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Displaying 11 - 14 of 14 entries.

Lying in bed

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:45 am

All those times I lay back yearning for your mount.
Aching to be taken instead of only drawn to you.

You would take my hand, and place it—which I loved.
I always did the right thing, the right way, always—for you.

But if I took your hand, placed it, was held—it was that I should
take in turn. Not learn, nor just initiate, but teach—and take.


All those times I lay back, just yearning to be taken—
your primal desire to have, to do, to satisfy yourself.

But you could never know. ‘How strange’, you said, ‘to have
dangly bits—I really can’t imagine what it must feel like’—whilst I

I would look at you and know. And I didn’t lie, when I replied
that I knew exactly how it feels to be a woman—and yearning.


One of us was lying, in bed. Loving—but lying and not
realising. Eyes closed. Lying. Longing. Longing to be taken.


2013 © Andie Davidson

Departure lounge

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:36 am

Silence is a presence in the pressing noise
my ears as unhearing as my eyes can see glass

of impending departure sealing sound
passport, boarding card or ticket, bag

and you, in conversation, never looking back
waiting behind your reflection in the glass.


Goodbyes, those precursors to greetings, yours
elsewhere, captured in silence, heart in flight

in decision than in joy, but its absence
the missing kiss and reassurance, bag in hand

and you, in your other world, spreading wings
waiting, beating, preparing for your flight.


Half-reflections, sun-caught fragments of my dress
glass-printed, unmoving as your body wheels

and anticipation silenced by the glass
in your remembered scent and touch

as you walk and wait, embark and disappear
in the thunder, roar of flight, of lifting wheels.


Bright dots, navigation lights blinking in the sun
silence in the glass as they merge, are gone

my feet
are for walking, ticket to a car park
my journey
a returning, wheels to a home alone

I am fragments of light in silent glass
no longer waiting—reflecting how you’ve gone.


2012 © Andie Davidson


  • Posted on May 5, 2013 at 6:06 pm

If I open my mouth perhaps
the fish will swim in
and I shall drown
for daring to welcome you
while under water.
But if I wait to rise
the waves may overwhelm
and I may never find you again.

So I wait, avoiding weed
that threads my ankles yet
drifts innocently around
the darting fish that rise to test
my mouth, probe, kiss, forget;
and watch you
relearning your strokes
in the same way water
has become unfamiliar to me.

And I wonder if we shall always
watch each other learning,
help each other without a word
and without a shared stroke
to swim, and surface
in an immense ocean
simply because we are afraid
of fish. And drowning.


2013 © Andie Davidson

Steam radio and my tranny experience

  • Posted on May 4, 2013 at 9:14 pm
valve radio

I alluded in a previous blog (Risk of shock) to the joys of valve radios, amplifiers and similar. Not quite the kind that you toasted marshmallows on, and I remember ‘acorn valves’, which were the first step in miniaturisation. They were easy. If they glowed, they were probably working, and if the wax capacitors around them were mere blobs, something had gone wrong. Of course in those days they took time to warm up: no instant sound. A bit like my digital TV and radio really … I remember it well But I also remember buying my first, small white…