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All at once, the hours of the day fudge –

thick throated ticking as the clock grows dimmer in the light

and in creeps a sleep that never fully takes hold;

variations of slate whispers on a shoulder blade –

turning over, shadowing the eyes with Payne’s grey,

a memory of a storm; lungs filled with water.

The dreams descend, whistling, hysterical, al...

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“I don’t think I need any of you”

                     *

They sit in the circle – each part with arms folded,

creased in. Cautious to the centre of the light -

behind them, their secrets close in sharp black.

By being together, a self absorbs the room –

moving in and out, like a breath finding sleep.

She speaks first, the one with the dumpli...

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Something so assuming – a frame

to bless or condemn,

 neither giving or consuming, the tiny moments of what you are –

they fall around me like summer petals –

to touch, I fear a smear –

of the plaits twilight fed through  -

her hair, her eyes – these moments are too soon -

 you die, a breath of first and last –

 hands move across the table,  wor...

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                                                                                                                                     Marred with a tooth rimmed desire, an oil skimmed glass upon

the back of my calves – my muscles - tendons, a graze of memory –  are my decision

to complete the arrogance; shave away the bristle grin mistake of not being a man. 

My bathroom...

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Shape they do,

these vague conspirators -

delusions of design in the growl of my thoughts -

attaching myself to any I,

foreseeing my accidents before I do,

curling me up in the pillows of incompleteness –

dread and dead, I am fish mouthed

with.

I would give you up, in kindness –

this on the dip of a sell by date,

my loop of being so unsure ...

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Milk hearted, a timid stunt

of drifts and thieves distorted

the silks of a grave surpassed -

a  lay  unchartered, where fray

and wound next glory became

a khaki hill without a name.

The tame of each dread root

thwarted – the tip of each snapped finger

larked, and dipped its fever

into parts of men long since lost -

a thousand...

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For clemency, I lie you at the end of my bed –

rest, and keep the flight of my wrecked dreams at bay - 

this is your sleep,

a seam of undisturbed silk.

I’ll take my psychiatry with the fluorescence of the day,

there is no hurried rivulet for you to claim,

calm though you are, in the pest, be calmer still in my absence.

The draw of each hour wil...

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Each riddle (cause for, unheard) - drooled upon the glimpse of psyche,

playmate vie with the portent day, woken to

with heavy rind,  a cloth

of circumstance –

is a zephyr trail, a bipolar dupe;

a rush of strawberries or the frugal vines of bed grapes.

We are angles bloated, presumed

controllers of our cortex –

trip wires and bobbin,

spun upon words that mean...

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She was cinder born, the girl you met –

curate’s egg smashed to ash.

She couldn’t weaken her heart to hold

something of herself –

an arm underneath her skirt,

turning her this way and that,

through her jaw –

ammunition for section.

She was rough for love,

dragged slate, flint ticked,

a quarry of crashes –

nose, cheek, fractures of kisses

a l...

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In the dullness of my night cap

are ten white stars.

They reach for me inside, a clay of thought,

a hard consciousness -

to soothe, to stroke,

a warm ellipse over my forehead,

a heavy mushroom descending to press.

They seep into my palm’s dive,

pouring my shoulder, a cleft of mercury –

eye to lid, transparent –

my ceiling, cloak spent and cotton

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A rag, a veil hacked with complaint –

dragging through my windpipe,

yellow wayward sacks of children,

bitten or burnt, without a home –

a compass air spokes my inner ear,

a design of irritation.

A drastic limp – my corner of charge –

hits, hemp and knock knee’d  -

there is a shatter of repulse, my falling

swallowed continuance,

heather seed pierced...

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This isn't anything to do with poetry but am hoping my lovely poet friends will help me out. I am running the brighton Marathon this sunday for The Cambodian Children's Society.

The Cambodian Children’s Charity (‘CamKids’) is a development and relief organisation, dedicated to providing direct aid to poor children in Cambodia. Its principal objective is to help children in Cambodia who are ...

