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New Poetry Collection

I have just released my third collection of poetry entitled "From A to Believe"

It can only be purchased via Lulu at the moment but will become available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble over the next few weeks

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Hey Poet! Suck This


You, the non-aligned. Celebrate for its own sake, complement the creative, rough the smooth out of the level question of hate, vitalizing the style of hard-line writing leverage, spurning the potential agendas of a system whose vital interests supress a stronger passion ~ go join, if you must, be the instrument of forced craft, it has a definitive strength that soon runs out of legs, yet b...

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I Remember Bren

tattooed, sweat drenched, confessional, this rose sopped ecstasy I maybe tested through a full glass yet, my word, your flavour so fresh as the closest and sweetest kept secret, tasted: tested: approved as complicit dew through years of spilt guilt, when ventured pleasure ordered, I, insect twixt the lingered crawl along villous cinnamon and apricot stole, long reflections through the viscid, over...

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passion. illicitmemorieslustwishful

Goodnight America

The euthanized fireworks no long point skywards so now I curate their demise, knowing into which chemistry they did fail, and whisper more lies of their hallowed hubris. No sky torn allegories shall fly, into the face of the uncharted, from the whistling backyards, amidst the median darkness, whilst those drying, desiccated, drunks understand the modest steel of graven lips, and flavour drowns whe...

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Nothing But

Again, alive. No good. No good cursing your eyes their function. That your heart survived another night less luck, more, stubborn rebuke to the revisionist thread of airbrushed policy. Walk, when the whistle blows, as the shift changes from red to murder and gather us all around the dead bag, dog shit bats hanging in the sidings. Too much to see with closed eyes picking out the sighs of a crucifor...

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benefitsmurderbeckettlaissez fairedisdain

Confession Bowl

There is a tap on the window, not the kind that knocks but one that drips, fending off your muttoned jealousy as the parlour nonsense of a miscarried edition. Amidst the apoplectic Sunday ink the reaction to your merchandised murder leaves a child wailing in the rafters, screaming probability lines. For the wilted believers the audible rumours do little. The pay is unreal for these working drones ...

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Siege Engine

The enemies of the she-costumed carnivores can only be afforded cocked discouragement, a moody gun, that shakily advises the apical trill of survival, loosely licking towards a frightened stare atop the exposed cinders of summer wiped houses

They shall busy the fury which entered, with seeming grace, yet confined a coloured rage, enticed by a cruel campaign unsealed , amongst cheaply woven bear...

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now those eidolic dread horses have scarred your slumber, passed 9, passed 10,  and even your furniture has silent, open mouthed, nightmares over the too soon dead, dead school friends who never ended their crossings and see, see, she stoops, in shroud  ghastly knelt as in prayer but you can’t see, see through the tricks  of light that scream “she is there”, your crumpling chest  boiling as the bo...

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apparitionsghostssamuel beckettspectresspooksthings that go bump in the night

sin came first

sin came first

traced into tungsten ringed confinement

where a woman fluttered accomplished mumbles

offering a  freeform montage of nailed harmonic and shoddily baked

reality whilst peeing through her lowcut tights as rudimentary

precaution against the weathered discharge of wearisome love

yet still she sports a fierce grin through the endless commitment

of shapeless corners a...

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rendering you invisible by simply

breathing onto the glass

or drawing a heart around you as though

it might last

longer than a fairground fish

I could do either

but I spend my days

chalking my guts into the paving stones

and piling them like papers,

professionally bound

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A Review of my Collection "scratch"

As it seems to have been passed over, yet agan, in the publication of choice I'm taking the liberty of posting the review of my collection scratch, by the wonderful MulletProofPoet :

Paul Sands

Sadly, these days, many poetry collections often come with a free side order of smart-arse, either that or they’re brimming with their own (usually misplaced) level of confidence, which gathe...

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reviewpoetry collectionself publishedpublication

whilst waiting

i.) up the stairs

red scarves and tight skirts

loose slacks and grey shirts

my how the landscape has changed

I can’t say that I love to be dipped into this pot of pretty

where the lipstick liner queens supreme

and the coffee is brewed to mitigate the colostomy wretch

so I try a yellowed paper backed beat

but it held nothing to the shoebox diorama

of national care


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black watch

the black watch in the earth’s high rafters provide

covering fire

offering new beginnings for old ends

dropping love stones

that I may cast them at your window

cheering me on from their

high tension purlins, filling the gaps
of naked iron halls to swaddle
the shivered, brittle, steel

as if peripatetic coal dust shawls

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bees have cheesy feet
that is  a fact I like to share out loud
so with this duly declared I must report,
a garden filled with smelly, flying, bears
working on their winter fat
though garden is more a “nom de guerre”


yet down the road


the doorman’s mantra

“one in one out” is the order of the day
through the cracked masonry of the witches cradle
where the poison failed

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beesnatureuseless facts

21 gallons

21 gallons to Kristiansund

here I can piss like a journeyman

with the eloquence

of a tattooed scream a

cast-off, sport smart, council queen


21 gallons to Kristiansund

I don’t understand

21 gallons to Kristiansund

21 gallons to Kristiansund

here I find myself worthy of an unequal lack

of an outcasts working weekend chance

with a mind fumed on zero

none shall...

