Mirror Land: Response to Gaffney's 'The Good, The bad and The Ugly' sculpture.
Lone girl at an Irish Zoo, how she has set herself apart. She is on a table which rests on a mirror.
Claude Glass, a Black Mirror, used for painting landscapes in the 18th C. Are the landscapes memory landscapes? Or Ingold Taskscapes? 1965 treetop canopy, a park with a cenotaph. A lot of sky, populated by trees.
This hand mirror is Cleopatra’s Obsidian highly polished mirror.
Not a true reflector black stone of magnetic depth A wonder.
The magnetic depth of prismatic black flecked with quartz. The contemplative depth is much more about soul space. A  Psychological fingerprint.
Because it is not a true reflection It gives space for infinity Mirror To look in it is to gaze on the infinite, the sublime. Not Newman’s sublime although I think I understand the Abstract Expressionism’s love of black. Ad Reinhardt, Malevich, Rauschenberg and its opposite Robert Ryman’s white, or the gold infinity of Agnes Martin. The infinite an…
Yellow Bunny

Frances was born in 1969 at Leeds Maternity hospital, (this is going somewhere, I’ve got a plan honestly) and was given a yellow rabbit by a lady from Ann’s jewellery evening class. (Those ladies loved mum.)
Ann had two significant car crashes in 1968 and 1969 and had broken her pelvis and back. Right before the birth she had a blow out and flipped the car right over on the way home from Harrogate. Ann says her shoes were stolen while she was unconscious. (This is relevant It’s all part of the story). [Sometimes a story is slow in the coming like Frances was being born.]
Ann suffered terribly at the birth Still recovering from her injuries Ann was unable to sit up or hold her new baby. Frances and Yellow Bunny went on a trip to Huddersfield, with Uncle Bobby, Aunty Susan and Cousins Philip, Janet and Rachel. Hours, days, weeks, months went by. Who can tell how slowly of fast they passed. She was a baby. {Not yet conscious of thoughts, memory, space, place, Getting use…

In the Toy Cupboard

In the Toy Cupboard.
I am a roll in the pocket of your great coat. I am among the toys in a big cupboard. Yellow rabbit Marigold. Loads of monkeys in a bucket. Miekkel the Nurse Doll. The tiny child’s basket chair with a fluffy red cushion. The tiny white varnished grand piano with the tinkely notes. I’m so small. I can get right into the toy cupboard and hide and no one will find me. 

Dream Poem 106; Pull a Corner
I never wanted to enter conversations in shop doorways. Just pull a corner out and I can do the rest myself Just open the door on this a little bit and I can do it.
Paternoster Part 2
What is my world of pain? Just thinking about it, riding round and round the Paternoster. It is the pain of remembrance.
The feelings, the thoughts, the understanding The knowing what I have felt has a word, phrase. Yet not quite having the language to express it.
Like Helen Keller with her hand in the water Letters, urgently, in rapid succession written on the other hand. W-A-T-E-R. And through the fog bank of realization comes a reflection of a conception of what it is.
Having the experience of that event in my mind, to express the inner narrative, speaking the words out loud, I am not there yet.
I have a taxonomy of all the words associated with that emotion Listed in my innerness, Someday soon I will speak the spoken the words out loud, Bring innerness to birth into the outside world.
This is the start. Having the letters strung into words and phrases which make up the once secret, Now de-coded language, Of re-remembering This time last year.
Dream Poem 105: The Paternoster
In an elevator, there are two women. Each in their world of pain. Each unable to help the other.

Diary Poem 2
Spinning in Silence
A slice of silent contemplation the sky today is ice-cream blue

rose candied pink
with peach syrup clouds

architecture is crisp in silhouette, sharp cold cut-outs,
a paper stage in foam board and ink Stage of my play.
Players coming in from
stage left
and stage right.

And I’m lost up in the gods looking down
and wondering when my cue might be.
Momentary blip as I stand between Two posts.
In the mouth of the goal But not back of the net.
In a void of sound and input In a singular moment of stasis.

Frozen in time. Briar Rose before everyone else wakes up A ghost who no one sees.
Bustling past late looks Blond plait bobs by Curious looks.
Locking doors Unlocking doors.
A heated impassioned argument on the mobile In the corridor
And all the while the reflection of myself looks on in white Crumpled linen. Reflected in the surface of a video
Repetitious spinning
Action black blue
A square of white chalk and a man in a hoop, a woman with a broom.