Poetry Blog by Colin Hill

attic space


the attic space
is a crawling space


with spider nest homes
and house fly homes


there are empty boxes
filled up boxes


of odds and ends
that never end


some carpet pieces
lost jigsaw pieces


kids toys for the next


keepsakes from the past


why am I here?
well that’s not so clear


I see the time has flown
the bulb has bl...

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write a poem ✍️
come back to it
leave it a bit longer ⏰
sleep on it 
read and tweak
fiddle with it 🎻
double check and spellcheck
shorten the lines
l  e  n  g  t  h  e  n    i  t
add some italics
get bold with it
feeling quite happy 
underline it
spots a repeated word
oh f*** it !! 😭


words ©Colin Hill 2017


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Haiku Hike

entry picture


out hiking today

this trowel pointed the way

cementing my route






words and pictures ©Colin Hill 2017


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dictum tweet

entry picture


on the top of tall trees strutted the bird
with a song and name long since heard
for man had ceased to roam this  world
his forgotten words in  leaves  unstirred
when from its throat  the  bird  unfurled
a dictum tweet   unleashed  and  hurled





words ©Colin Hill 2017
original photo of robin
David Chapman
/ Saga online magazin...

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into the arterial flow

entry picture


into the arterial flow
we inject ourselves daily


a travels to b’s zone
and b travels to a’s


conduits become congested
coughing and spluttering


we swap our places
me to you to you to me


and is it any wonder
productivity suffers


when we are all on the move
never settled in body or spirit


imagine if you will
a world devoid of hurly-burly


where sun...

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he carried with him a mirror ball
and within each of its tiny squares
a reflection of a different facet of his life appeared


the sun would shine and project on walls and
passing buses to the amusement of passengers
him as a child with blonde sun kissed hair


or the here and now in kaleidoscopic colours
the things he loved to watch and cherish
like birds flying with words on s...

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Remember Remember


watched the fireworks
light up the sky
pretty expensive colours
when leaves are free
this time of year


words ©Colin Hill 2017
a repost for Bonfire night


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Proxy World

I hide within words unspoken
Afraid of the world outside
The shadows and noisy commotions
The hubbub and all of its lies


I never intended to be this way
And I never was a long time before
The rules of engagement were altered
Like graffiti sprayed on our walls


I used to say what I wanted
Used to say it out loud and be proud
But now my views all lie silent
Hushed with leaves on ...

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In the backyard battleground
The mother wants rid of her daughter
But the daughter wants more worms


Time to fly the nest little blackbird
The mother tries to persuade her daughter
But the daughter has a broken wing


They argue beak to beak upon the ground
The mother determined to force the issue
But the disabled daughter won't let go


A stand-off dance of sorts now ensues

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Mary Bradley


Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley was very tired

Last night he had fought with his wife Mary

She desperately needed a vacation to Hawaii

He was desperately needed to fight the War on Whatever


Airman Bradley rubbed his tired little eyes

He blinked at the bank of screens in front of him

He tried to focus in on the day’s top secret mission

A group or two of terrorists in 🔲🔲🔲🔲...

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Delores109 was already sleeping
the waves of the Great Pacific Ocean
lapped at her dream factory door

in v-shaped formations
flying pelicans cut the air
through which her memories flew

it was how she remembered the Big Sur
the shack in the dunes on the beach
the sound of the surf

soon she would be back
if the Great Quake had left things be
if the land between ocean and mountain


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A Short(ish) Poem (with vaguely related YouTube link and hurriedly thrown together Oliver! meme)

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does poetry homogeny
create dull monotony
like a bowl of grey gruel
or boring school rules?

if / maybe less is snore
please sir, give me more
so rich and so fruity
like juicy Luci Watusi

a high word count
or a low word count?
it doesn't much matter
which side you've buttered

as long as it's tasty
not cold lumpy gravy
but it's time I must stop
before this all turns to slop

and I'm te...

