Confined to a tiny apartment

terrified of a viral threat

she rocks in her chair listening

to voices in the corridor

Who is going out?

To voices in the street

Who are they? Are they infected?

She turned off the TV months ago

when depression became too much to bear.

In the silence she waits

for the danger to pass

listening to the constant

chatter of...

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Where Are The Rats To Race?

Keyboards lie on sanitised desks – untapped

Chairs unspun, un-sat upon

Desks un-leant upon

Carpet pile untrodden

Blinds frozen in stasis

Printers silent

Photocopiers still

Scanners lidded

Drawers unopened

Ink and gossip dried up

Chatter a mere memory

Celebrations unmarked

Frustrations unheard

No banter

No politics

No ...

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You’ll always Be My Friend (You Know Too Much!)

We are Alcoholics Anonymous without substance abuse.

A support group where no topic is taboo.

What goes on tour, stays on tour.

We step through a kaleidoscope of pain

from tender wounds of unrequited love

to brutal annihilation of innocence.

No stone is left unturned.

Emotions and insecurities are scrutinis...

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Know You Better

I know you will be there at the agreed date and time.

I open my screen and there you are;

no excuses, not late, nor disinterested, never vague,

rather switched on, involved, intense, passionate, reflective, attentive.

Called to the stand I find a voice.

You listen quietly as I speak the unspoken.

Kindly, you allow me to continue

neve...

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I May Be Wrong

I may be wrong but I’ll say it anyway

surely that is the point.

Jung’s theory of circumambulation says

“Give it a go”

Follow that glimmering thing

that interests you

down the path of development.

Heed the call to adventure

let new parts of you manifest.

Be the fool as precursor to

the Jedi master.

It’s an error ridden process

to ...

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I recently stumbled upon a website which had the letters written by Vincent Van Gogh to his brother, family and friends. Completely absorbed I was lost to research for hours on end, compelled to learn more of this painters fascinating life story. Here is the resulting “found” poem which uses lines written by Van Gogh himself to describe his experiences, collated in a way which hopefully does justi...

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A Marriage Of Ghosts

Something old; crumbling bones.

Something new; innocent youth.

Something borrowed; parental beliefs.

A bride forever blue.

Flesh bound to ash and bone.

A knot ties the living and dead.

Union of child and corpse, rotting.

Protection from cursed health and poverty.

Escaping abandonment, in a death shed,

destined by ancestral expectati...

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Down dark cobbled back streets, clothes lines stretched 
across cohorts of back yards, on Washing Day.
Regiments of white bed sheets hoisted high
flapping like flags,  in threatening skies 
supported by proud, 
immoveable clothes props. 
Garments not daring to fly loose, 
Straddled by dolly pegs 
forced down hard.

Above boiling bleach buckets  
Malevolent steam swirled, silently seethi...

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Life is too short and so

to save time,

to be efficient.

I wear an Einstein wardrobe;

white blouse, black jeans, boots, yet

when a kaleidoscope of colour

flounces before me, I envy

the flamboyance,

briefly.

I indulge in the dream of being

free to reside in sparkling rainbows

simply dancing, with no destination

kicking away scrumpled up “to-do” lists

tossed asi...

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Sacred circle!

Magicians of verse

Council of elders

Conjurors of words

Body of experience

Each one unique

Passion that burns

Vivid beliefs

Tell of your life

Abrasive or harsh

Share with us pain

Reveal your heart

Be joyous! Share moments

Tender and mild

Recall happiness

With innocence of child

The circle is safe

No words disallo...

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Culture Vultures

We scan, encircle, hover and watch,

Reap dying flesh like vultures.

Tear the sinew from the bones of life,

Re-phrase and call it culture.

Fear my shadow, crawl away.

Scratch at the earth in fear.

I see you naked in the light,

And will write for all to hear.

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The Guardian magazine reports of thousands in poverty,

Of hundreds of thousands in desperate need of humanity,

But turn the page to buy Armani and Gucci,

All the while, the reader accepts this flippant travesty.

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Only one poem in and already one packet of jaffa cakes gone! Is this normal?

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