Kensi 'n' Tom - Space to dream

Listen to the full EP by clicking here.

:: Bitter sweet ceylon tea - TB

My dream, in a teacup, needs stirring.
I sip and decide it’s too bitter.
I add sugar and realise it’s now too sweet.
I actually liked it more when it was bitter.
Now it’s a bitter sweet ceylon tea, that’s right.
Should I just leave this one to go cold like the last?
What if i drink every last drop and end up hating the pictures with leaves?

:: Wings - KC

What I am going to be today,

I decided in a dream last night.

It was by tripping too close

to the edge of an abyss

and falling down into it,

I discovered I'm winged.

N.B.:

- TB's official residence is Under the Toadstool. I like to imagine I'm his winter house.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads

- Kensi 'n' Tom EP artwork by KC.

Paper boats

I recognize the spark in her eyes

as she storms into my room

because it's raining outside
and she needs a good paper boat fast
for a stream forming in the yard.
When I was four myself,
my father used to fold me boats.
I would sit beside him spellbound
watching them go,
making up stories about the places
we would see if we could sail them
down our flooded road.

(A workmate brought her 4-year-old to work yesterday and I gained one hour of origami folding, singing and making believe.)

Kensi 'n' Tom - Conversations with a stranger

Listen to the full EP by clicking here. 

:: Just talking - TB

He’s talking,
He’s bleeding,
Becoming weaker with every word.

He’s talking,
He’s conceding,
He thought you hadn’t heard.

He’s talking,
He’s crying,
Tears making things blurred.

He’s talking,
You’re not listening,
Again, his words have been spurned.

:: Paper - KC

Happy anniversary,

It's been a year.

You left the gate to the zoo

open,

my wild thing

looking for shelter

walked in.

We don't usually talk on a Tuesday

- what happened to "No talk Tuesday"?

What's the last dream you remember?

Are you already awake?

How do you see me?

if you could grow anything from your belly button,

what would it be?

You do beautiful things here,

inside me, I mean.

N.B.:

- TB lives Under the Toadstool. I'm just lucky he likes to spend time with me.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads

- Kensi 'n' Tom EP artwork by KC.

To build things that matter

Don't stay here
if in your heart
you plan to leave
when in a dream
I need you to
just sit in silence
by my side and
you need to be
somewhere else.

Kensi 'n' Tom - Modern life, let me out

Listen to the full EP by clicking here. 

:: Techno thunder – TB

Oogledy googledy goo,

face booking, snap chatting. 

What’s appening in here?

I C Q Ing for the next one,

I pod iPad iPhone

I’m sad at home.

Look at the beautiful blue skype. 

Yahoo ooo,

I’m getting there eventually.

Lycos, like this, unlike this,

Thee usual for the internet explorer.

Asking jeeves to show you the door.

Unfriend.

:: Stream lines - KC

KC can't tell for sure if she is awake.

KC is too tired to put on makeup today and therefore is wearing her zombie face for work.

KC is listening to The Evpatoria Report.

KC is feeling selfish.

KC won't share her people.

KC is counting up to ten (seven times).

KC is eating carrot cake.

KC wishes she had more time to write.

KC has a sore throat.

KC is sure someone somewhere keeps a voodoo doll of her.

KC is having a day full of emptiness.

KC wishes she had a space to disappear.

KC is reading Ready Player One.

KC liked the photo of a baby dressed in a blue monster costume.

KC is ready to be a mother.

KC's next tattoo will say: but surely tomorrow. #Beckett #WaitingForGodot

KC is feeling grinchy.

KC has a Skype meeting tonight and would like to know what time 20:00 GMT +1 reads in Brazil.

KC's hair looks like grown-up Simba's mane today. #badhairmonth #hakunamatata #TheLionKing

KC is thankful Google and Facebook bots read her poems. #webcrawlerlove

KC thinks she's dying today.

KC survives.

KC is wondering if the other person's silence becomes our own after some time.

KC has gone for a ride down memory lane. She'll be back later.

KC knows it's too late to join NASA.

KC doesn't like existing on Friday evenings.

KC can't sleep.

KC is wishing upon stars that won't fall.

KC now knows it takes no more than two hours sleep to make a nightmare.

KC's chances of falling on the street today are 1.000.000:1. #heavyrain

KC is visiting the online photography archive of The Library of Congress.

KC should probably spend less time with faces of the past and find a face in the present to look at.

KC finds a face in the present. It rarely smiles.

KC still finds it a nice, calming face to look at. 

N.B.:

- TB has a house Under the Toadstool and another one in my heart. I'm always hoping he moves permanently inside me.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads

- Kensi 'n' Tom EP original photo and artwork by TB.

