Saturday, 9 May 2015


Moon kissed music, skin taunt
ing surface strung on violins,
mellow autumn made melliflous in
sping's zing, all made up of new tings
and smoke rings.

Dropping beats in convo, echos of ghosts
conversing in daisy decked grasses
as something surreal slips past,
mundane made sane against
small things.

Sun's chords dispell illusions of
created chaos, the frequency to which
mystics and scientists attune, the music
to which  the spheres turn, observing teachings

and reaching.

Monday, 4 May 2015


It beats like this, my heart
with the light of a hundred sunsets,
a thousand stars,
with the sound of childish laughter twisting
on sweet humours, in a face
that mirrors my own, but brighter.

It beats like this, my heart
with the love of a hundred hugs circling
a thousand gentle kisses,
with the sound of soft words from my love's lips,
in brown eye's welling truth
that mirrors my own, but surer.

It beats like this, my heart
with the hope of a hundred pleasant days,
a thousand gentle nights,
with a garden and a kitchen to share,
in a family forged in kindness
that mirrors us in bliss.

Saturday, 2 May 2015

something almost, there.

I spit words like they have no meaning.
its just paper, ink, its just tipping
tapping at the doors of
my heart.

My heart. We broke the honour,
we fled the truth and in
finding made something new
  Something to flee from

But the crows know, the kingfisher knows
the humming bird told us so

It hurts though, so, so, it hurts

But there's no just, there's no justice
there's no just

And they do though, don't they?
It just revolutions, revolution, rebellion
It's the fire, the flow
And I want you to know

Though, though

I fear, the meaning, it trembles,
it shakes me all up like those cocktails your angel makes
bitter but true.

I spit the words, I say more than I should,
It's just paper, ink, tipp- tapping

I'm sure I'll start shouting soon, shooting
soon, at the stars.

I'll start shouting soon.

so much soon.

I think I'm singing...but I'm just not sure.

Oh baby, oh baby, please
that's what the men on the street say to me

Black star

If only they knew the truth,
The pain,
               the dissassociation,
that was embraced to make it through the day.

I am not made.

Everyday, oh everyday
with weary reptition, living in perdition
the sound of keys jangling in that door
would bear such sudden fear.

I am not made.

Broken on drugs enforced dreaming, ever needing
solace that never did come,
with fist, with flesh, with the dead trunk of tree.

I am not made.

But in the breaking they killed me,
they killed me,
they killed me, thrice.

I am not made.

Oh baby, oh baby, please.

I am not made.

But I got dreams,
I got hopes,
I got the fire and the fight,
I've got the love and I've known the pyre.

I'm not made,
                     it's just flesh,
                                         it's just flesh

I've known the one, the spirit, the mortal pain

and I will live,
       I will live,
        I will live.

I am not made, I'm realised.

So see me, know me,
I got the love, by baby will....
my baby will be home again,
soul will be whole and in my arms again.

I've made myself.

I am free.

Wednesday, 29 April 2015

The Scorpion King

Inside me you slept and dreamed of who you
would be, and
in awakening would stretch against my
ribs and turn cartwheels, eager to be.

Born, strength spent and oh so mortal,
you sat between my blooded thighs,
perfectly round, without breath yet and
our souls love sumoned between
our locked eyes.

Time stood still in the knowing
that beat between our hearts,
my son, sun, my stars, I'll be the moon
to guide you.

From the singularity to inifinty,
through all the love that seeps in the
inbetween spaces.

You grew, oh you grew, so swiftly
and words gained new definitions;
Brave beauty, canny smile, quick fingers
and kind heart.

Leaving me in a haze of delightfully
amazed exhaustion.

I will protect you.
No matter what ill winds blow.
No matter what hardships, what takings
take place.

I have the patience to watch and wait.
I have the will that will not break.
You have my heart and all the grace of
my love,
my son,
my Rowan.


Monday, 20 April 2015

In the fleeting moments.

Gold adorns the water.
Silken petals of tulips and the juice of strawberries
staining lips.

Hafiz, oh Hafiz, I have not sipped love,
light is lost and flesh taken
but mind and soul are mine.

A man approaches, limping, white shirt, and
pain in the dark eye. A wanderer
blown by winds we both know.

Numbers spin on facts, history unravels.
We do not touch but speak, ruminate,
Khalifa, what have you seen?
His belly grumbles, hands gesture,
but he does not take a strawberry.

It is thought that transpires, questions
I cannot answer, but he listens anyway.
Here, over there that is a good place to eat,
the ships once sailed, the land once
was whole

the water is both salted and fresh,
moving to the moon's will.
The land is fertile, the people stagnant.
Do they come here to fade?

Another man approaches, young, virile.
We do not touch, we do not speak.
A couple, still dressed for work,
talking quietly, touching newly.
An old man captures the moment and
peers at the compass.

I take a bite and my hair tangles in my teeth.
A cormorant flees.
I feel sick from the strawberries.
I feel sick from the loss.

The water is golden, and it has turned.
The ducks gather their kin, but cawing the
gulls crowd and drown their ling.

At a distance, hidden under hat (like me),
glasses, another man watches all
creeping closer

Insects adorn me and I am still,
though the river rises, fed from the sea.
I am thirsty, Hafiz, so thirsty.

Wednesday, 11 March 2015

Done, dun dun!

Well then. For once I get to post something positive!

Of Bloody Reflections is finished. Again. Rejection advice, beta feedback and recovering brain function has all been assimilated, the creases and errors ironed out, and...

I think it's good. I think it's there.

I'm feeling something close to relieved glee, mixed with nervous dread.

But that's cool because this last year has been fucking hard, I've worked fucking hard and I think it's paid off.

Of course it still has to run the gauntlet that is publishing professionals and, of course, audience. Which means that no matter how often I claim finality, there is likely to be more work ahead. But I think it will be the small stuff now.

This is just a small post because I'm all excited but I will be posting more about the process and giving a sneak peak at the opening chapters, and maybe even an artwork or two.

So don't stray too far, eh?