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Into the submission,

I crawled - hands and knees,

a hinge of witch blood,

the bark, bedded down -

me, a girl of impressionable root.

tendrils of my better seed,

caught the needle and the sap,

pulled into the wood –

I was a girl, 

like everyone said.

It came for me 

 to

of ...

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Pale, the circumstance cowers in the unperformed –

tasting, without pretence, nor confirmation,

whispering greatly,

opal veils of smoke –

tides, sweet, a constant

pain.

A pearl forms, a melting star  -

of curving universe locks,

born on the ever looping sail –

never held,  a well climb

or a fall –

th...

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To rest, deft pretence, to rest –

shear your gloves with the zoo

of most incompatible common sense,

to bark and howl and squawk with full obedience -

the kind you are.

Be it a room of peacock eyes, singed in the heat

where no open window grooms,

or the quiver rut of rabbit clots,

breathing tightly in a burrow -

know your gut and the great gulping sorrow

a...

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Come in from the cold,

declares the rare hour, here to the day of sleep,

coughing and creeping through the burnt violin strings -

 the hallway buckling to its knees, saying please

make me human, run your thoughts over my arms,

here I am - welcoming you on the stairs.

Her hair tied up on her head,

tendrils of tumbling bees,

sigh in the shift of a trapped w...

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It breaks the distance,

rinses itself through my chest –

the pulp of conscious, the pulse

I hold, the touch of speed, close to

the coast of him. I disappear –

lines scolded white light,

eyes pouring thick, flesh folded.

It runs the future of my spine.

I shake the distance – the colour

tasted, chattering, wordless,

a mouth armour -  and v...

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Falling through the sallow plague –

mine, all mine, the weather reminds,

left in your place,  jade veins shooting through

a gold - untouchable, never invaded,

stained all the same;

an infection of kisses and petals up my arm.

The coo –

the ribbon route, floats the infant, calm –

a sway of circles,

a dawn of cradles

and where we are, sobbing;

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Callous flame!  The wall beckons tardy shadows; an eye of minute distance

where time is spare to change the movement –

fingers twitching like the curve of a Count’s back,  black on the wall -

a great mountain of ash.

I have my all, bent, doubled, cold chattering teeth

and Poe stowed in the gaps of my window

where in creeps the moors, swabbed with a woman’s pulse.

...

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I have a corner of the room, held tight against my chest –

it is worn, the shark teeth of a blanket, a blue shadow sewn

in the dimness of drawn curtains.  

No one reaches.

                                                                                                                                     The stillness echoes, warms my eyelids from underneath the fold...

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It is not a kind beat – the one that warms the colour of your eyes, the pupil gawping in a state of near hospitalization, draining the outside of all significance, for the life of it is in – in the pinnacle of unleash and the throb of completely knowing your lust; drag, animal, bated lush, tilted, and fruit injected, electric, hating like lover’s do.

It is the flick of blood and gun, the ru...

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He began –

generations of what should have been

in the palm of his hand; the creases of stone masonry and Christchurch,

better for the beaten, beaten for the man –

and crossed the river in her, the obscure

distances of chastity and love, the lulls of

a hidden blood –

an understanding, to the sore thought of what is lost

when all hope is gone, shackle snappe...

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There goes the greater still –

humming, possessed in the bathing wing,

fire feathered with the wake of wind

and the curling

inner dream -

it is placed safe, the tired will

and the written vein, and  powered palm –

a painted cave wall of us all –

complete in the things we say.

The things we say

hum in the quiet taken, looped

with that w...

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The street is multicoloured

underneath my panic – rushing down, feet tangled up in leaves.

The pavement snaps – my nutrient, underneath;

hands punching through the granite,  angles, wired triangles,

telephone trees,

spurred from my robotic sleeping – underneath me, underneath,

underneath

a code carved by roads as ready as veins.