Mr. Coffee Cup

(Image by TB)

He sits on the counter
with memories
I don't visit often
and smiles
because he knows it better:
I can't get used to the
English cold.

The first and the last time
we have been together,
the days spent in exile
each of us locked
in his own cupboard.

He smiles
because he knows it better.
He returns to me my understanding
of home.

Listening

On a train crossing Central England
he is not the same man who left
but he's thankful for the meadows and the trees,
weather is surprisingly good,
he's thankful for being home.

To be reunited with innocence,
hurt and pain are unloaded here.
Tired. Shouldn't have carried
so much luggage.
Listen.

Back to his motherland's womb
he is one with perfection
to sing and recite poems to the stars
to dance with the wind and the earth
like a whirling Dervish.

Listen:  Presence - Shy, low

Dreaming

My heart searches for
a peaceful spot to
open itself up.
Careful!
- I say.
A word at a time
or we'll scare him away.
Are we still dreaming?

Kensi 'n' Tom - Already thrown

Listen to the full EP by clicking here. 

:: Left to fate - TB

The over-pleasant lassitude
Has eaten away at him,
Resulting in the desuetude
Of the once tended-to fields of his mind.

His mind, his nemesis.
His thoughts, a labyrinth.
Better wait up for Lady Luck to reappear,
Dressed in her alluring, seductive, diaphanous gown.

The ephemeral joys of deciding for himself
Are soon plucked away by the deft fingers of fate.
She loves me, she loves me not.
Toss a coin. Tails says nothing changes.

He thought he’d been prescribed the elixir of life.
He’d obviously picked up the wrong bottle
And then spun it in the wrong direction,
A sign maybe, a harbinger of doom perhaps.

:: Binding forces - KC

I know fate very well.

When I was young

we were best friends and

fate taught me to read star maps.

It sat in my classroom once and

devoured all the books I recommended.

Fate is a memory

buried under an ancient stone statue

on the top of Mt. Nemrut.

Fate is a jerk.

Fate kisses like a girl.

Fate has me wrapped 

around his finger.

Fate is pro naturist.

Fate makes me sing.

Fate is so smart.

I search fate in bed

in the middle of the night

but it's destiny I spoon with.

Destiny plays with my curls.

Destiny and I don't talk much.

except in the mirror before

we leave for work.

N.B.:

- TB's official house  is Under the Toadstool. I'm so used to his company already it will be awful when he leaves. 

- "Fate without destiny" is and idea derived from the Chinese concept of Yuanfén.  For some time, I've believed I'm destined to loneliness. (Sad sad panda)

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads

- Kensi 'n' Tom EP original photo and artwork by TB.

The itch

They see me from afar.
They see me and think they know
what I am made of.

linen, lines, lies on storage -
they think they see me from afar.
They think they think.

They think they see
for they have been granted eyes.
A heart, a mouth and a mind -

They have also been granted these things
and left to discover how to use them
for themselves.

They think they know how to.
They think we're made of the same stuff.
They think we do closeness.

Kensi 'n' Tom - Exposed to the elements

Listen to the full EP by clicking here

:: Future told - TB

What will the weather be tomorrow?
Happiness set against violet clouds.
Misery reflected by the sea.
Anguish languishing in the eye of a hurricane.

What will the weather be tomorrow?
Warm days broken up by scattered showers.
Mild nights. Threat of storms.
No exceptional warmth.

:: June showers - KC

I was born on a cold rainy morning in June 1978

the first images recorded on my retina

were those of my mother's face

and nimbus clouds.

As a baby,  rain tunes were

the only thing to calm me down.

As an adult, I can always count on them

to soothe my mood.

Growing up I would always cover my ears

in the shower moving my body to and fro

to create my own rain-like songs.

I still do.

N.B.:

- TB's official house  is Under the Toadstool,  but I do think he matches my walls. 

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP original photo and artwork by KC.

- I'm in permanent state of delight.

Anatomy Lesson - Juan Manuel Roca

We were given the body
To have our enemy nearer,
To watch him
So he doesn’t have time
To hide behind a tree
And wait for us to go by.
We were given the body
So that between him and us
There would be no mined ground
Or ambushes.
We were given it without asking,
Like the prince got the throne,
So he couldn’t
Mix wine with poison
Without abdicating his kingdom.
Later was the imposition
Of the habit of going with the body
All over the place,
Of having a bath with it
To avoid the surprise
Of a dagger flash behind the curtain.
We constructed the habit
Of following the body’s steps
And setting it the trap of the mirror,
Of not leaving it alone
Not even when it sleeps.
We were given the body
To have our enemy nearer.

Kensi 'n' Tom - Some lights never go out

Listen to the full EP by clicking here. 

