Monday, 17 October 2016

Baby Teeth

I pray not to be kept
only for sentiment
like milk teeth in a vitamin jar;
distastefully disregarded - but not discarded
high up on a dust sheeted shelf.

I'd have no room for growth
already extracted
and discoloured with age;
an empty keepsake - a cluttered headache
that no nostalgic pill could remedy.

And I pray don't liken my love
to the taste of Calpol,
    sickly saccharine and sweet;
nor that friendly smile - gone for a while
replaced by a bitter tasting scowl.

Instead you should hold on
to what's relevant now
and the teeth that serve you best;
to chew and grind - but never merely to remind
as some torn and toothless trophy.

Saturday, 8 October 2016

New Block

Laundry detergent invades the air, 
stifling the petrichor concoction
that collides with the swept leaves
discarded to the cobwebbed corner
where the puddles declare soles out of bounds.
Freshly baked biscuits stake their claim,
packaged neatly with plastic and ribbon 
but they too crumble to the scent
of disintegrating damp wood
burning black and iridescent red.
Smoke rises into the crepuscular sky
and is ushered away by the wind,
the fire crackles on as biscuits are opened
and freshly made beds are disturbed
as childish feet disturb leaf piles under amber glow.

Saturday, 1 October 2016


The breeze would gladly meet
her hesitant feet
as they cross and reach to the end.
Like great grinning teeth
the waves and rocks greet,
waiting to embrace their new friend.
Her earbuds dangle at her chest
faintly exhaling their best
eulogy for their oldest of friends.
She would feel blessed
to ride on that crest,
but that's not how this song ends.

She would see no hope
in that dangling rope
that offered to pull her to land.
Nor would she cope
with the strain of the grope
or the embarrassment of stretching her hand.
She'd wait for clouds to part,
her favourite song to start,
and then steady her now trembling hands.
Then she would brace her heart
and finally alone, she'd depart
thinking "This is living" as she lands.


Life is a skydive, descending from heaven.
We see flashes of beauty, experience moments of excitement.
Some may feel safe to know they are in the hands of others
whilst some brave going it alone,
but all of it is a distraction
from the downwards spiral that starts
precisely when we realise we are falling
and ends only at our death.

Planes Mistaken For Stars

Planes mistaken for stars
and I thought I saw your car
take a sharp right
in the calm of the night.

I counted and gave them all stories
imagining their burning glories
but my dream was cut short
effectively taken off life support.

I thought that I'd have to wrench
myself from this bench
as the residents gazed
at a man alone and crazed.

So I slowly trudged my way
to a cage of bricks and dismay
to see your car there, parked
and the clouds had left the skies unmarked.