The people come and...

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Meadow threaded, seen apart from commute and promenade;

to hold it still, I will –

etch with saffron, the whole of the sun

and fill my pockets warm, with her.

The cotton drop,

where the spider foots

and the wind, knotted with timber tuts -

I shall loop with my button holes and hold them close,

and then when the time is right,

and fastened ...

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They think they know her as she bends over,

her cheek stroking the spruce of pine,

the tufts of her hair, static – dreams wafted in the near space

of suggestion.

They cross their legs and lean into each other –

eyes forward, slight with whispers, presumptions -

they know the program, and have bought the ticket;

they wrote the music, and metered the love.

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How do I get inside you?

The things I have lost, I think you have –

swimming around in your belly,

as dark as asphalt,

touching to create a lung in an embrace, a number

safe

as I would have them.

Do you have them?

My ribs rise and fall;

crowing iron, shipwrecked,

anorexic -

apparent – a vest of razors

with every breath.

To ...

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I am so unsure of my motion; it feels, a rather fixed movement;

hand clasping the brush from a hurting angle –

my fingers

            tight around the slender running

pulse

my higher craze; peacock ridden, with stricken thoughts of love,

blotted

on the bone before me – tempered with falsities

and flattened method. But it neither holds or supposes

...

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There sounds a growth where the mixed fertile seconds twitch

and the waste combines - a minute underneath the dew

where a thought reprises, seizes the day at the loftiest wake

and disguises – blue and black and silver eyes

across the wing of his jest,

a movement before completion – where  the morning rises.

He takes the moment to be human –

a gardener amongst t...

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She is brave enough for any brand

tilting the earth, running into the show of hands,

a fast orange lust.

The hours send widows,

their shortness carried on the sands,

this way and that, all things passed –

ferocious concubines.

In movement, they delight

and show her the close of love –

a hill the shape of falling into

the count of infini...

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There are trees of peculiar shape

at the bottom of my garden – branches made strict,

glued

with magpie feathers

and an ungodly green bottle neck

trunk.

They wink in the sight of a distant sun –

sanded down, a rare pink hue

but pistol gripped,

and a hot diamond snap

over the horizon.

My throat is sore –

swallowing, corseted,

and...

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Dreamt safe

in the wipe of glass, past

the days limp, part into

a bulb split to the dew, this side -

a hanging basket on the window sill.

Even the plaid

rush of cars, the vines of rain

threaded through,

bring you here to me – a hapless

shape maker, blotted without

your hands.

A sash of sun throated leaves,

a curve of slow shifting

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Summer never came so quick –

grass smacked, a cucumber air,

promised on a bird call, shot through

the colour of her hair,

a scream of bicycles and their fall.

No other before it seemed

had ever felt anything  –

the sirens of the suspension,

rang out in sweet petal tempered rain,

fingers locked in the curling veil,

soft, rubbed with a hal...

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You know I will run as far as you will go

up to the hot lick of ice,

wrap my rounded hurt around your space

as a baying hound would do -

pad your face out over a place

blank enough to erase,

snare your scent amongst a gawping mist

that rises over the lake

and caps you here; the gulping escape.

I will serenade

a blue annual

to disgrace the hard h...

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If you could, would you breathe for me?

Softly over the elbowed night, a tapestry of chocolate folds

merging so as if the air

could sink our lungs into a state of one breath,

one sleeping liquid.

I cannot bring it in close enough.

The safe place to meet is whispered

in the very place I shudder – eyes closed,

bare, honest, unpe...

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Hear, Hear, New Year!

I have a tart card held,

I have an innate weight I dispel –

I hold you close

each year,

the charms held on my arm.

Hear, Hear, New Year!

I keep you fixed in fear,

the sight of you draws near –

the spent and want of what could disappear

with each swallowed sphere.

Hear, Hear, New Year!

The corner of the day

so...

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