Jun14

The battle lines were drawn on the day she received her vagina – Her virgin scar. Although she didn’t choose the burden of that box She’ll have to wait, like the rest of us, in order to tick it. And above, the “man” who made her smiled when “he” cut her so. “He” is still…

Jun13

Modern Life is Rubbish VIII Death is the great equaliser. In the ground we are all dust and rocks And worms can eat our brains. Forgiveness is the splatter of brain matter Against the wall, the twelve gauge still Smoking in the still warm, twitching dead hands. Grief is the gentle sniff and muffled sob,…

Jun11

Give to me good earth as pillow and the sky stroking tonic of willow to plant within me the root of home that will grow dominant as I roam from the Northern lights natural wend that inverts to Southern tip of rugged Land’s End, from the Eastern edge of Lincolnshire spire to the western crown…

Jun07

The Circle – V Kate Kate longfully stares at the empty vase wishing it could overflow with fresh life, but when it whithers on the vine, she’s sparse and, though majestic, she is a drained wife. At the group, among friends, she cries in vain, her mane of curls, her royal strength is crushed. In…

Apr27

Sonnet XII I would assault the night and break the dawn; I would capture the Sun to keep its shine; I would accede as sacrificial pawn; I would redefine the Gods’ grand design; I would force the wind to change direction; I would repulse the unrelenting sea; I would fill the void with your reflection…

Apr24

She loves clothes but never gets to wear them out these days. They still hang deep in denial deep in recession in black hole chaos. They are castaways searching for Friday longing for sailing ship spotlight sun to light them. And then she’ll strut the catwalks on the glossy front-pages in her dreams of endless…

Apr23

Sonnet XI So, how about a fitting lock-down sonnet? Invoke William Shakespeare and St. George? It must be clean, so put some covers on it. It must be steel from finest Sheffield forge. It must be grand in image and in wit. It must make humble medics chests inflate. It must have characters that really…

Apr22

Happiness would be the quenched coal-fired power stations too late It’s could be the black heart oil well capped receding regretfully overdue It will be skeletal fingers provoking division cascade to run away to midnight All who see him will fear the deliverance he brings crashing All who hear his silent call will fall into…

Apr20

Haunting the shadows, A shimmer of a man. The rumour in the dressing room Keeping understudies worried. Two trickles reveal mastery, reprogrammed, re-positioned, mannequins of passion, Modelling automatons. And, in long strokes of ecstasy the Golems have hooved feet. They report perfect motion And steal the show. Bram Stoker, Irish author, famous for his Gothic…

Apr18

Rape is up again, statistically. As is murder, assault and drug dealing. The root of all this can be traced back to Dubstep And television. People sneak up the back stairwell, Creeping up on creeps cutting lines On crap old tables cluttered by empty vodka bottles and Uzi 9mms All to the driven back beat…