:: Walk on - TB

Walk, walk forwards.
Don’t ever step back.
Tread, tread safely.
Don’t step on the toes of my dreams.
Carve, carve its soul into yours,
the odds shall be in your favour.
Live, live in hope.
Me, I just live in this city.

:: Window - KC

be it across the street or the Atlantic

a window is a window is a window.

I can only see what you want me to

and you see me because I let you through

because I want you in as much as

I want light.

N.B.:

- TB's official house  is Under the Toadstool, maybe one day he moves in with me, huh.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP original photo and artwork by TB.

- A lifetime of writing and performing poetry and children's rhymes with someone I adore. I don't need much more than that.

Kensi 'n' Tom - The social animal instinct

Listen to the EP below

:: Animals - TB

Feeding time,
under the cover of darkness.
Someone needs advice on wearing animal prints.
That can wait till the morning.
In the morning they’ll discover which pool they’ve been drinking from,
Whose ear’s been ‘accidentally’ mistaken for tucker,
And where they finally nestled.
It all begins with the poetry of the foot.
The moth launches its assault on the butterfly.
The cat brushes against the legs of the elephant,
While the panda yells out bamboo.
I sip at my nectar and monitor their movements.
I feel the closest I’ve ever felt to being alive.

:: Instinct - KC

He comes under my skin

a word after a word after a word

bridging the gaps of time and space

existing between us.

I wave to him 

to come on, 

which he does cautiously,

stopping every few meters

to look me over - 

we construe reality

with the words we're given.

When you get up courage to approach

you'll be able to read me deeper.

  
N.B.:

- TB is usually found Under the Toadstool, but don't you love seeing him here? Maybe we should start a hashtag: #stayTB.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP art by Kenia Cris
- TB is definitely my Queneau. <3

Comrades

They remind me I'm breakable.

That I had ten months of allergies and 

occasional fever because 

you and I had an argument once,

that I couldn't smile for weeks,

that I lost a language because

after you leaving

why would I ever speak again,
who would I talk to?

That I fell down twice and

sprained one foot at a time
in forty days last year,

because you're in town,

and it's just a matter of hours.
We attract each other, they say.
They fear for me, my comrades.

Kensi 'n' Tom - Marmalade Sandwich

Listen to the EP below

:: Marmalade stains - TB

The descent of grace continued
Trickling into his teacup.
Another runner was on its way,
Down the all-to-familiar slopes of his rosy-red cheeks.
He’d wanted so much to be recognised,
To be idolised for his finer spirit,
Never sure exactly how and when,
Waiting for the day, someday.
Unfulfilled relationships, unfinished books, unfulfilled promises,
You name them, he’d had them.
They stained every corner of every page.

:: Marmalade stains - KC

He dwelt among

inspiration, aspirations,

arguments,  reorientation

outlined paths to collective

views of urgent achievements

and instant pleasure

feeding others' egos

and improving their

desires of grandeur

while neglecting his own,

colleagues would say.

But anyone who hadn't walked past his door 

too hurriedly to have

a good glimpse of him

sitting with students' tests and essays at his desk, 

wifey's marmalade sandwich lying aside untouched

could have delivered a different opinion.

N.B.:

- TB is usually found Under the Toadstool, but I do love when he visits and always wish he stayed.

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP art by Kenia Cris
- The creation process of 'marmalade stains' involved constrained writing. TB came up with the idea to write about a character and so he set the scene: a retiring professor with a marmalade sandwich on his table. 

- Writing with TB feels as if I had my own Queneau. <3

Safe place

Let me be curious about you.

I'm going to ask many questions,
make sure to leave two fifths of them
left unanswered -

less than that would turn us into strangers,
more than that would lead us to
take each other for granted.

There's comfort in the idea of a person
as a safe place and as much as
I'd like you to be mine,

I want to explore every corner of  you
with the same excitement in the eyes
I had when I learned your name.

Pantone 101

Let's always make it
about the people we are
beyond the screens
and the thoughts we once
kept to our walls
I'll show you mine
if you show me yours
and I won't say it
if you don't say.

Ever since

It was late January a year ago
that looking for a safe place
to lie my hope
I spotted you under the toadstool
talking to a swarm of ants
about what life would be like
if you were king.

And I thought your words
were straightforward and wise
your voice so steady and kind
and you had such moderation
in the eyes I thought you would
do great as king. My mind has
been the same ever since.

The Quiet World - Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred  
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear  
without saying hello. In the restaurant  
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,  
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.  
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,  
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line  
and listen to each other breathe.

Jeffrey McDaniel, “The Quiet World” from The Forgiveness Parade. (Manic D Press, 1998)

Kensi 'n' Tom - Swimming in the sky

Listen to the EP below

:: The writer - TB

Words come
Easily,
On paper.
Rhythm just
Follows her,
Like vapour.

