Oggi my world was
piccolo plotting plans
to make it BIGGER
Hemmed in by the
drumming pioggia
this darkness only
made it grimmer
So I made plans to travel pathways
To throw open many doors
On this day of flying solo
There was room for nothing more

The official blog of Nessie A.W. Easton
Oggi my world was
piccolo plotting plans
to make it BIGGER
Hemmed in by the
drumming pioggia
this darkness only
made it grimmer
So I made plans to travel pathways
To throw open many doors
On this day of flying solo
There was room for nothing more

She sings me a lullaby
in words
no longer to be sung
Alone I’d lain
for a thousand hours
and slumber had not come.
I’d closed my eyes tight,
counted sheep,
eventually called out
Muuuuuuum!
Her tireless palm
So soft, so repetitive
strokes the side of my face and hair
A touch,
assuring, comforting
from which I’ll never wear
Perched on my bed
she sings this song
plants a kiss on my forehead
A lullaby
never to be sung again
Til I succumb to the land of zeds

August fades
still we meet
Mob-handed
at the corner
of a wide-eyed street
Adjacent to the park
it’s where we gather as a crew
Me and he, him, her and you
And a few others;
all the best of mates
Here for a giggle,
staying out too late
It’s Friday night and we’re in our spot
Joking
Playfighting
Huddled up to stop
The chill from entering
our teenage bones
We could all be in the warm
but it’s no fun at home
We’ve got a saisho bag
and a load of cans,
a bottle of vermouth
and a mix we nicked from nans
Parroting 3rd hand jokes
told us by a boy named Molly
Who’d stolen them already
from a guy on the telly
We laugh, have japes
We muck about
Having banter with each other
We squeal
We SHOUT
This is our place
This is where we all belong
A repeated evening ritual
Til some others came along
Cos now;
We’re all grown up
and how we tut at all the youths
Hanging around
Causing mischief
Just like our little crew

I should probably have saved this for my big Birthday this year or New Year but it’s out on the page now so I will share it for all of you who may be wondering where the years have gone.
Slippage
it’s finished
all over
another one passed by
a single year older
no wiser am I
more comings and goings
but mostly it’s gone
now time for renewings
reviewing
what’s done
Tonight’s full bodied moon
does not distract
from worries about this vessel
fear for the missing cat
We are losing time
this tetchiness fueled
by poor planning
Thank you highways agency
for nothing
The conversation turns
to contraception
with the beautiful girl in the back seat
whose flower is poised
to burst into bloom.
Lorries loom large
shadowing us
from the spotlight of that glorious moon
We discuss work on Monday
The weekend has only just begun
Payrises that we hope will soon come
How I’ve already let in three
and I shouldn’t let in any more.
We mention the expected time of our arrival
over and over
as the minutes slip
My shopping trip
and the shirt I fell in love with;
sufficiently out there
yet insufficiently sized
Someone else will stun
in it’s quirky folds
and I regret not trying it on
Just in case

I’m gonna fight tomorrow
Got my pad booked
Got a time to show up
All guns blazing
my body, my will
my ammo
I will put it all on the line
I am not feart
I’ll be just fine
Probably can’t say the same for them.
We march them, linked together, into the railway tunnel
abandoned and curving in a manner so efficient
as to block out light
to deny the day
No torches permitted
Just a stick to tap the way
We inch forward
Treading on our nerves
In a Welsh tunnel where Tottenham
are still not very good
Neither are Arsenal, Man U or Liverpool for that matter
The boys work their way through the whole Premier League
A cacophony of adolescent male voices
Employing bravado and thuggish chants to mask their fear
The girls silently trudge
one foot in front of the other
In this dark that never ends
Fish-fingers and chips, a scoop of peas and a chocolate sponge pudding bathed in sauce. A cup of tea. In the crowded surrounds of the dining hall.
Our last supper before heading out into this obscurity.
We wish for the light
Our imaginations running wild
With a thousand spooky possibilities
Of what may be encircling us
Of eight-limbed friends hanging above us
In the eerie dark
Tomorrow, I’ll enjoy a lie in. Ensconced in my duvet
In my own bed. The dog will sleep next to me, as will the cat.
Safe, secure, comfortable. Not here.
It’s surreal
The endless march goes on and on
Our discomfort is palpable
but on this, the final day,
something is different
Today
No one moans
There is no crying
Not a hint of a panic attack
We are all at least a little afraid
But we handle it
Last week we conjugated verbs
In the poorly lit confines of a classroom
When they were just pupils
Some active
Some nervous
Some shy
Some fearful
Some super intelligent
Some less so
Some brave
All with varying degrees of confidence
Some uncomfortable in their own skin.
I was simply their teacher.
These are the shadows of who we are now.
In 5 short days
They have learnt to trust us,
more importantly, to trust themselves.
5 short days in Wales
That’s how far we’ve all come.




So I struck up conversation with the chatbot because I thought the initial selection of verbs was a bit lame. Improvements abound…
You could skyrocket a pencil
Serenade your coffee mug
Salsa wildly with your pillow
Bolt your bicycle to a thug
You could glide around in sunglasses
Sizzle your smartphone til it’s charred
Devour extracts from old notebooks
Scribble songs on your guitar
You could splatterpaint with tennis balls
Hibernate in your rucksack
Improve silly poems with AI
Laugh, enjoy the craic
In this strange day of 25 hours
Don’t succumb to bleak boredom
Have a chat with robot strangers
or some other random action

A nonsense poem, written with the assistance of an AI chatbot.
You could jump over coloured pencils
Sing into your coffee cup
Dance waltzes with your pillow
Ditch your bicycle and run
You could swim wearing just sunglasses
Cook your old smartphone
Read the best extracts from your notebook
Write songs on your guitar
You could paint faces on tennis balls
Sleep whilst cuddling your rucksack
Write silly poems with AI
just for the so-called craic
You could count up all the hours
and find today has twenty five
So take distinctive action
You’ll feel joyous and alive

I wrote this for my daughter who was horrified and terribly embarrassed to open a message from a boy whilst sat at the boxing day dinner table and be greeted with a picture of his nob. They weren’t going out, she didn’t fancy him. Luckily nanny and her young cousins didn’t see.
Unsolicited
I might know you in person
Or perhaps we’ve never met
We have a bit of a laugh online
I enjoy talking every chance we get
I want to get better acquainted
Learn about your interests
But if you want to show me your manhood
We’re definitely not at that stage yet
So, send me roses, send me smiles
Send me jokes or funny chats
Send me pictures of your forehead
For god’s sake don’t send me pics of that.
You may be a real adonis
Or a truly gorgeous hunk
So woo me with your wit
And not unwanted photos of your junk
It’s not easy to snag a lady
It requires a certain prowess,
You may not know what steps to take
That are guaranteed to impress
When you can’t work out your next move
If you’ve got nothing to say
Don’t share a picture of your dick with me
And assume that that’s OK
IT’S JUST NOT!