Multiplastic

The Empress trees are blossoming. Dusty purple bells ring a silence over Saint Peter’s Square. Yesterday there was Britain First, there was Palestine Action, the Anti-Fascist Coalition, Black Lives Matter, Free Iran, Trans Rights, Stand Up to Racism. Yesterday there were flags and banners, and voices raised in anger, in despair, in hatred, in hope, in need, in defiance. Today is a Sunday, and the Empress trees are blossoming  over Saint Peter’s Square. But nobody is looking at them. April 2026

Let me become, into life, entangled Fused at the soul with all that surrounds me No longer fixed, limited, strangled But endless, without edges, liquid, free Let me become perpetual motion A shattering mirror, scattering sight Lord Shiva’s dance, destruction, creation From moment to moment, blistering light Let me become mycelium, compost Merge DNA with ochre roots and leaves Never to settle into stagnant loss To rain down as spores in the air we breathe Until then, simply human I will stay Knowing we’re much more than I can ever say April 2026 Note: This poem is a stand-alone reworking of Entangled (Darkness into Light) .   Acknowledgement should also be made of the strong influence of the work of Sophie Strand and Alok Vaid-Menon.

What are you standing on, Saint Mary with your massive, sandstone feet? What slice of time has been compressed, tissue thin beneath the weight of your buttressed walls, beneath the echoing stone floor, beneath the bright windows, the altar, the cross, the eagle’s golden wings, beneath the feet and knees of uncounted generations, and the pews worn smooth by a thousand backsides? What were you standing on, Saint Mary, before Bartholemew was sent away, before the first graves were dug and filled, before the first mass was spoken, before the foundation stone was laid, before the first plans were scratched out? What brought you to this plot, Saint Mary, to this spot, this site, this chunk of earth? Who did you replace, before the Normans raised their tower, before the Saxons built their wooden halls, before the one-God came and came again, before weary Roman feet marched past heading north, before you shook out your veil that night? Are your gargoyles carved in the images of those who might...

Six-fifteen, the morning bus A covered caravan for the unshaved and unsaved For the mendicants contemplating infinity in grimy hi-vis For the football philosophers who analyse every missed kick of last night’s game For the hopeful neophytes studying the scripture of TikTok For the three-job holy sister with offerings of Wether’s Original in her handbag It's journey we join only in darkness And never for longer than we need To pilgrimage to our sacred temples Where we worship the god of £12.71 an hour Where we justify our right to exist And I step into the congregation Make the sign of the debit card Tap the holy icon, hear the amen beep Try not to meet the eyes of my fellow penitent sinners Take a place on a pew behind the reverend driver And try to convince myself that I’m not a member of the flock. February 2026

Written for the event, Darkness into Light at Sacred Trinity Church, Salford. Thursday 19 th March 2026 Responding to the paintings of Janice Lightowler and her journey through chronic illness. Link: Set Fire to the Rain She becomes entangled Crashing each drop-drop-drop Every splash re-breaking a new form Before it dares to settle into stagnation She becomes movement Moving inside movement Constant patterns in chaos creations DNA entwines with grey mushroom spores and ochre-yellow leaves She becomes entangled Blended at edges with leaf, dirt and water She shines like oil sheen on scarab shells Rippling into glowing brown, cherry and raindrop She becomes movement Con-centring rings spreading interference patterns To absorb and transform heredity Dissolving, re-forming in constant interrupted flow She becomes entangled A merging of DNA She becomes movement An eternal Shiva-dance She becomes

Written for the event, Darkness into Light at Sacred Trinity Church, Salford. Thursday 19 th March 2026 Responding to the paintings of Janice Lightowler and her journey through chronic illness. Link: Bloody Bridge This is the bridge she crosses every day From asleep to wakeful From private to public From darkness to light And back again This is the bridge she pauses on every day The halfway point To wonder if she should If she could If she’s able to Take another step This is the bridge she leans over every day To talk to the water To ask it if maybe today Just this once She might not put on her pleasant mask And instead smash it on the rocks below This is the bridge that one day She will stop crossing And that one day She will flow freely beneath

Written for the event, Darkness into Light at Sacred Trinity Church, Salford. Thursday 19 th March 2026 Responding to the paintings of Janice Lightowler and her journey through chronic illness. Link:   A Window in Time   She has learned the value of hiding her face Behind a smile Behind a calm veneer Pasted on every morning Crumbling off every night She has learned the value of hiding her voice Behind the cheery good mornings Behind the daily chatter So the important matters Don't make it crack She has learned the value of watching her hands While they hold the coffee cup Concentrating the tremors away To avoid the embarrassment Of making a mess Again She has learned the value of keeping it all in Of not scaring away This one who might care This one who might run When she realises it's just too much She has learned the value of condensation On a café window On a bone-aching day In the pouring rain.