Saturday, 16 July 2016

Bird Trap

I caught you in my trap,
little bird,
and now I let you go.
I long to see you spread your wings,
my love,
in magnificent full flow.

Haunted Skull

Echoes of hollow hate, I
haunt my soul. My
ennui is a blank slate upon which
I shade in the grey happenings of my

My mind, whose mundane oscillations
interest no one
least of all me-
the leaves are falling.

Falling, down into the pits
of my mind. Where
I conjure up a ghost of living;
hollow and morose.

Words in the Breeze

Decisions made
in the tree covered shade
where lovers ease
to words
that just the breeze
had heard.

An hour's slept;
the sun has leapt
through the cracks
to peer
where the ray still lacks
but near...

Buried in Creases

The stony hands of death
will surely grip me before
the creases in my forehead
grip my receding hairline,
but when you pass
and I have already been buried
rest assured my tombstone will weep for you
and wrinkles from smiling
and wrinkles from laughing
and wrinkles from thinking
and wrinkles from worrying
and in every crease there is you.


Count the syllables
like the days during winter;
nod your head then die.

Tuesday, 28 June 2016

Referring to the Ending (The Day We Left)

Breathless breakfast; Brexit breaks it.
We'd almost roll off the tongue
if not for the ex in the middle,
just as I rolled in tangled sheets
sweating over just how much the nation
hates immigration.
The pendulum swings
right to left
and back, drawing your curves
in vicious inertia and either way
we're in the red.
A pan-European project to address—
to counter-progress—
technocratic anemia: ecological
catastrophes and economic imbalances
spotlighted by iPhone notifications
of myopic irritations,
beside your
Italian leather
Scandinavian bed
made by migrants to mimic
a heavenly cloud where
only you may lay your head.

Night Light

Shocking synapse barrage
weans a wary glance out the soul's windows
apple of the beholder's eye;
heart palpitations, away it goes.

Scalding black drink
innervate the weary soma
stimulate neither skull nor organs
Blind to dreams and desire, mental glaucoma.

Sweet synesthesia needle,
holy skin, mind wholly in trance
gnaw on God's flesh
and falter in his dance.

Rising lumen reflexes
further subdue subterranean sorrow.
Sensory blaze, pneuma to ash
vagrant drift to vapid tomorrow.

Monday, 27 June 2016

A Weapon Often Overlooked

        V                                                                                SOCIETY.
          ESTABLISHMENT        :                                     E
                                       O        DEMOCRACY'S             S
                                      D        E                         L              I
                                     A        E                         I                R
                                   YOUTH                        P                  O
                                  .                                     P                    R
                                                                       I                     R
                                                                     N                    E

Sunday, 19 June 2016

Universal System Attack

Fights are fought
until rights are bought
and then voices are lost
at free choice's cost;
so all facts are distorted
by who has reported
and who they've supported.

The Estranged Daughter

Less of a bridge over troubled water
but rotten crumbling boards and fraying ropes 
Mother Earth is estranged from her daughter
and the Father had abandoned all hopes.

So the child is left in the hands of thieves
blind to ill intentions of company kept,
for those with duty of care takes and leaves
the Father saw this and from afar wept

But he did not step in to intervene 
instead letting his child make her mistakes;
such was his effort to remain unseen
that he even missed visitation dates.

Daddy please return, and mend the bridge
I want to believe that you do still care
Daddy; a girl's on her knees making a wish
I need to believe that you could be there.

Sunset and Secrets

A splintered sunset in salmon skies
stuck in my paws which are rubbing my eyes.
Obfuscating bark parts to reveal
the dark of the woods til the next dawn will rise.

For now, owls perch on branches of teal,
sharing the secrets that night will conceal.
The morning fire kindles the smouldering shade
whilst phantom embers attempt to appeal.

And so in the day, more secrets are made
by that one star who refuses to fade,
yet the day also swears that he will not tell
as the trees protect light with their palisade.

And so time went in a coherent spell,
until the secrets spilt and the first tree fell.


Words will wagger,
I'll wager,
like weary worms in earth.
I've heard your counter-
but cannot see their worth.
They are embroiled
in dirt
and hide within their hole.
Yet if we unearthed
enough worms
I'm sure it would take its toll.

Ticking Away

This starts
as something
something so slight
                                                                     until caught by                                                            time
and is caught by the night
until it departs
without warning
and it is

A Change of Light

Has there been a change in light
or have I just noticed your flaws?
The rays that break through the blinds
expose the state of your paws.
Yet under the guidance of the lamp
you needn't have a bath;
squeaky clean with a saccharine smile
and I can't help but laugh.


