A tune surrounds the capacious void and the
Fragments of notes encompasses its niches
The volume abloom in shape; loud and announces
Rhythmic flows that proceeds to shatter infringes

Strain of the melodic tune and the lyrical prowess
Tends the ear with musical frisson
Masterpiece beyond sounds, words, and worthy for Aengus
Tranced, like a sailor to a siren and kept bopping on

As the tu...

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Room in dark paint with crumbling walls and hollowed holes
Stares back with its glimmering lights from outside
With the lowered ceilings and sound of bellows
A place fit for safe and a place relied

Crusted floor due to dirt, mud, tears, and blood
Rocking floor and the swaying curtains fuels cry of ballad
Burst of sounds made a powerful gust that shattered glass
A sound that makes its poin...

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Reminisced the golden beams of Sol that reflects to your iris
An episode of time that we wandered aimless
Cuddles like a meerkat, we were one like a chorus
Envisages our future and stamped our initials on the tree of eucalyptus

The windy day and the descending star in stretch
We danced with the field of wild flowers and we kissed in french
The caw of the birds as our audience
to our story...

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Us driving in the unending road
Bouquet of puff hanging in my lips
With you here time slowly flowed,
for, I glanced over to see your mischievous glimpse

A day I deliberately squandered
To keep seeing your glimpse among the waning crescent we pondered
Gust flows your curls and pollinates its scents
Drunkenly devoted without a drink ferments

Lost in time, lost in asphalt
With only stars...

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Dancing in the background of lilac petal
Sapphires surrounds and shined with a vendetta
Gasping the puff of space dust
Walking in thin air, together with the seeping blood lust

Near, yet too far
Celestial bodies barreling towards with no fuss
Words spoken in the pages of grimoire
Unfurled by the curious gust

Synchronized by the effects of cosmic dust
The choreographed pirouette of the...

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I

i'll be honest,
I refuse to love you. 
my chest sits in knots 
even in this revelation
the would-be butterflies remain trampled
and God knows they fly all around him
im not sure they even had the chance
to cocoon, your slime-gripped words
of small flames devoured their bloom.
No. Yes. No, im not bitter. Im selfish. 
I'm greedy with want, a desire-is-me factory of production
I hold ...

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"i know how to walk from here to there" 

okay, i muse back, 

"so walk through fires with me, walk through" 

i cant. i never have been able to. 

the places that i walk from are the mouths of cavernous houses. 

and from them ive only just realised i can leave.

"i will give you wings and a heart and a lust for the finer things"

good, i need an incentive.

"but you must act upon...

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sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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Merseyside poets, singers and musicians are getting together to perform a handful of events inspired by John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Organised by Wirral poets Michelle Wright and Barry Woods, the events highlight current conflicts around the world and feature work from their new community anthology ‘Poets for Peace’, which is available to read for free on Facebook.

‘We are u...

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if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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curled on a velvet chair

in a darkening room

is a monstorous teen. 

outside the blackening,

is a fading pink sky.

the clouds within whisper to shepards, 

"Delighted I Hope"

and on the highest grassy hills,

the shepards face eternity.

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Merseyside poets, singers and musicians have come together to perform a gig for Peace at the Williamson Art Gallery in Birkenhead.

Organised by Wirral poets Michelle Wright and Barry Woods, the event highlighted current conflicts around the world and featured work from their new community anthology ‘Poets for Peace’, which is available to read for free on Facebook.

‘We are uni...

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my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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gracefully i perch on the edge of the bus seat, 

so as to convey my feminine, my eyelashes. 

each time the doors open my posture rushes to fix itself, 

my fringe blown out by my hands running through it. 

when i'm most worn out, 

on the days when the world is dragging its feet,

when my joints tingle with pins and needles. 

to look pretty on the edge of a bus seat is a fufillin...

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floating in that acrid pool of nothingness, 

a feather kissed the tip of my nose and whispered softly over my face.

in that moment, decided. 

i watch the village of women who surround me each day, 

awash with a soft awe at their mossy eyes and woolen hands. 

i link arms with the girl i love most on a late night walk, 

running from the boy who asked me to give apart of myself.

