Biography
A performance poet from Bradford, looking for gigs.
I write about many things from real life experiences to the thoughts that are bouncing round inside my head.
Samples
Stand
You stand there, that dumb look on your face.
Our own little court jester,
Who doesn’t realize the laughter is at her,
Not with her.
I remember you when you were had potential,
To be queen.
You had opinions, intelligence and willpower.
And you threw it away for a hat given to you by those not of your kind.
This court needs you think,
So go, play with the peasants.
You wanted to impress them,
So please, go join them.
Or just stand here.
But don’t expect us not to leave.
Love Sickness
The room is too warm, he lies there,
In his bed in the center.
Death hangs above, his loyal mistress,
Come back to kill his pains with love.
Hot sweat forms, it slides off his face,
As he works into heat.
The sheets are stifling, they hit the floor,
He lies naked, bare before mistress.
His breaths come faster as he enters,
The arms of those beside him.
Breathing in the sweet cherished air,
From life and death.
He begins to move faster, pressing against,
His lover for this final night.
Fiction
It appears I have found my brain,
I’ve fallen back in love with learning,
Back in love with loving,
Back in time with living.
Stagnation,
Broken into miniature pieces as,
I pick up a book.
I finish it,
Begin another,
Not caring on subject, fact or,
Fiction… friction.
Occurring in the dark,
As it joins with my imagination.
Fiction fusion
Fiction fission
Fiction’s facts
And facts of fiction.
Nothing on its own,
Bound by poetic diction.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Last blog entry
Posted on Sunday 9th November 2008 5:46 pm
Your two eyes, wrinkled from the wisdom of the aging process.
As I stare into them I feel a sweet sense of regress,
And yet your skin is still fresh, that light brown body,
Simply carved into perfection by some higher power.
Your scent, of spice, whispering tales of foreign places,
Causing senses of delight in many smiling faces
And as I move you closer to me, I yearn to taste you
But I know if I start
There will be no stopping me.
Your clothing is minimal,
Your invisible jacket confuses me, but it must be there, as it has visible buttons,
But I don’t care,
As you are there,
And when I have eaten you all up, your many clones will stare at me from blessed windows around every town and city.
As you are my gingerbread man.
And you taste so sweet.
Previous: The Aged
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