please take care of this book

please take care of this book - the parable of topsy

The poetry in 'please take care of this book' is as simple in its form and content as the photographs but, in combination hopes to draw on both the written and the visual, to achieve a heady emotional depiction of the course of a relationship. Samples of some of the twenty-four poems are included below. You can also check out the audio of one of the poems read by the author Suzanne J. Cairns.

Here's hoping you enjoy them and will want to enjoy them further, with their accompanying photographs, as a hard copy version that you can take care of on your own personal bookshelf.

The Beginning

bed springs & heroines-a new book

Kate Silver-tongue is doing a samba on her desk, taking requests,

the Taliban are morris dancing and Tom has gone to the movies with Jerry.

Carol is forecasting endless sun and streaks on Brighton pier, just for fun and

there's a super model in the mirror, with a pin sharp mind and a perfect figure,

charismatic as Judi Dench, a mischievous, liquid truffle wench.

Yes, it's a good news day, for a Rossini kind of arching spine,

as you slip your words around my waist, corralling precious time.

So . . . you take me onto your pages,

you take me inside your head,

you take me in every room in the house and

then you fall asleep in my bed.

Your steed's smoking hash in the garden,

your armour's been shed in the hall,

your sword's being kept for the ending,

no need for defending at all.

The Middle

rose specs

With a trumpet of farts the rose specs depart,

and the twang of a pant makes it clear,

we're an item.

We're nesting, investing,

planning and playing,

the pages are turning, we like what they're saying.

I sleep on the left, you're on the right

the chandelier swings less often at night,

but it isn't an issue,

the spark is still there,

in the glint in your eye and the smell of your hair.

We're on the same page,

interlocked,

happily ensconced,

we've docked.

does it matter if it isn't new?

There's money in antiques,

queues to sell boots,

mileage in vintage.

There's comfort in a comma, when the world is running wild,

relief in a wrinkle when it's scary.

Trees are reassuring, when daisies seem so fickle,

Autumn more erotic than Spring.

I rest my case.

The End

slippage

There's an uneasy slippage in the clouds today,

the music's lost it's rhythm and the larks have all got gout,

a dromedary fights for survival on a silken thread,

the dawn chorus has taken to its bed..

Raisins are all dreaming of a plumper former life, and

the hermit in the valley, dreamt he had a wife.

The piano keys are crimson

the cello's joined the drums,

the fingers are feeling crowded

wanting to be thumbs.

something is

not

right