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DOPE 2017


that I could take you away from the rust
that we would never stop running
through all those blue forgotten hills
to Kentucky, Illinois, fields of corn
as far as the eye can see, Iowa, Nebraska
where the wind would help heal you


and we would hide out in Wyoming
howling with the wolves at sunset
your shaking limbs held cloaked in mine
our teeth gritted against the storm inside you

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astro addict


cocaine clouds
scudding whispers

i breathe deep
inhale shivers

splinters leap
fires crackle

the night draws in
howling howling

i hide in corners
beside myself

caught shackled
astro addict

moon dust




words and pictures ©Colin Hill 2017


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The Portuguese Men of War


we packed our bags
for the coastal assault
armed with lunch
sticks and dogs
the word was out 
no doubt about it
a 21st century armada
an alien beach invasion
like washed up migrants
dead but way more deadly
within a one mile stretch 
their bodies strewn
all bloated blue 
pink and purply
we gawped and prodded
their jelly bellies
facebooked our photos
twittered our sto...

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early morning (snippets)


avoiding the early morning alarm call
we cram ourselves into each other’s warmth
beneath the blankets and unspoken words
hovering birdlike in thought in dewy air


so, shall I sing this morning in 
or wait another while?

shall I steal your dreaming
or make you smile?



but I know not what leaps through your head
what early morning hopes and fears tease you
my own are whispere...

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There were times


There were times
often coinciding with the end of an eight hour studio shift
when I would listen to the radio late into the night and drift
lying near motionless on the floor like a sedated madman
blowing cigarette smoke up towards the broken ceiling fan
paint stains on my clothes from all those abstract years
of city sound and landscapes that still buzzed in my ears
and out beyond the...

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national poetry day

man in motor / supermarket car park (take 2)


Man in his motor
staring out the window
supermarket car park
what a bore, what a lark
he’s waiting for his missus
she’s doing all her business
chatting with her shop friends
blocking up the aisle ends

Doris has a bad back
Derrick’s had a prostate check
only popped in for some milk
condolence card, pack of mints
blue badge comes in handy
less to walk with b...

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at the sink


She’s at the sink pointing her finger at me
half turned away from the pile of dirty dishes
white camisole over rainbow striped panties


She’s looking down the barrel of her arm
aware that I’m staring at her bum and thighs
smell of bacon fat congealing under the grill


She’s not smiling with either mouth or eyes
dark roots shadow her bleached blonde hair
static pupils beneath e...

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crap poem written in a supermarket car park


man in motor
supermarket car park
staring out the window
waiting for his missus
she’s doing all the shopping
chatting with all her old friends
blocking up the aisle ends


Doris has a bad back
Derrick’s had a prostate check
only popped in for some milk
condolence card, pack of mints
blue badge comes in handy
less to walk and less to carry
a Lidl bargain every d...

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Summer Broken


Summer broke
With the snap of a twig
And a rattle of branches on our window


Witches claws you said
We snuggled back into an extra hour
Beneath the printed leaves on the duvet


And the sparrows on gutters
Rubbing beaks and telling tales
We later found one in the wood stove


Covered in ash as if cremated
Flew headlong into the kitchen window
I picked it up and held it to...

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a peculiar feeling

entry picture

then suddenly

there were too many open trapdoors
with no stepladders to climb back out
from the bottomless blackness fathoms
that lay within each and every thought


he peered inside one such black hole
it felt as if a surgeon was trepanning
searching for nuggets with brace and drill
or an auger borrowed from a carpentry set


round he burrowed with bloodstained steel
through ...

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The Sidestep Shuffle


driving into town
car feeling sweaty
spider on wing mirror
electric dreaming
electric carving
suffering range anxiety
air-con off
spider now hiding
he’s behind the wing mirror
too windy at fifty
Incy was wincing

bill board hoardings
cherry the new red
bloody juice in the tank
moving on
parking up

walking into town
scent of passing women

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Wishful Thinking


He awoke in a fairy tale land of magical creatures
Tall flowering trees and glades of singing birds
Stretched out upon his back he gazed upwards
Through the canopy of leaves, light and laughter
To where the sun and moon shared the same sky


Only yesterday had he sat and talked with a friend
Exchanging jokes, cigarettes, smiles by the roadside
There were mighty plans for future coll...

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  • 2017 (24)

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