Moon eyed she goes 

She is one of the stars

Lonesome she is 

In the presence of Mars

Soon her reflection renews

She is a planetary part apart 

Memories become brand-new 

She is solo in this system 

And as the lights dim 

He becomes hers 

She sucks us in 

Until everything’s hers 

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I wrestled you down

Girl

Into woman

I grew your thoughts for you

Lifeless of the party

Monotone 

You vacuum expression

And drain me,

Exhausted

Stop

I gave you emotions

Give me energy

Any kind just give

Give and give 

I must drink

Always thirsty am I

But I drink for you

So what’s this lull in your throat

Dip in your tone

Crack? 

No

You ...

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I am from water.
I am from breath.
I am from body.
I am from blood.
I am from heart.
I am from thought.
I am from life.

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Why I went back 

A posthumous poem in the voice of Walter Tull – 28.04.1888 to 25.03.1918

Until you’ve been under fire

hunkered down in some funk hole

you’ll never know terror, the horror

or the damage to the soul

that just one barrage can do,

before you ever hear the whistle’s blast

that, sadly it’s true

for all too many,

signals this’ll be your last.

So...

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There's many a thing could be said about a man,

who practices the guitar whilst taking a dump.

A guy who sits between two parked chairs,

playing pool drunk,

then slumping to the floor comfortably numb.

Bathroom antics are this man's speciality,

best friend and lover with the bog brush,

his bed the floor.

His cosy duvet cover is the bath mat,

and the toilet for a pil...

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She was out of the window

She was up on the roof

She was sitting on pylons

She was somewhat aloof.

She was on wings of airplanes

She was flying with kites

She was in a balloon race

She was weathering heights.

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The teachers told him not to dream too big,
That his talents lay somewhere other than Arithmetic,
That English would never be so kind,
As to reveal its secrets to his young mind,
That History was better served,
By someone who could steer its curves,
That Science was a distant star,
So he shouldn't try to reach too far.

Maybe because he was so slow,
He didn't listen to them blow,
But to...

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the vegetable man

the vegetable man proclaims his entrance
in a voice as crisp as iceberg lettuce
the aroma that surrounds him is as pungent
as stewed cabbage on a grey cloudy Monday
children cross the road to avoid him
in his coconut overcoat and jaunty aubergine hat

the vegetable man has cauliflower ears
that dribble cheddar cheese sauce
the hair that hangs from his grimy head
is t...

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