...

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i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

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she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed...

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on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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ive been invited to a party this saturday. 

i think i will go, 

i think i will get as drunk as i can. 

to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover. 

im going to act as if i am in a french film. 

i will tell each person a different lie, 

tell them something i've made up about myself. 

these people dont know me. 

dont know me at all. 

but whats more lik...

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i'm choosing to forget the stick and poke image, 

of myself in my head. 

my likeness is one i want to be liked. 

the stick and poke is immature and elementary. 

think your high school aquaintance,

who always wanted a tattoo. 

but 15 was still too young. 

so they mutilated the innocent skin of their thighs. 

the mutliated image of my body, my face, my ugly wretched soul

b...

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when i see the girls who match my soft body,

when i see them wear the skirts, the tshirts, you know the ones.

well when i see them, i feel as though i must reach through to the other side

of the screen that seperates and give them a star shaped sticker. 

the stickers that, while they got their flowers, we coveted on our walls. 

it's awkwardly awkward trying to explain this to anothe...

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to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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pan-fluted melodies
whisp’ring in the wind
blist’ring radiance
bleaches desert mud
send them tumbling
along endless dunes
temp’rature drops as
an astral masque ball
strings up fairy lights
across the evening sky

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more wistful now than poignant
while whistling with the wind
dancing dapples of recollection and forgetfulness
serve only to stir whirling notions
blowing willowy wisps of patinaed pirouettes
intertwining and reverberating shimmer 
that no regret has any hope of obligating

- - -
N. B. here are two versions, the first and the redacted immediately following. Which do you like better? 
Ple...

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It might the flying Dutchman be 
Or the fame of those fishermen three 
How it, planks of our own fashioning, walk we!

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shadowy sheets cover, 

dark, shining lips purse;

pointy ears prick skyward

as corn stalks pondered

chanting scarecrows curse

in a sea of dreams left over

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Red train rested at Rotterdam station
Over the border to meet a friend
Trains all over Europe pass here
Today is a bright and sunny day
Every person glows in its brightness
Realising not a former disaster, that
During the 40's destruction erupted
Along these very streets, evacuated
Murderous bombs wreaking havoc

'

 N.B. It was 14th of May, 1940 when the Luftwaffe decimated ...

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With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.

A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he w...

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numbers do not the soul touch
or rouse from depths of reverie
whose shallow sepulchral beauty
surface deep revelations aplenty
plead with matrimonial vows, thus
parchment scribbles & ceremonies
do not a marriage make and
neither will ice cream make us
any colder after calories kick in
poetry's soul may ride its form
but transcends its empirical parts
its triumph for all to behold:
at l...

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Belatedly, towing a rust-worn Saab, where
many dreams and adventures are wrenched
from a youngster's brooding petulance ...

Gravel crunches under a pair of balding tires
guttural screaming to a downbeat of debt
spewing silently from a tattered billfold.

What a present: timely to an empty fridge,
in the hallway, a growing pile of washing
impatiently reeking of malodorous intent.

 

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Amber frosted reeds
in the summers wind
swaying, dancing,
synchronised now
syncopated and back
shouting then singing
xanthine etudes
boisterous and raucous
bright and nimble
leaving pliant
graceful kisses
on a soft smooth cheek.

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Picking up the internal slack 
and bring about an inward tension 
that emboldens for one to face the day 
and the prospects of oncoming ones. 
Where wet cheeks, are visible cues 
of flipping calendars, leaf upon leaf: 
existing surrenders 
and like a sparkled after-rain, 
brings a moist crystality
that fills in the cracks 
and mends the broken places.

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in its purest form
the simplest of 
possible affirmations
is to be loved in return

in similar manner
the most complex of
probable affirmations
is reciprocating like affection

in conclusion, then, 
it seems most apparent
to appreciate with reckless
abandon the air we breathe

for we build tomorrows 
on these simplest, most 
basic of molecules, our
humble bricks of being

whose...

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