I want neon \ I want chrome
I want car headlights, streetlights, puddles
I want loud music, I want it louder//
I want chrome // I want fluorescent pink // I want inner city foxes and 3am
There’s a riot in my ribcage matches my feet pounding pavement
This city is mine.
I want anarchy I want a signal
I want last orders
I am the ...
Sunday 24th February 2013 6:01 pm
The loom is a stave that cotton falls on,
sometimes looks like music notes to the whimsical.
We lie with our backs flat to the cold stone-
never take our eyes off it. Every so often
there is a hiss of movement as one of us skims
from our bottom G, climbs a note or two,
picks a semi-quaver, and falls fast.
All for a tuppence. Not even enough for fruit.
Sometimes one of us is slow...
Monday 20th August 2012 4:55 pm
It was dead, what they shared,
and he realized it as much as she.
With love like a coelacanth, gone
was the small butterfly that once nestled in their breast pocket,
occasionally fluttering its wings in a dizzy dance.
The fossil of their relationship was
far more easily located than the living specimen nowadays.
Now, loud nights spent tearing into each other’s ego
as a lion does...
Sunday 19th August 2012 6:14 pm
Somewhere, the 9 till 5 office worker stops me with a deadpan stare,
Fixes me with the times of timetables passed, the graph paper squares
Of tomorrow’s schedule. The high-rise offices never bother to look down.
I never liked the city.
Never really cared
for the city’s callousness, its daily suicide,
the shadow at the top of each building that watches with certainty.
Tuesday 31st January 2012 9:14 am
Woke to the
kiss of winter's ache and the
thud double dip and dance
of some kind of animal outside.
A fire burning somewhere.
To you, the blind lady,
winter was just a series
of sensations –
the scratch of a naked branch,
the rain (only colder).
The utter embrace of silence.
This was for a contest on deviantART in which contestants were challenged to describe winter,...
Friday 23rd December 2011 4:10 pm
Beneath the biscuit-bitten moon of dawn
There’s a hint of something unknown,
unprecedented enough that even the howling wind has flaked
To something spider-thin;
To the bare wire frames of lyricism.
Since then, the sky has darkened.
And static has started to skitter across asphalt and window-frames.
Friday 21st October 2011 10:23 am
guess who got shortlisted ;D
Monday 4th July 2011 9:12 pm
outside the window,
an ocean of poppies,
red like denial.
she watched them day-in-day-out,
from sunset to the first shards of sunlight
which crept through their stems
and reflected the underside of their petals.
from this she saw veins, a tiny network of
lines like join-up-the-dots,
a motorway map
thin like emotion.
dadd went to war ...
Monday 27th June 2011 7:05 am