
That was just
the sleeping.
Two plastic
toddler spoons
crammed together
in the drawer,
carefree & bright,
with tooth marks.

now
I am a
polite fork
long and calm
expensive
nicely balanced in the hand
excitingly elegant
although
the tooth marks remain

and you are
one of those knives,
do you know the sort I mean?

you always know
it’s going to be good
always
when the waiter
comes over
with a hot plate
and
a knife
with a wooden handle

 

Trudi Murray
19.3.16

 

 

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