I'm back.



It takes at least

An hour

For the small fire

To heat this room.


I stare hard

Into the flames.


All twenty digits

Ache with winter

And my ears

Are slapped.


There is little

Comfort here.


Above the fireplace,

I count

Nineteen cards.


Polar Bears

And Fat Santa’s

With their

Ho ho ho’s.


Two days away

And I’m here again;


Cupboards empty,


Out of date.


Three years ago

This house

Had a pulse,

A heartbeat:


Sex on the sofa,

A kitchen

Hot with cooking.


But none of that 



The room is


Blood is

Getting through

And there is



A feeling

Of ice melting,

A thaw,



Huge clear




Some time ago

During a


Of madness

I weighted my

Life with


And threw it

Into the sea.


This is what

The tide

Washed up,


New flesh

On old bones,


A different



◄ Burn

Night fishing ►


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Yvonne Brunton

Sun 30th Dec 2012 19:00

well done, an arresting poem with so many good lines and images.From the sloughs of despair to the rebirth of hope in a few succinct lines. I really like this. xx

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Fri 28th Dec 2012 18:02

Well John - in my experience you can't weight a good piece of concrete down forever - it comes bobbing back up at some point.

I think that post Christmas blues are quite common. I woke up feeling grim this morning. I've come to the conclusion that my life needs the structure of work and everyone else being at work or school. Lounging around in pyjamas just makes you feel shit. Life needs to have a purpose. Each day needs to have a purpose. Without it, we are all lost.

'New flesh on old bones' It would be nice to think that we could change ourselves radically. It's very hard to do on your own though. Sometimes you need a catalyst.

I like the poem and I'm glad there is hope in there.

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John Aikman

Fri 28th Dec 2012 15:30

Some time ago

During a


Of madness

I weighted my

Life with


And threw it

Into the sea.'

For deeply personal reasons I adore this verse. Beautifully put. I'm working my way towards fulfilling the positive and upwardly (up wordly?) mobile inflection of the finale. But that's enough about me.

Fab, poem. Bleak, but redemptive...


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Fri 28th Dec 2012 12:04

This is a sad and lonely poem. Christmas is difficult for those in this situation, but there is hope in the final stanzas that speak of spring. But I guess the new hope is just as it is, New flesh on old bones. Just like new trees on an old Earth.

Perhaps the past is too painful to reconcile.

Have a great 2013 celebration if you can.


tony sheridan

Fri 28th Dec 2012 00:36

Life makes you who you are. Nice one! Take care, Tony.

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Mark Mr T Thompson

Thu 27th Dec 2012 23:47


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