Occasionally you come across an artist that not only writes a fantastic narrative, but also seemingly makes everything they touch sound like their own”

Neil King FATEA

Poems Words More...

white box van 

sitting on the living room floor 
in the same position we'd have sat 
if the sofa had been there 
we took up our usual places 
you up one end 
me the other 
the room is totally empty 
except for us 
and two mugs of tea 
your last remnants 
removed by two men 
with cockney accents 
face masks 
and a white box van 
we spent months 
clearing your possessions 
every box 
every drawer 
every cupboard 
we've cried together 
we've cried alone 
we've thought of you 
and smiled 
these last fragments gone 
carried out the back door 
by strangers 
separate us further from you 
and now there's no comfort 
this isn't home anymore 
emptiness drains me 
further still 
we didn't take the kitchen clock 
the one that ticked so loudly 
when pain shut out words 
couldn't bring ourselves to move it 
to touch it even 
so there it will stay 

The Wrong Setting 

this afternoon  
you cut my hair 
i sit on a kitchen chair 
in the living room 
watching tv  
you work and ask 
are these the right clippers 
i watch the screen 
yes i’m sure 
there’s a lot coming off 

you’ve been my hairdresser  
for most of this year 
it was strange at first 
but we're used to it now  
complacent even 
i can almost see your scalp 
you say  
mildly concerned 

it's the wrong setting 
i’m not keen 
you seem alarmed 
it’s ok keep going 
can’t stop now 
it’ll be fine 
i like it short 
you know i do 
we agree 
it won’t need doing again 
any time soon


six weeks since you left 

and closed your front door 

for the last time 

leaving home comforts 

and me behind 

been hard to see you lately 

haven’t even waved at you 

through a pane of glass 

the pain scars me 


carers helped with facetime 

panned your room so i've seen it 

but i haven’t 'seen' it 

facetime whose face 

you had no idea who i was 

you couldn’t hear me. 

you couldn’t seem to see me 

i called you mum but mum 

who did you think i was 


twice a week 

i collect and return your laundry 

washed ironed 

folded with love 

my lasting connection with you 

what are you wearing today 

what did you wear yesterday 

what will you wear tomorrow 

i don't help you choose anymore 


maybe next week they say 

hope is taking its toll 

are you happy 

do you think about me 

i’m not happy 

i’m not happy at all 

tears don’t change a thing 

but they come