Welcome from Simon ! 👋

I trust in you All that I see Through You; Through me. I feel in you A Power in me And encrusted in a trust in me. I need all you As I see in me A need for me. I love us both As we love we I love us both. Simon Huggins, 12th July 1993

Was she moved? I think she was. By the experience. I think she was And so was I. Moved. By the experience. No tears In Years; No love in droves No wonder we move No more so. Do we see it in the air? Or is it, calculated emptiness. Is it shooting adrenalin? Or are we, in our no way fussed. No wonder we love When all we loved is lost And all we love Moved Every, moment, onwards... Simon Huggins, 12th July 1993

Revolution! Revolution Quietly comes Our way. While God's watch slower ticking Goes, 'Til it stops. Look around, revolution! Destitution. Let's start that watch again. Quietly, Quietly Moving Softly Seething strain but It's not your fault. Leave it alone. It's microscopic speck Needs to find it's own, Sweet way. Simon Huggins, 11th July 1993

That's our apple tree Come see our apple tree Down at the bottom of our garden Blossoms to apples Apples to ground See our apples rotting on the ground. Daddy loved our apple tree Our one and only apple tree. He'd paint it at the bottom of our garden. The blossom and apples The apples and ground He'd stare at the apples as they rotted on the ground. Mummy loved our apple tree The fruit of the apple tree She'd watch my daddy in the garden. The apples and branches Branches bowing to the rope With daddy a happy-hopping to the ground. That's our apple tree Come see our apple tree Down at the bottom of our garden. Blossoms of apples. Three inches of flowers So my daddy can come visit everyday again. And see our lovely apple tree It's blossom, fruit, and dancing bees Merry happy colour of our garden. Simon Huggins, 5th May 1993

Grunt Me A Gorilla Fuck Me A Fancy Love ‘N’ Hustle a fuck To Fuck Me Some More. Many a Month Have a shouldered your Virgin Lust. I Want You In My Pants You I Want Your Fuckin’ Breasts for my suck Ang give me your wet And Whistley Missy, Just let me And I’ll Show You A Real Shove And A Real, Real Fuck. Missy, I'm Your Man. ‘N Know What? I'm Your Pushy, Shovey, ‘Fuck Me, Baby’ Man. - Simon Huggins, December 1992

The Perfect poem Should Be: Three Feet High Letters of Mahogany; In clairvoyant Symbology. The Perfect Poem Should Be: Of Air and Light Of Song and Write Dynamically poking Sincerity The Perfect Poem Should Be: Naked In Light; Impassive to Fight; Immune to future Pathology. The Perfect Poem Should Be: Where It Belongs Left Alone. In unfettered Obscurity. Simon Huggins, 1st December 1992

Warning: Parts of this story are explicit and you may find disturbing. Discretion is advised. “It’s the only thing I know how to do well.” He was swallowing too much, she’d be able to see he was lying. He knew how to do lots of things. She knew that. But he didn’t want to do lots of things. He wanted to do one thing. She was sitting before him, arms crossed across body, slouched over the chair at such a peculiar angle, he wasn’t quite certain whether she was glowering or simply uncomfortable. ...

Last week-end I became my son Stirring, Moving, Sleight wave of hand. My memory cleared, my fondness reigned This week my conscience came... Last week-end, I was myself Smiling, tearing, blindly hoping. Glimmering, my trust it searchingly reached And accepting; I found my speech. This long week has seen a roll of this and that as before. But warmly, with tender fear, we see Here's laughter and sobriety. So all clichés so valiantly fought With tooth, nail and thought And all those truths incessantly sought Were here, now; forever more. Simon Huggins, 10th November 1992

1. At first, my mother hurt. She slipped, slapped an'... 2. At first, my mother wept. She stayed inside an'... 3. At first my father lied. He knew the dirt, but wouldn'... 4. At first my father slept. He tried, but stretched inside, an'... - * - 1. When she caught me doin' Those things, I knew no good, but... 2. Then she dose 'n' dose Those tablets made her... , so... 3. Need that work so bad To make some bread to live 'n... 4. O! My God my father froze To papier, so? and so? 'n... 1. Then she saw me hate An' she started frighten' up 'n 2. Then she sow'd 'em out To reaper man o' bin 'n 3. So he work'd 'n' work'd 'n Fell to have no win 'n 4. Help 'm by my dad, shout! My God! 'n dead to him... - * - 1. Out to see herself Blinding Light, So Hurt! 2. Woken On To She Shut Up Shot to In 3. Out He Popped Despair 'N There He Was We Lurk'd 4. There To Peeps of Us From frozen life in Sin 1&2. But, oh! The end to Law 'n IN to major war 'n 4. Wow! What 'n' did hit... me? Simon Huggins, 5th November 1992

Peter always had problems getting at that last bit of jam. The manufacturers loved to conceal it cleverly just beneath the ridge, which meant it was impossible to get at it with anything but the most astutely angled teaspoon, and certainly impossible to access by stubby-fingered perfectionists. Peter was a stubby-fingered perfectionist. He took pride in his wooden carvings that littered the house. His father (an accountant) had always said Peter would never be able to do anything useful in life with stubby fingers. They were clumsy. They were ugly. They were useless fingers. ...