A New Year of Poetry

A Locked Down Year Wherever you are in the world, the last year could not have been easy. COVID-19 brought with it changed world along with all the disappointment, despair, disaster and death. We’ve all experienced the change: Home working, Zoom Bombing, social distancing, face masks and lockdowns. Tiered living in the UK has made…

Aug28

Modern Life Is Rubbish. “Modern life is rubbish”, Old Tom Clifford knows Waking every day at six To get his deadly daily fix, Smoking twenty so his cancer grows. See him off down Taunton road again To get in before his boss – Tardiness only makes him cross – He hopes his heart can take…

Liebster Award Nomination

Today, I received a notification for the Liebster Award from Peaks of Cheeks, who digs, digs, digs into our mine the whole day through… Thank you so much, I am honoured to be nominated. So, (Deep inhalation of breath) here goes…. The Rules: Thank the blogger who nominated you and add a link to their…

Aug03

Poenitet. There each new morning, emerging from the shadows darkening in all four corners of the room, awaits each aspect of Poenitet. The first holds a pitchfork with prongs to turn back time just to that excruciating moment: The rasping of a voice, shouting; The strain within muscles, lashing out; The muddle of misplaced promises…

Morning Haiku – 10

Blue stings my fat eyes to Summer blandness in France and a Finch flies forth.

Jul16

I was yours to be seen, yet I put out my eyes. Blind and unclean smoke ghosts drift across widescreen flickering scenes I despise. I was yours to be seen on the high street between mannequins and the beggar’s sunrise. Blind and unclean on moonshine runs, as amphetamine blurred visions catalyse. I was yours to…

Jul05

A Sunday Stroll through the Village The sun lensed a hole in the canopy enough to etch rainbow flares across the undergrowth and the trees had coughed up a phlegm of bark. Rolling banks of buffeting gusts roiled their sticky goo and made me imagine a keg chested wolf exhaling furiously while above unimpressed squirrels…

Jul04

To Sleep in the Shadows   Dense is the umbra: A crawling shadow, Sombre as dusk, Cascading tones of darkness Into a matt, flat pool.   The sable hands of night Reach out with raven Strokes of unseen fingers To steal the colour and Snuff out the light.   Sightless, underexposed eyes, With veiled, visionless…