Monday, 14 April 2014

Floating Above Water

You approached like a red balloon
against the cerulean sky,
carving your certain way through the clouds
to catch my  sun-spotted eye.

I tried to avoid your burning gaze
hearing of the damage that could be done
but nervous glances downwards met
the placid reflection of the sun.

My tense disposition knew one way
to maintain an amiable shade,
so I smiled into the ripples
of all the paths that I have made.

Then I stretched up on to my toes
reaching your form with a pin,
and hearing the pop I closed my eyes
to immerse myself within.

Monday, 7 April 2014

Above the Motorway

I see vehicles parked on bridges over motorways.
I wonder if it's an unmarked police car
measuring the velocity of careless crimes
or a lost soul contemplating their final act.

I'm sickened at which my instincts would prefer.


The dissonant swarms
are surrounding again
inside my head.
Inside my head,
swarming my thoughts,
they surround me again.
Where can I escape
when they are in me?
I can't escape
this part of me.
Each snapping jaw drones
and my neck snaps to look.
I'm lost again
back in my self dug rut.

Saturday, 29 March 2014

Undulated Dew

as deep as an ocean,
seems to end our spring song too soon
until soft warmth
off your roscid lips
and sends ripples across the room.

Wild Dance

Whistling winds whip away at withered leaves
coercing them to sway and dance
into an invisible ballet,
like a stringless ventriloquist.
Airy and wispy, the strength amazes me
and I feel myself pulled
by nothing
towards nowhere
but on and on
and I wonder what allows
such a boisterous wraith
to wreak havoc on the elderly residents.
Angry turbulence and resentful gusts
I fight against on all vectors
trotting on myopic as a mule
saddled in dignity.
I ignore the dancing leaves
and pierce through the medium
like an arrow through flesh
and I continue through the contiguous solution,
heeding none of its warnings
of an immensity unseen
and far too visible,
and march on triumphant
only to be left dancing in the current
along side the foliage
I once ignored,
and hated.

Monday, 24 March 2014

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.

Sawdust on the Wire

Here it is, that feeling.
Starting at the centre of my sternum,
where I keep store my solemn secrets.
The same scene floods back.

Starting at the centre of my sternum
and, working their way up to my brain,
the same scene floods back;
sawdust on the wire.

Working their way up to my brain,
the new pills soon take effect.
Sawdust on the wire
dissolves in the synapse.

The new pills soon take effect.
Here it is. That feeling
dissolves in the synapse,
where I keep store my solemn secrets.


Nobody realises how much they piss
until they aim into a pint glass
and now all that I'm left staring at
is another sentimental spillage
that my body's cell can't sustain.

Saturday, 8 March 2014

The Final Stretch

A variegated verdure of tendril-like veins
vesuviate their stillatitious sudor.
Sweat sweeps down sinew strengthened trunks
with each strident stride; with each replanting of the roots,
engraving an ephemeral power
against the pot-holed pavement.

Natures' tempest, with its own truculent power, contends each giant step—
torrid torrents transfluent to the fluent pounding.

Yet each droplet,
each beat,
each step

until the spirited spurt of a storm with home in its sight
reaches the final
S        T        R         E         T         C        H.         

Saturday, 22 February 2014


In memory, of the child
who bounced the ball into the field
and though he searched, he realized it would never return.
While the grass and the earth choked it
the child stopped and turned away for ever.

He moved on — It remained.

Self Cycle Reset

The greatest consequence
a lost soul must conquer
is who he has become.

This terrifying notion
keeps me awake all night
til I forget with untroubled sleep.

And I wake up
some three months later
forgetting that I ever existed.

Monday, 17 February 2014

Cloud Walker

I dance only with colours
but the world's all black and white;
I laugh a lot in dreams,
but I can't say that of real life.
So I dwell on the threshold
of phantasmagorial bliss
noctambulating my nepheloid nights
with feet rooted in the sun's kiss

Monday, 3 February 2014

Undue Residue

A simulated resonance
echoing in my
A wind chime rusting
in a disintegrating
A crow pecking negatives
in the saran-wrapped
I leak
and we


This morning,
out of boredom more than hunger,
I looked into the cupboard
to find a jar of jalapeños.
Let us not get into the argument
of whether they should be stored
in the cupboard or fridge;
they were unopened
and so warranted no need to be refrigerated
whatever your preference.
Anyway, this inviting jar was labeled
hot and sweet,
and it made me wonder
if I would ever have a jar of jalapeños
to call my own.

Monday, 27 January 2014

Distant Lights

The earth is in a well lit bedroom,
looking outside a window into the dark,
seeing only the lights that shine back.


Death is: delayed
a difference is made.

