Biography

I like poems which make space for tiny observations about people and the little beautiful and terrifying things that go on between people. Sometimes I write about myself, but mostly I like to obsessively remember everything I see and overhear, and write about those things instead as they tend to be more interesting!
I love writing but am terrified of performance. However, I think a really important part of a poem is hearing it spoken, so I'm working on my fear, but starting small! So, I'm always on the look out for friendly places and opportunities to read and listen.
I graduated with a bachelor's degree in Creative Writing and Fine Art from lancaster university in 2007.

Also, I live in South Yorkshire, where we say poem like this-

'poym'

Samples

Double Negative

It wouldn’t be vaseline-lensed and soft focus,
It wouldn’t be the thick, impasto sex of lovers.
It wouldn’t be the arms-everywhere,
giggling on the way down fucking
of a one-night stand.

It wouldn’t be awkward though.
I would know where to put my
hands, mouth, heart
in our rubbing and scraping of souls.

Scrubbed raw, and picking at scabs
for absolution.

I would be hoping for some wondrous
centrifugal or alchemic fluke
from the rustic distillation of us.

It would be pouring sweat-born secrets
from pore to grimy pore, for peace
for sleep-

a double negative
of our sadness.






Moping

These once white sheets are two-tone grey
in the light, and dry-oily to touch
like sheep’s wool

And kissing this film are less subtle stains;
jam, tea, ketchup.
Blood stains from my oft-worried lips,
smears of old kohl.

The hollows of my Hughes-spurned crannies
are thick with the layers and tidemarks
of me.

My fingers taste of dirt as I use them to turn
my cheek inside out,
and bite off some skin that has been bothering me
for two or three days.

The mucky warmth percolates me
from lumbar to nape, like spooning
with a fat boy.

Here is hermetic. Everything is happening
in my furry head, so
the real, blue, dusk-light fallacy outside the window
can wait.







Ties

Demanding respect,
chromosomes rally march
row by row by ‘We know,
we know what counts!’
G, A, T and C
throw falsehood on
these not-knots .
Certificates report
mistake marriages,
and names and dates.
But men is suits
know not the challenge
of climbing safety-gates
in the early morning to
share each other’s toys.
The excitement of pooling
bedtime tape collections,
for a bigger choice.
Twisting ladders’ history
are unaware, you see
that time is thicker than blood.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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