The flames weren’t suffocating
it was the walls
and when they crumbled
under the honey-gold furnace of freedom
my claustrophobia burnt to cinder
feeding the land renewed life
growing vines to reach out
to the world.
It’s been a while since I posted a poem to my site, I’ve been very busy with other projects, but now I have some time to bring my focus back to my poetry.
Anyway, I hope you like the new stuff I’m releasing in the coming weeks.
Something slightly different from me today. Anja, a poet friend of mine has put together an anthology to raise funds for victims of the Ukraine war.
Donations are on a pay-as-you-can basis and made to a charity based in Berlin providing aid to refugees. Once a donation has been made, email or DM Anja on Twitter with proof of donation and she will send you the anthology in PDF format.
Aside from poetry, the anthology also features stunning artwork and Anja has worked extremely hard and efficiently in getting the publication finalised.
Brothers and sister,
strangers and friends,
like a sad smile on lips
- hope can be heavy.
Let us sit and talk,
of better times gone by,
of better times to come.
If you are weary -
lay your head on my broad shoulders,
and let the hope that built them,
cushion your hearts and minds.
When darkness descends,
I’ll light a candle,
to burn it away -
even the slightest flicker of flame,
can illuminate the way ahead.
Before you leave,
please share this embrace,
feel strength through unity,
and let that carry you onwards.
Return any time you wish,
you will always have a place here,
in my heart and in my soul,
I know that hope can be heavy
- but you don’t carry it alone.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem today. I hope wherever you are, you are safe. Let our unity endure.
There’s a touch of romance
in the garden
the fence posts led by coy breezes
in a gentle dance
between secret admirers
until the mood turns
and the wind becomes belligerent
destroying something beautiful
- it can.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem today, I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to check out my other pieces across the website. Any comments or critiques you have, I welcome.
I welcome the storm
she’s an old friend
kissing fire into my lungs
until I'm breathless
they blame her for destruction
but I simply offer thanks
for breaking down the clutter
in my mind
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. It has been a while since I’ve posted however I’m squirrelling away working on a couple of projects.
A gang of indigo clouds
across the flamingo-pink skies this morning
distracting everyone’s gaze
it takes a while for the greyness of conformity to rush in
and chase the hope of daybreak away
in the mire, we stand
sinking in acceptance of the now
wishing, we were those indigo clouds
moving on from normality.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. As always, I welcome any feedback and comments that you may have.
For Christmas, my wife bought me a Crime Writing Class from CityLit.
I’m just over halfway through and it’s fantastic. I feel like I’ve learned so much already. It’s weekly over zoom and we receive peer feedback on our writing.
One of the pieces of homework was a 250-piece monologue from a villain’s perspective after committing a crime. It was to justify their actions. I chose to have a corrupt cop who’d just killed a drug dealer for not paying a debt.
Below is his internal monologue;
He had to die really. I had no choice. If I’m honest with myself, I was going to have to kill him sooner or later. At least I had a good excuse, no not excuse, a reason to do it now. He disrespected me. The little smackrat weasel. Who did he think he was? He was getting too big for his boots. Plus, if I went down, who else would control this dogshit of a town. My arrest record speaks for itself. I get confessions as well. Sometimes they require a bit of incentive I admit. Like threatening to break a wife’s kneecaps if they didn’t admit to what was it again? Oh yeah, affray. What was I thinking of again? That’s right. Who’ll clean up the sludge and filth in this cesspit of a town? The DCI and his Conservative club friends? That new DC who’s feeding info to the police corruption unit and thinks I don’t know about it? Do me a favour. They’re not fit for the frontline. I am. But if this little junky rat gave them what he knew – well that would be it. I couldn’t cover that up. Too many handshakes. It’s right that he’s dead. And he died with the love of his life. Heroin. End of the day, one more dealer and junkie off the streets is a good thing. Burglary will fall a couple per cent. Bonus. I just need to make it look like I found him. Little weaselly scumbag.
I’d love to know your thoughts and welcome any constructive feedback you may have.
The sneering wind
flays the sycamore tree of limp, weak-willed branches
and their lichen tapestries - pearl and straw-yellow
while I stand watching,
a voyeur of death and violence
the wind doesn't want me to watch
howls at me to turn away
howls of shame
howls of embarrassment
howls of guilt
It ramps things up
tearing down an elderly fence
that's been grey and withered for a while
But it doesn't shock me.
I’m still standing. Still watching.
Thanks for taking the time to read my poem. Did you like it? Feel free to leave a comment below or any constructive criticism.