Wasn’t it Wordsworth that once said…
Um, no, no it wasn’t him
4 September 2015
Rationed voices croak: Not today, I’m saving that tin of something.
Every city, a constellation of sufferers,
As if some artist in the sky
Flicked a paint-soaked brush across the map marking each spot damned.
Down every alley and up and through every high rise
The sound of stomachs…
3 September 2015
People. That’s all they are, they are not migrants, they are fellow human beings.
The Jungle in Calais, the island of Kos, the border of Macedonia and Greece – these are all points at which refugees have converged, seeking a better life. Yet our (UK) government’s rhetoric remains…More
7 October 2014
A short (and unusually) rhyming poem about a little feeling, a sense memory, connecting to the past…
Remember, and in doing so, be transported. But you should know: there’s no way back.
One brief moment was all it took,
Unburdened abandon in this brown boy’s look.
He and his friend crossing the road,
First left then right and over they go.
A skip in their step on this…
7 March 2014
car·riage (kăr′ĭj) – A moving part of a machine for holding or shifting another part.
This is a really short, bleak poem. I suppose I was feeling pretty weary when I wrote it. I didn’t even intend for it to be short at all but the words just stopped…More
16 November 2013
I still hear them now
Like swelling vibrato in my head.
And I may just cut them out.
This is an old poem I wrote in 2002. It was posted on DeviantArt, my old haunt back in the day, and won an award called a “Daily Deviation”. This is what was said…More
11 November 2013
A poem written about my relationship with dogs, from child to adult.
Conceived as a spoken word piece.
I’m going to tell a little tale
About my history with dogs.
I’ll start way back when,
I can’t remember my age,
Older than seven, less than 10.
Frost crunch footsteps on grass,
Hitting golf balls in my local…
2 August 2013
You’ve just got to want it more than the rest
The 7pm crowd are haggard and tired,
Caffeine stained lips of the twitchy and wired.
Dragging their withered shells home to stare
Into another crowded bundle of coloured light.
You did a good job today,
You did yourself proud,
2 August 2013
Beckoned by the bright lights,
powered by those who came before,
Who’s eyes arched skywards just like yours.
A swarm centres in on the city,
Its beady eyes as one approaching.
Vast, misguided and ripe for plucking, sifting and crushing
With the most delicate and rewarding touch.
Set upon this chosen course
By those giddy with your…