Posted in Poetry


You hide behind the side of a crumbling building

Breathe deep and think fast






They are coming

Behind you

Above you

They are




Always seeing you but out of

Sight out of mind

Kill the bastard and hide

My god. Hide like your life depends on it

Put the eye patch on your eye and yell ‘you

Fucker’ to the man you slaughter


Let the gold run through your fingers as the sun beats away at your skin

Mermaids enticing you to join them

As you board your ship and

Sail the skies of Jupiter

Fly through the night on your golden wings

Controlling the weather with a raise of your hand

A clutch of your fist

Nothing can stop you


The world is yours

You think as you dive

Plummeting towards the crook with the hooked hand


Tripping in your bed

Heart racing a mile a minute.

Sweat clusters to your body as you try to remember

Remember the words of friends imagined


The view from forgotten gardens

As they drift further from your mind

Posted in Poetry


Purple beauties clustered

On their green

Stems like a

Patient guardian waiting

For their orders

To be plucked

From the earth

Consumed with delight

As it attacks

Heart muscle nerves

In one move.

Posted in Poetry


She sat still

heart pounding

hands gripping

the sheets as


bellowed bellow.

She knew it was her fault.

Burying her face

she inhaled violets

and dreamt.


She saw gowns

long as they were wide

with jewels sewn in

to glisten with every twirl.

Her hands shook

as they glossed across

sparkling silver skirt

that ran from her waist.


A hand brushed

the bare skin

of her arm.

A smile.

Dance with me.

He led her


through throngs of people

smiling and laughing

greeting them

as they glided

across marble.



She lost herself

among the dazzle

finally free

from the watchful stare.

Here she was

not less than

nor more than

but equal.


The clock ticked


Like a rose wilting in the sun

her time was nearly done.

The hands would tick

and the dress would fade.


The dream was broken.

She sat still

heart pounding

hands gripping

the sheets as


bellowed bellow.

She knew it was her fault.


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Posted in Poetry

With Love

You have to be special

I’m sure you are

They simply must have forgotten

To name you after every star

To sing your name in every song

To compare you to a summer’s day

To have your name tattooed across the skies

To watch the world revolve around you

With every blink of your eyes.


Then I remember

You’re not

The only one.

It’s a title

Not a name

And you’re just

My mum.

Posted in Poetry

It’s all a show

Don’t you know?

Facebook is an awful place to go

When you feel like shit

And all you want

Is to switch off.


All the engagements, weddings, raises and praises,

The houses, the cars, and pretty little babies


I’m all alone

At my desk

Thinking of you.


You spread out

Making three seats one

Watching X-Factor or

Britain’s Got Talent

With your phone in your lap

Steaming pizza on the coffee table.

You’re not thinking of me.

Posted in Poetry

On the Last Day

He stumbled

making left turn after right

crossing paths with the same blonde woman

dressed tightly in red

lips bleeding onto skin

a smile present

always asking;

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I know my way.”

Then he spotted her.

Red hair, yellow top

in a sea of black and white

holding onto a gem.

A folded pearl with simple print

but all the same, he knew the words.

Heart fluttering

he followed his butterfly.

Handing over his boarding pass

only one more trial

he could see.

Two pillars of mighty strength

no push strong enough to break their bond.

Only the young can save him

pulling where push had failed.

A bright room

faces turn to watch

an old man clinging to his cane

shuffling, stumbling

straight to the floor.

A sharp edge to chip

porcelain memories

replaced by darkness, far and wide.

Nothing to replace it

except for that prick of light.

An angels face

halo of red

pearls set between thin lips.

Soft hands

caressing claws

at melody’s last bar

he plummeted to darkness

his own song finished before the cannon

Posted in Poetry

I’m not a Poet

I’ve never tried being a poet

for surely, I am not

Someone who can dive into emotions,

to think of the world as some

divine creation

waiting for my soliloquy

about the birds and the bees

and the circle that we call life.

I’ve never tried being a poet.

Fiction is all I know.

With plot lines of A,B, and C

and twists that can rot your teeth

for being so sickly sweet

and characters

that jump off the page

begging you to take their hand,

to leap and run

for 365 pages.

I’ve never tried being a poet.

To describe my world

through my minds eye.

To talk of wind howling

at my window pane.

The buzz of electricity surging

as the lamp

illuminates my page.

To talk of the patter of rain

dancing through the sky

to greet my window as one

as I sit here talking about

not being a poet.

I must be a poet.

How could I not?

It’s like a lock to my heart

has come undone

and the words come spluttering out.

To find my rhythm so easily

all these cliches fall free

of soliloquy and rain

and wind howling at my window.

I must be a poet.

I don’t know.

I must be a poet.

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