Monthly Archives: April 2012

127 Seconds

Pounded by the wind,

and pounded by the rain,

I fight my way home,

I need to end this pain,                                                                                                          

a long bath awaits,

to soak my weary bones,

I open the front door,

and enter my quiet home,                                                                                                       

both taps running,

the steam begins to rise,

I undress quickly,

soapy water covers my thighs,                                                                                            

I stretch out long,

and drop below the bubbles,

my big toe enters the tap,

no end to my troubles,                                                                                                          

for 127 seconds,

my life stood still,

my big toe stuck fast,

I’m held against my will,                                                                                                         

a penknife to hand,

the first incision’s the worst,

I twist and it snaps,

this day must be cursed,                                                                                                         

I’m free once again,

the bath water now red,

I stand up on one foot,

relieved I’m not dead.


A Porn in Your Side

The house to yourself

a super fast connection

you open the site

of your chosen predilection                                                                    

over stimulation

unprepared by evolution

your neural pathways

embrace the confusion                                                                            

multiple partners

too many to count

yet never satisfied

by any amount                                                                                          

dopamine release

the key to addiction

ensures this past time

will remain an affliction                                                                           

you’ve opened the doorway

to desensitisation

reboot now

or lose the sensation                                                                                 

this is not religious

or moralistic

open up your eyes

to the impotence statistics                                                                        

a dystopian future

of solo voyeurism

two dimensional love

and compulsive onanism                                                                         

the population controlled;

a new generation is

reliant on porn

for its sexual relations.

Published here;

and here;

and here;

Payday Play

One week until pay day,

bank balance at zero,

one click on the pound banner,

I feel like a hero,                                                                                                                  

the company accepted

my quick application,

the money transferred

with no hesitation,                                                                                                                

six thousand percent,

no longer in small print,

a sign of the times,

ignore it when you’re skint,                                                                                                    

six thousand percent,

this mammoth APR,

ensures that my wages,

will not be going far,                                                                                                              

on the day in question,

a kindly phone call,

a deferment option,

is presented in full,                                                                                                               

just pay the interest,

we’ll carry your balance,

no need to worry,

you know it makes sense,                                                                                                    

I decline to pay either,

avoiding their trap,

I cancel my card,

how d’you like that crap?                                                                                                   

My credit rating,

long since ruptured,

I cancel also,

my direct debit instruction,                                                                                                  

please send me your letters,

your threats and demands,

I’ll recycle them all,

into Happy Bankruptcy cards

The Sympathy of Rain

The sound of the rain washes me away.

It takes me back to an unknown place.

To a time that I can not quite put my finger on.

It is more of a feeling than a memory,

a sort of nostalgia for something I have lost.

Something long forgotten.

Rain on windows always does this to me.

Sometimes I think that if I stare long enough at the glass,

that if I count enough straggly raindrops running down towards the sill,

I will remember what it is.

But I never do.

I try to let the rhythm of the rain hypnotise me

into releasing the uncried tear that I know is there.

But I am always just left with the same slight melancholy,

the same refreshing, inspiring sadness.

If you have ever cried next to a window in a rainstorm

then you probably understand the sympathy of rain.

Like dew crystals on tufty cemetery grass.

I think that’s why I like caravans.

I like tents too.

But the sound of rain on tents leaves me longing for a window.

For something to take me a step closer to my buried memories.

For something that will do my crying for me.

Soon to be published in Volume Two of Incandescent;

The Tourist

The difference in culture too wide to ignore,

is this man full of wisdom or simply a bore,

my manners prevent me from walking away,

I sense that he knows this as I continue to stay,

I have no need for his cloth or his elephant galore,

though I feel obliged to buy, the more he spreads on the floor,

with his trinkets around him he looks up with a smile,

my hand touches rupee he had known all the while,

the guilt of the tourist was no match for his guile

Spoken word version available at-

One Day

With an explosion of guilt

I was lifted from now,

looking down on my life

I was wondering how?

A death free of meaning

reflected the life

no longer breathing

and under the knife,

One sustained fight,

one early surrender,

as you choke on the smoke,

kiss goodbye to the tender.

Old friends die when heroes cry.

Spoken word version available here-


I bemoan my demon,

who devours my candour,

withdraws my promise,

from temples my anger,

life vomits my rage,

expels my façade,

breaks up my dreams,

and shatters my heart.

Lonely Murder


First blamed for her life,

her private discontent,

then blamed for her death

now a public event

her dried blood on the floor

a grim indication

pointing up at her wounds,

her pain, isolation

the light of the day

brings along its suspicion

it’s judgement, it’s fear,

it’s misplaced superstition

the guilt for us all,

we know who we are

reaching out not a hand

as she fell oh so far

as we sweep her away

wrapped tightly in sheet,

look into your souls

not down to your feet,

the heavy stench lingers,

a haunting reminder,

a sickly sweet malice

for those who may find her.

A spoken word version is available here-