Through net curtains of distain

A glimpse of the future.


Seventeenth year

An October evening

Clocks gone back an hour

Winter lurking

Around every corner

Stereotypically juvenile


The pointlessness of life.


Telly blaring away


Parents laughing

At something or other

The bedside light

Is insufficient

Streetlights provide

Better illumination

The front bedroom

In which I had been born

Where I now sleep

The swish of commuter traffic

On the main road outside

Comforting white noise

Grown used to it

Constant roar of the jet engines

Mingling with occasional

Deathly shudders

Turbo propellers overhead

The flight path toward Heathrow

As ever makes me edgy.


The bedroom

Bleak and Spartan


It does not want me here

A single poster

Anne Margaret


Sat astride

Her Silver Machine

A bikini

Wished she were naked.    


Something inside


Potency overwhelms

Power resonates in the mind

Dominance diminishes

The ability to even move 

Nose runs

Cuff of school shirt

Wipe the snot away

Real men are not supposed to cry

This is all new.


Bizarre catalyst

Grotesque oddity


This interlude

I am at the birth

Of my very own

Tantalising vanishing

Of rationality

Stark fact hits me

Smack in the face.



A blind man

A sudden discovery

Outlines and images

To behold.


Autumn night

A discovery

Strange bedfellows

Me and this

New state of being

All embracing


The extremities

Have a certain appeal.


Ever since

That blue harbour

My safe haven

Any port in a storm.


Even now

All these years later


Sometimes necessity

Has ensured

I seek out

The exact same state

I was in back then

Time after time

Sought its whereabouts

Got close sometimes

Never have found it though

Not as it visited me then

Maybe it is my Brigadoon?  

If ever located

I know I would let it devour me






6 thoughts on “MAYBE IT IS MY BRIGADOON?

    1. An old curse that visits from time to time – no big deal it is just I still remember vividly that day it first arrived. Maybe a good thing my generation didn’t have to fight a ‘big’ one.

    1. Thank you so much for taking time out to read my sometimes aimless musings. Appreciated. I have clicked ‘follow’ re your own blog although I shamefully, will have to translate!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s