Monday, 21 March 2016


halves of
a torn photograph
from the day
at the beach
sand as coarse
as the quiet
we lay
along our spines

you were
a reflection
of everything
I wanted to be
a dream

and I
the shadow
of all
you feared
and real.

Wednesday, 24 February 2016

Wishful thinking

"You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memories" - Stanizlaw Jerzy Lec

That stolen night
it was bitter
we sat 
in unreality
your head 
on my shoulder
and for once
it was okay
we were messes
clutching normality
lacking morality
and living
our undeserved

Friday, 5 February 2016

A Novel Romance

I thought of you today
a simple flicker
like a breeze
on the pages
of a well thumbed book
and in an instant
page 14
the familiar graze
of lips on neck
page 60
clammy, nervous fingers
entwined and shaking
page 132
dinner, laughter
page 176
after another
pointless war
page 201
When I finally wiped
from my mind
page 5
the night you
first said
I love you
not realising on
page 180
you'd realise what
love was
and decide on
page 181
that we didn't have it.

Tuesday, 17 November 2015

The hard nights

She had forgotten
the thud
of unwanted thoughts
and clattering
of forgotten memories
imprisoned wails
escape her lips
and a tear
finds it's path
over oily skin,
She regresses
Clutching hands
over her chest
foetal on
virtuous sheets
in sweet blackness
promise the end
encourage light
she can't see
further than
the end
of her nose.

Saturday, 31 October 2015

Autumn leaves

You changed
so slowly
from an envious green
with life in your veins
to walking away
fleeting yellow
kicking leaves up
as though problems
could be lost
in the crisp gold
I didn't feel
the bitter cold
I didn't try to pull
my coat close
or twirl a scarf
around my neck
until the morning
my fingers turned blue
and the leaves
were sodden
with rain
and trodden
into cracks
in the pavement
reminding me,
under grey skies,

Autumn leaves.

Tuesday, 15 September 2015


Sitting on a window ledge

In the early hours

An exhaust backfired

He watched the smoke spiral

Towards the

Sunset street lights

And wondered

About people

so disposable.

Drunk on memory

He shifted

On the edge of belief.

Concrete hope

was all that held him.

Strident laughter

cut through the silence

But he failed

to see the funny side.

Monday, 3 August 2015

Paper worlds

Like artists

On a clean sheet

Of stark white paper

we map the world

Small at first

dark outlines

pushing the pencil

deep markings

metallic trails

of the certain.

We branch out

into sketchier dreams

the swirls

of future plans

eraser marks

and fresh rubbings

the silver smudging

of change

on hands and wrists

Only when we think

It's all perfect,

that we have our eyes

on all the shadows

Will someone spill

Sunday morning tea

Staining it,

ageing it,

Then we colour over

the lines.