She is
Trapped in a poem.
She says
What she thinks.
Her words
Fail to break through to the intended

Deep breaths,
She tries again
With her pen.
But finds it hard
To sculpt shapes out of words.
And, finally, loses all senses.

:: The reader - KC

I remember in the beginning,

used to reason over heart, he would 

study me suspiciously, looking for 

signs I didn't purport my words.

It's not all of a sudden

he can finish my lines.

Not all of a sudden

he knows what I don't say.

It took me stubbornness,

it took him some faith.

I still write him poems 

as a means of approach.

N.B.:

- TB writes Under the Toadstool

- These poems are shared with The Real Toads
- Kensi 'n' Tom EP art by Kenia Cris
- Tom suggested we call this spoken word musical style "Trip shop". I adore the idea.
- I find it awesome to have someone you can be both creative and silly with.

The fall

He is one thing when he speaks.
Collectedness. It comes out his mouth
when he talks, right inside me,
catches me off guard, I stumble.
I am not afraid of the fall.

The writer

I grow up a solid poem by his hands.
In the poem, I'm a prisoner to my own words,
too small for a sight of the sky,
this is how deep he can see me inside,
my thoughts carved to stone walls.

I write about the writer, he laughs
and the sound of his laughter is the
only sound I know, a leak on my soul
he comes through. As lonely as I am,
I enjoy his stay.

The letter

It doesn't say much.

I say everything in poems,

I hope you know these

are my best words, 

that they live in paper

before the cloud,

that I mean them 

for you. 

Upward

When by truth you mean
a house on the hill.

The people in the house are three,
sometimes friends come over.

The days in the house, the hours,
they are memories you never tell me about.

But if we had met then,
if we had played outside

when streets were still safe
and children could play outside

for hours before dinner was ready,
before having to walk down the hill with

your voice carrying me home
a thought of you showing on my lips.

I would be true for you then.

Twelve fifty-nine and sixty seconds

Let's not ruin it
with words.

You look me in the eyes,
It's nothing but a second, it won't hurt.

I'll step inside you for that second,
your secret world won't fall apart,

I won't move a thing,
I promise.

But if eventually your eyes
don't leave mine,

or I fall asleep
inside your rib cage,

how bad can it be
to lose control over ourselves

for one leap second?



(The Paris Observatory announced last week that a leap second will be added to the year 2015, on June the 30th. Read about it here)

All of this is hypothetical

As if there could be
a world
where a man couldn't rely
in the sense of sight to
know things.

He does this:
he wakes up
and immediately tucks his head
under the blanket
to be sure everything is on its place -

his toes still count ten,
he is still a man,
there's no evidence of a
third nipple.

He eats the news for breakfast
trying to remember days when
the food was tastier.
He walks to work
reading people on the streets,
graffiti on walls,
watching  for cracks on sidewalks
he could fall through, better be safe.

He is now part of the things
his eyes have captured,
they are part of him as well -
children's smiles, war tanks,
cirrus clouds.

But me he doubts.

Been thinking about maybe
improving my knowledge
of political science.
Maybe learning a few jokes.
Maybe challenging
the altitudes of existing.

The year I didn't cry

I wanted it to be this one.
I never made it a resolution,
though.

One evening, early January,
I can't tell the stages of loss,
but I feel like disappearing.

You are the one who
talked me into vulnerability.
I turned to it as others do to religion.

I guess it was November
when I was strong last.
You have changed me already.

The first woman to swim across the Atlantic

Make it September 15,
this year or
maybe the next.

This woman I am
will swim across the Atlantic
cold, violent waters,
my heart
pumping anticipation like blood
throughout my body.

Meet me at the beach,
let's say Walmer, in Kent.
Let's say at 9.15 a.m.,
when silence still covers the peebles.

Dress me with arms and smiles,
I will remember this.
When I tell my accomplishment to the papers,
to my grandchildren,
I will tell them all
how I did it
for you.

Encounters

Itanhaem/SP, Brazil

My first spiritual encounter with the sea was 

in Kent one grey morning, we walked 

side by side down the shore in silence, 

you allowed me space to process its hugeness,
my smallness. 

My first physical encounter

with the sea was in Itanhaem

this week, one grey morning, 

you watched me from a spot 

in the middle of the vast blue

I watched you, 

a wave,

come into being and die,

come into being and die noisily, 

repeatedly.

Repeatedly
I came into being
and died
calmly
with you.

A shard shared

(Tiete bus station, São Paulo/SP)

There is a word
for every face in the crowd

a reason, a story
he teaches me to imagine

so I can move among them
and be not afraid of them,

so they can't hurt me but
can still change me.

(In response to this poem)