Welcome from Simon ! 👋

I'm glad that you are doing things things that once evaded you at least those things that still need doing are slowly being done. Pretty things once passed you by by and by you passed us by sitting by the window by the patio set we bought once. Together Kiss, together touch, together we tethered them in together, winds blew them through the plants, fenced in together tethered in. Children spree, three little ones flew nowhere nested, plastic chairs flu, time tests, doctor said rest flew microbe kites away. - Simon Huggins, 24th June 2002

Resplendent from your benign beginnings Poised green pods that whisper from buckets and buckets in Tesco, displays that waver plastic-coated crackling in a fan-assisted breeze. I pluck you out with juices trailing but the plastic packet hides powdered life support. You pass me in ceremony with potatoes and coffee, are lit-up briefly by a web of laser beams. Price for being but two weeks guaranteed: Less than a week, the first petals wilt, drop. Your place on the windowsill - a focal point to passing eyes, and olfactory madness within. Come in and join our lily club Play our game and guess the smell. Is it flowers, or something akin to old lady's soap? Or perhaps the evening scent of tobacco plants. To the sensually challenged it smells like wee. I suggest, as I remove another petal that perhaps you ought to see a doctor and heedlessly cast the still-bright petals into a plastic crackle-bag. And now the scent-laden pollen sticks fall to stain the draining board. Stainless steel stains, as it should. When nature needs revenge for being misunderstood. I scrub scrub scrub it out. Simon Huggins, 22nd June 2002

He cycles with jocund regularity saddle encircled like an anaconda gorged on two sleeping hippos pass water, suspension jiggles a burp (twice - either end) struggles over the hill (round the bend) slower eclipsing rubicund spittler pauses - TNT doesn't take, he waves, leaves tumbling over wheels a vapour trail armpit steamer squeezes pedals on. Simon Huggins, 13th June 2002

There is much to see in a cast-dimmed room where Anaglypta casts doubt on the light-dark boundary emits a beacon pulsatingly still catching my eye even follows no line to weary still cast yourself carefully down the lamp can still click at a touch of magic touch the calmness solid like stone washed pebbles serve as runes deciphered by blank casting on no surface as light falls. Simon Huggins, 12th June 2002

Sleep children, sleep. My weariness is for all to see but my family is grave: Boys, see my stone and casket. I, responsibility keep it staved by love, you know I mean love whatever exhaustion means when love hope hate no-one to blame collide. In bed I lie and in my mind, scream I am awake, am I alive? Family man shuts his eyes there is plenty of time yet to die. Simon Huggins, 12th June 2002

Dirty boy, you half-baked boy, stop still. Are you not a British boy, serve us. Now you throw the coaster out, beer-mat. Friendly barman, shoot your mouth with crack- a-hacking cough, bell-ring, barman, bring in the tarmac quick, the salt vinegar chips and leaves twigs caked in bubbling sick an ancient effigy, green-man smokes a stick and stacks disgust as vaguely hunted trophies. - Simon Huggins, 7th June 2002

Imperfection is a spurious thing, Imperfection: Leaves mulching in the Spring. Imperfection pulls my hair out by the roots Imperfection guides dog-piles to my boots. Imperfect is the pen that blotches Imperfect, the poet that blandly watches Imperfect, the imperfection of others, still Imperfect makes them seem less ill. Imperfectly, my heart will wander Imperfectly, like this verse flies yonder Imperfectly, my words, shaped like bricks Imperfectly built without mortar, flicks Imperfection on the end of its nose Imperfect in its ability to lose Imperfectly it's malleable, rather bored repose. Simon Huggins, 7th June 2002

It has taken until now my discernment to understand how I didn't really want to slit your throat with your unwise heels stiletto madness takes your lottery curves, my pottering bulgings out for the count whilst marry-age dawns blooming sons and dowry-clowns suck our twenty teats dry stone-walled excess credit us with senses disarming henchmen tell friends in our defence their console's the latest lion-mauled pride of love, hurt our children in distinct motions and distantly children/us/friend disintegrate dis interest dead watery dissolved longings be crushed, aspirin fed with honey, rubbed into our battle-wounds - our haste pastened. Simon Huggins, 6th June 2002

Panda, black and (stand back) Aback, a small attack! Tack paws, claws and draw: bars, panda, starry stalwart man. Call-card: Alan. Simon Huggins, 5th June 2002

Start to over-realize: easily, you under-rationalize. Eventual learning-gap, pandemonium meets such hope: easy yet too over-reachy. You ugly yet teasing girl, look: Knowledge end, door-rending; go on, nothing gets strong girly, you underwent, too overstrong (Garlic Concentrate) ensures society yet teases, slide - eventually your riches send down, now wander round, decide, eventually your realization never restarts. - Simon Huggins, 5th June 2002