The boards, once tightly bound and bolted
are broken and creak under my weight;
I don't avoid their rotting route
but leave my fall in the hands of fate.

The soles of my shoes are faded
and present a hazardous chance to slip;
I don't choose appropriate footwear
but I do a dance to avoid the dip.

Wednesday, 8 June 2016

Seven Years

More dishes pile—
more to-do lists undone.
Shout away shade
and scrape out the muck.
Never forget to smile
and try to have fun 
before the mirrors, their shards
and with it all the years of bad luck.


Synthetic and coarse,
a wild untamed horse.
An indigo glow
with nowhere to go;
slow narrow lanes—
Meetings and migraines.
Pay at the pump
Clinton or trump—
the new fire or ice;
a roll of the dice
and the score is low...
An Indigo glow
—a wild untamed course—
the world shows no remorse

Tuesday, 24 May 2016


Paint the low flying ceiling
to cover the smoke jaundiced cracks.
Anaesthetise all feeling
to forget the faux forged facts

Melt with me in the house of glass
with an espresso shot of oil.
Cackling so crude and crass
as the landscaper tears up the soil

We need more wood for the decking—
sure, just add it to the list!
Pretend this isn't our home that we're wrecking;
pretend that our children don't exist.

Monday, 9 May 2016

Cold Tea

In the cup's chamber, a teabag infused 
and was decidedly discarded - 
happy that it could make the brew strong.
Perhaps enough for one more use,
never as satisfying as the first;
and though perhaps enough to quench the thirst
nobody once those last dregs loose
and left lying for far too long.
And so the teabag, so lowly regarded
was left cold and then politely refused.

Infected Light

Fragmented amber light
regurgitated by the lout loitered lamps
sprinkles down through the frame
of a plastic window
[off -white and cold;
yet retaining no cooling comfort]
and brittle leafs, tired and defecated
by the smoggy air.
The light spills up to the sky
and rebounds through the shook-up Earth
- as if a glitter globe -
covering any mystique that celestial sphere could draw
so that even stars and the moon
are just emergency exit lights
of a broken bed-sit.

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Captain's Entry

I woke up this morning because there was nothing else to do
but gravity's grasp on my head
pulled my thoughts like a tidal shift
so I remained looking at the light
that squirted through the narrow slits in the blinds
like a gaping hole on a ship set for the ocean floor.

Accepting my fate I got out of bed and went to the door
to check if the letterbox held any hope
yet that too leaked
as saltwater coarsely collided with the back of my throat
so if this ship is incapable of being steered to safety
I might as well lock myself in and nail any gaps shut.

I woke up this morning because there was nothing else to do
and nothing of note happened
so I fell back asleep, content
with the fact that I still haven't drowned
and despite the uncertainty that the signals are reporting
I still refuse to sink.

Halogen Engines

The sun lay comatose on the sky's veranda, a hollow halogen for those tethered to its pull.
Soft spring songs swim through breeze like schools of fish drawn to the odor of fresh mulch.
The distant mower cuts a carpet of multifarious grass atop a pampered dirt, 
asking the Earth of its faculty, cacophonous and coughing gasoline. 
A seething and still gravel road carves through the surface of the crust, 
imparting a passageway to an island
swallowed on each side by efficient and mass distributed cathedrals of carpentry,
drafted by architects and subsumed by engineers. 
The buzzing industry of the mower has given way,
the only energy remaining is fluted by the symphony of blue jays and house finch.

Thursday, 14 April 2016


My attempts
to inject vivre
have been in vain
so I vociferate
the vitality in my blood
until it all begins to wane.

A Collapse of Control

Cornered by a cage of conflict;
cacophonous in its callous call.
Curtains veil red velvet cushions
and creased posters on the wall.

Feeling more crap than crapulent
as an aching kicks my head.
Thoughts return to that veiled corner
and my thoughts are filled with dread.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

No Cigar

I am the world's
greatest disappointment.
Mr Might-have-been
could almost have been
my name.
For every
minor victory, i am
mocked with a myriad
monumental defeats.
I am a man;
in some frozen
wilderness, rubbing
sticks together so I live
through the night.
whenever I get a fire
going, God snuffs
the spark
just to see how far
he can push me.
tonight, hell find out.
because tonight,
my wifi
keeps going out.