I have been published in various magazines as a poet and writer of prose. I was a part of the anthology 'Misery Begins At Home' with Rachel Bond, Marianne Daniels and Winston Plowes. Some more of my poems were published in September 2014 in 'Holding Your Hand Through Hard Times' with Ralph Dartford, Matt Abbott, Matthew Hedley Stoppard and Genevieve L Walsh as 'A Firm of Poets.' I am always interested in love, loss and Turkish culture. My first solo collection ‘I meet myself returning’ will be published by Flapjack press on 25th February 2019.
DRENCHED Your face still damp from your undried hair an echo of the sweat that you wore on the brow last night, as you sighed your first farewell of our long goodbye and our lives untwined; The freckles flecked on the parchment skin I daren’t breathe out as your sharp breath in (while my puckered lips meet an ice cold screen) is a sign of lives detaching; Your fingertips on the gear stick three hours before formed a human clutch from then to now everything you touch gives me jealousy of objects; A five month stretch from the first flushed cheeks and the child like thrill for a life’s new bloom to the sepia tint of a rented room where the scent of last night lingers…. THERE IS AN OLD JOKE ABOUT THE TURKS Today I, Smiled with my mouth and ate with fingers, dry cleaned my soul but left my teeth untouched. Shared a lover’s private joke with myself. Smoked like two Turks, accepted that racial stereotypes are harmful though perhaps not as unhealthy as smoking like a Turk or two. Somewhere between nostalgia and regret stared at weather beaten rocks, willed the lapping sea to stop; a mute Canute passed time badly. Worked for a living, stared at a colleague’s backside four paces but a lifetime away. Looked on a tramp with compassion bought him gin, a low-trousered youth with less twatted him, murdered a paedophile priest then confessed I forgot, thou shalt not kill a man of god. Today I did the usual things, One day closer to nothing. THE DAYLIGHT COMES WITH ME Leave the world alone and close the door, seal this room from everything outside, nothing else exists but these four walls; we have eight hours and five minutes to decide Drape your charm around me and yourself, chide and choke the past and stop the clock, charm and calm the chaos from my mind, the terror. What we’ve started cannot stop; Catch the tears and salt sweat from my brow, clasp each moment’s passing, breathe it in, the stomach churns as daylight comes with me and I go back to her and you to him.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
All of our Fathers are dead (29/10/2015)
Deathbed Regrets (01/08/2013)
I just like art galleries and getting pissed (03/07/2013)
The Daily Mail's our Bible (07/03/2013)
Men Can't Dance (04/09/2012)
The Pessimist's Song (17/07/2012)
Song for an unborn child (I never) (08/06/2011)
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