A Cat In Hell's Chance

A girl I know, or at least wish I did,
she had a certain way.
She always seemed to look through my skin
when I was out of things to say.
I'd make bland comments about the weather
and ask about her day.
She'd reply with an indifferent sniff
knowing my acting meek.
Her social skills had gained her fans;
my own made me feel weak.
Yet, despite myself, I unsheathed my tongue
and dared myself to speak.
She used well known aphorisms
to ward off romance.
But who condemned the cat to hell
and who gave that cat no chance?
I posed to her these ponderings
and asked her for a dance.
And so it was that philosophy
out-jostled social wit,
and even with the blandest badinage
you can be well read and writ.
There may have been no sunset fandango
but I'm happy with my lit.

Please Take Care This Winter

The fields resemble a landlocked lake,
the roads — a slithering stream-like snake.
An aquaplaning aquarium
that insists we take caution and test our brakes.
But the flow will always come and go,
so why let it force our pace to slow?
We're just another mild hysteria away
from a couple of centimetres of melted snow.

Heaven's Brick

God is busy in cyberspace
defeating his darkest demons.
He designed the interface
but is outdated as Siemens.
So the only hope for global faith
is next decade's nostalgic yearn
when we found greater lasting grit
in the old ways from which we turned.

Wednesday, 8 January 2014

La Tendre Indifférence du Monde

Actions heavily orchestrated by
over-sentimental conduction
adorn the arid rationality, and yet
we're compelled to obey obsolete instructions
afterall, what is heart without art? He
who assigns meaning to picayune catharsis
in tedious trials we all must endure
is but a player in the plans of an artist.

Saturday, 4 January 2014

Endless Oceans

We sail along on a boundless ocean
each ripple a life which ruptures the shoal.
Meager from mass skies, we seem so small
til our gentle sway makes giants of us all.

For when ripples touch, they expand and fill
like our hearts which invite and imbibe love.
From connections, we seem greater from above
and to make great waves just one ripple's enough.

Beyond the surface we hold hidden depths—
memories swim along the ocean floor,
which live on long, in love's sentimental lore
fondly retold through time for evermore.

So take strength in the ever-constant tide,
with each ripple made, our wave will never die.

Tuesday, 31 December 2013


Cold thumbs, like bolts,
pressed into the crevices of my skull
keep my head together;
an expedient fix
for my recurrent rupture.
My tongue is somewhere in my throat
dancing a final waltz,
drunk from the life's it had touched,
thinking not of the hangover that
tomorrow's loneliness brings.
DeathI am no [longer able to survive
this vessel the Lord has intended for me,
give me any]thing else.

New Year's Resolution

The universe becomes differentiated by day and cohesive by night.
Walls convolute into cloud
rather than clear figments of colour and orchestration.
Night is the synthesis, the absolute plan in its final form.
Solidarity of darkness awaits us
when human life has blinked out with no more left to offer.
Why then progress?
To know an end of darkness (a finality) is better, to some,
than to flounder in flux for eons and ages.
People who spend so long searching
just have to look when the corpse of day rises before the eyes—
it raises nightmares because it tells us of what is unification.
Unification is the constancy of dullness.
Unification is such an unsightly concept.
We want a human whole working in tandem together.
That is unsightly.
It denies that the world consists of an autumn:
vivacious leaves scattering in a tempest of close to no significance.
That is why we are taken by sleep in darkness,
because when faced with Unification
we turn away into the splendor of our own minds.
We want the time after the splitting of the tongues.
We are made for divergence.
But now I know that being human, a seeker of divergence,
is an ungodly chore of wasting.
A painter who paints constantly without rest
just to pull his eyes away from the terror of a blank canvas; the horror vacui.

This year I will reach a resolution
that transcends small fallible goals of self-improvement.
I want and will be unified with darkness and maybe a finality will be reached.
I hope.

Specular Glare

The subsided winter sun
shimmers on a wet, winding road.
To my left, the fallen giants
kiss the dewy grounds
on a forest's edge—
and to my right,
a great body of water
consoles the other side
with a soft silent stroke.
The sun's specular glare
threatens to down my drowsy retinas
until the sanguine sunset
ceases the suffering,
reminding me that all is beautiful
whether we start or end our journeys.

Open Door

I wrestled against the whirlwinds
which strained against my every stride.
They sent dark thoughts flying wildly
to convolute and then collide.

The vacant precipitous road
that I must ascend to get back
ran with a drowning deluge
that only amplified my mind's attack.

Yet just as I was about to break
and fight against the storm no more,
my eyes averted to a yard
in which there was an open door.

The door ajar filled me with hope,
it was no entrance to be ignored,
such was its power to entrance—
the threshold for the house of the Lord.

I had walked by that church countless times
but had always noted the door to be closed,
yet I found shelter when I needed it most
and my darkest flaws had been exposed.

Perhaps that door was a sign from God,
or just a fateful union of mind and time in tune,
but if that door was left open for a reason,
the Lord know's I'm thankful—I'll be home soon.