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Paul had always been interested in colours. When he heard on the radio of how such-and-such a racial group were protesting of their repression, he would listen intrigued when they explained confidently into the microphone that this was down purely to other’s hatred of their skin colour. However much he heard this line of reasoning, he always came to the same conclusion. It must be bollocks. The route there would often be arduous. His keen interest in the use of colour co-ordination in a Macdonald’s restaurant, of how the intricate shading of a Rembrandt could uniquely convey certain human characteristics (or so his teacher had said a few days ago), and of how when he was littler he would look in innocence at the fat black lady on the bus and say, “Mummy, why is that lady a funny colour?” And then mummy would reply with, “Shhhhhhh! Don’t be so rude. Watch what you say!” with a vaguely amused, extremely paranoid emergency. ...

Warning: Parts of this story are explicit and you may find disturbing. Discretion is advised. Life smiled a toothy grin, though mostly on Sundays, and especially in the form of “vicar” Tom Reeves. Tom was not an ordained vicar, and wasn’t even sure if ordination was a Church of England “thing”, required to transform a normal person to a being fit to wear a little white strip around the collar of a shirt. Tom was, well, self-ordained, and those of his growing congregation that attended his little weekly sermons generally agreed that this was a wholesomely satisfactory state of affairs. Tom was unique, and as such, appointment to the position of “vicardom” by anyone but himself (or “him upstairs”) would be a nonsense. ...

First I thought They were hard skin. Then When they Grew I knew They were warts. So I went to the doctor Who said I should go And buy some stuff to kill 'em off And some emery boards to wear 'em away. So I went to Boots And bought some stuff And emery boards To wear them away. And took them home. And sat me down. I read the directions With a careful glance And took a bath So my warts were soft. Then buffed me dry And sat me down. I put on the stuff With an applicator stick That was supplied Attached to the lid Of the bottle of stuff And covered my warts Like directions said With sticky bits. Th next day I took The plasters off And saw my warts Turned brown And squidgy So I could see And all could see My warts. That night I sat me down And took that emery board in hand And buffed off a layer of wart And put that emery board back down And had a bath, and... Then Seven days gone They were gone No scars to see That they had been My warts so carefully Tended. My warts so carefully Gone. Simon Huggins, 20th September 1992

The dead to a door Came knocking once more Resolved to taste some tea. And they called And they called For a servant to bring This tea to save their souls. The dead can sing With a light held aloft They bring their light so to see The brighter their song The brighter their song The lighter then shines their souls. The dead did part From that sturdy oak door Resolve dissolved once more in their hearts. They laughed And they wept And they stamped their feet In the warm cool welcoming cold. Simon Huggins, 9th September 1992

Innocence Lasts 'Til the touching hand And then we are Experienced. Simon Huggins, 4th September 1992

Forgive me Lord For I have Sinned I have neglected You For erroneous whims I know imperfection On rising each noon(ish) Forgive me Lord I'll remember you soon(ish) Yes, make me Remember My Roots in the carpet Lord Your Picture Is darned near perfect. When I look on the week And see all I have done Lord, I can see That You were The One In the back of my mind; Lord, I will find And Love You Again [I Hate News At Ten] I Genuflect From seat to seat The comfiest one Is at your feet But Lord I am Home To Worship once more O! Neighbours (bow head) Is best viewed from the floor. Forgive me Lord You know right from wrong My time for these questions Is a time that's long gone Forgive me Lord You're darned near perfect My odious nature My Odious Nature Lord I BESEECH THEE! Was that week really worth it? Simon Huggins, 20th August 1992 Published in Poetry Now Central 1996 Anthology (ISBN 1 85731 698 3)

Unabated He moved on in Towards the light But in the shadows. She huddled there Naked in Night Livened by the shadows She huddled there. Hesitation To the golden glow; A cancerous growth flowing On light night... She huddled there For the second fight. But Night protect her. The light, it flickers She huddled there. Simon Huggins, 19th August 1992

And to where are you going? And to where have you been? To whom have you answered? A Questioning? "I answer to me; To You; And to *Him*" But look, deep Crevices and Folds Impressed; He is sold Into a sort of... Slavery. Simon Huggins, 18th August 1992

Maiden Aunt A species of loveliness abound Your warts and wrinkles Suffuse me, my brow Is raised in awe of... Oops! Lying as usual Oops! I love you really My Joy, My Aunt; My Maiden Aunt With loveliness, wartiness For all to see; It's Harmony! Simon Huggins, 18th June 1992

But I started off With some coal in my sack With a Mortar and Pestle, I ground some bones With tinctures of plants, and oil of the one I painted the coal my own. To say that my bones From first were my own? With A Mortar and Pestle, I find me alone With a Two by Two Family of Runes I cast aside all I had learned. With the sun on my back And the Wind By My Side No Mortar and Pestle; It's an ignorant life But the toll it tolls, and my simpleness dawns; I find myself casting no more But all I see Is A Family And Me With our Mortars and Pestles, we grind one two, three But the more it grinds, and the more it tolls, We find ourselves wondering more [no more] 'Til nothing is left but the dawn. Simon Huggins, 15th June 1992