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I carry a notebook most of the time

the idea, it seemed, to record my impressions

of being and living and all the worlds charms

but it was hijacked and now, instead,

lists the timing and clearance of a CBR

alongside the method for removal of a Zetec

rocker arm

I may be reminded of its primary task

as I stare through the glass, at the spiders posting

poison pen letters to...

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writingdistractionwriters block

riddle me this fatman

riddle me this fatman

I must not grieve my silences
while choosing not to breathe lies into them

yet because you feel you are owed a poem
my education, which has only been borrowed,
must make the arguments promised of a bullet
more compelling than Neruda could even know


linked through bitterness, to
deluge the starving with the busy
decorum of disastrous diligence
you may, if ...

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in the dry grass next to The Bull

once every year the ground would shake

and scream “faster”

while our fingers grew sticky from the company we kept

here to win fish as golden as we wished

the beer


what of the gypsies

what of their king

what of the grave thrice danced around

finished with a pin?

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slow shadows

shadows slow to the point where only the wine matters
they stop and watch awhile wondering,
perpetual Sundays denounce tomorrow across a fictional bridge
constricting as a pulmonary sigh, though even the laziest of walks
would suffice to sluice a cleaner way
but I jaw the sky from where I lie, expect that it should change
into a major key, corroborate my sickest dreams and mimic mo...

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love like a bullet in the face

you are ticking the subscription of a shotgun smile

the restless reminder, the stranger behind you,

twice barrelled quarantine of lush glories

tar fingered around the ringed copper, broken and unworthy,

smoking in the buttoned up knowledge of hereditary tracts,

winter tracks and the plastic penance of a youthful slaver

“x” shan't mark the spot where we shall bury you

a shallow...

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My PC died. My PC died taking the bones of what was to be my next collection with it.

It is unrecoverable, short of taking a £700 punt on forensic recovery.

Gutted doesn't come close.

I'm reverting back to notebook and pen


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wish sister

wish sister



I mouthed beer breathed approbation

at the invited wonder of your sister's sweatered breasts

the tableau set

for such delicious beginnings and shaky revisions,

once I  left the "look but do not touch" misgivings

amongst  the litter of a thousand such instructions


I borrowed that hazel eyed angel for a night

rescued from drowning in a clear bottled...

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fantasynaughtysinfulwishful thinking

brain burp

A riddle of temporal instructions

Could Walk me towards Wilde's gaol
A man on each arm or 
Lear's pangs advise I hold the lens 
That destroys industrious ants but instead
I have allowed imbecilic strangers to call on
Disassociated maniacs,
Linked through meanness, to
Deluge the starving with the busy
Etiquette of disastrous investigation
They might fly kites overhead
To read six milli...

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this is a troublesome little one, I can't really decide if it's a keeper or set for the knackers yard


oh leviathan

dashed, bereft, under hanging skies
that mirror your sagging pall
I stand, Ishmael, to your bloody demise

amidst the niveous fulminating
and hovering nebs
where Neptune  chose to serve your ruin

fit for its absolute picking
by those who need and others that greed

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driving her home

The Beatles reflect a false moon in the corner of my eye

and my lost bearings howl at every turn I take


following a serpent’s twin lies where each red orbed perjury

bewilders an already complicit route


while skeletal birds yellow, buried in the sky

riding the rain like obstreperous Valkyrie


but what of this owl which silently splashes

through a fusing night of m...

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The Wrong Climate

While the vacant edge might offend the sea

No appointment is necessary
For this mortician sleeping in
Muttered anguish

So many fingers will hold you down 
For only so long
After that you can but grunt in the sculptured forfeit
Of a jealous vessel

Remember though once the rescue is declared heavier 
Than clearly prudent
The hut on the shore will rise even
As the house falls


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Rigid truths and squared guarantees
Texture this boy
His morseled fantasies 
The graceless torrent of impotent gods
Wary as the wasp on the chameleon's
Trapeze tongue
For even as the microscope remains
Boxed, in cotton, in woollen peace
Rags may still record
Fidelity's soiled tapestry
Once stung, the swollen speech
Of reason's soured and thickened song
Bastards the condensed apprentice...

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