A light. A follicle in the darkness.
But not enough for life, yet.
I’m walking towards it, but it
Grows fainter under my watch.
acromegaly
Pain’s sweet tooth, remembered
Back in this place again
This place of doom and gloom
Bloated stomach passing for womb
Once I was well and pain
Was something felt from a
Prick of thorn or cut of steel
Not as now when it grows
From a live seed
Planted deep, sown down
In furrows, virulent its saplings writhe
For supremacy, squealing for
Sugar and coffee and tea
Cake and wine and syrup and cream,
Drops will not do, bring
Buckets for bowls, Life must
Be strained and stretched to
Feed Pain’s sweet tooth.
Notes on the poem
I wrote this 14 years ago, when I was struggling with a pituitary tumour and acromegaly.
I’m starting to include poems from this period of my life, from my first site : creativecoping.wordpress.com.
I think the past, in all its forms, memory, history, monument, is useful to the present.
By resurfacing these poems, I hope to remember the lessons life gave me then.
Patience, patient.
If myself were distilled into
A test tube and held up to the
Light now, it would be two feet,
A bit of br ain between the ey es
And the ache where the lungs meat.
The rest is being kept
In another cabinet,
Access has been barred
And bureaucracy is quick
To thicken the dust on this key
There is the hope of everything
Being in that jar, housing
The organs I once owned.
The promise of wholeness, of
Complete myself, stowed away.
I’ll pay whatever it takes, I’ll
Take whatever works and spit out
Whatever doesn’t and if nothing does
I’ll smash the glass and let my guts
Mingle with the mud, set free forever.
In my shoes
Let’s write one here,
About a quest for shoes,
The quest of a girl with big
Feet, size 42, not 41, UK size
9 not 8, if she’s honest
With herself today, the
Girth from ‘little’ toe to
Big is the kind of substantial
A man boasts of but
A woman hides in shame
In a pair of furry Uggs
Under a puffy coat or
Forgiving bell bottoms,
Bravely taking on the mud’s
Jeering face.
In she goes, the MEN’s
Section, less shameful at
Christmas, fall back on
Pretence of shopping for
Spouses, brothers, uncles, boyfriends,
Big boots with big buckles
To accommodate long feet
And hairy ankles in sturdy comfort-
Firm soles, 100 % natural
Rubber to support the tread of 6 foot
15 stone, if need be, not her
Fluctuating 12 to 13 frame, 5foot 11, if
She’s standing straight, less, if
On a short date with a short man,
Mostly sitting down, if she can find
A chair and a table to hide the boot
That weighs the crossed leg down.
Still, never mind, better to be well – shod
Than tottering about in heels
2 sizes down, that never fit and
Never will, unless she gets over the
Strange condition that makes her
Feet too big: Acromegaly, it’s called,
Google it if you’re confused or bored,
Or if you find you change size
From day to day, no matter how much
Choc you didn’t eat or beers you didn’t
Drink – men have it too, but it’s
Easy for them to like big shoes.
Being Every Day 