havent written a blog for years now! 3 years i think...

any one up for more bond poetry?

where have all me muckers gone??

anyone still on?

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He took  his knees unto the floor.

A dark man,

Nervous by the words of his first harvest

And his body moved like fresh grapefruits

Juicy with pips

For a First Dawn had come.

And he did sweetly breathe upon the babe’s head

And kissed its newborn eyelids,

Fallen like dark purple Lilacs of a full moon in mauve

Upon this little face

Heavy set in sleep.

He blew the...

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sometimes i look at the sky
when driving, at speed
and I
see the clouds billow and fold 
an angry riposte at the audacity
of open miles
sometimes thick and black
they tumble
sometimes less afraid
they swoop a palette knife 
full of paint
and accentuate themselves with white tipped
curvature 
like waves in a torrent.
sometimes i look at the sky
and in the picks of rich umber and the ...

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A crow landed on the rail.

One for sorrow.

Swept down from the perimeter

mounted the metal siding off the road

and stood for a second on its perch.

Took a quick lick of his head

to spot the murder.

To move on.

It could have been less.

Id left the mess of people,

my head spinning with time spent

disconnected

fragile

futile

Looking a...

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The generators thunder on

Churning up the air like a thick furrowed plough

Relentless in sound

 A backbone to the field

which tastes like gasoline

Rumbling the undergrowth

The size of home is the thickness of this noise

And the area with which they spread their hold

Engine meeting engine black grimed

young men with dreadlocks bunched up like tree stumps

 long hair and...

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This story, The Elk Dog is retold from the original stories of the Native American Tribal (the Orphan Boy and the Elk: Blackfoot Tribal). It is a story of the coming of age and lightly suggests guidance for young people regarding gender identity.

The collection ‘Wyrd as Folk; Retelling the Legends by Rachel Bond, includes stories from a wide cross section of folk lore/ legend and myth and inclu...

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Once upon a time, in a land not far away, there was a little girl named Hazel. She was a good girl who liked rabbits. She also liked books. This is the story of how that little girl became cursed by the worst  faery  curse ever. Cursed by Bad Queen Mab.

Hazel  used to love to read her books late at night under the covers with a secret torch to light the pages. She had been warned by...

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There's sand falling from the sky

coppered bronze burnished in silt and grains 

containing secrets of a magicked East

that became known around these parts as an overspill from the brick yard,

but this dust is Saharan

crustacae from planes

Dead lost places with no witness.

The heat of the sun bears down its mirage

and admires its own reflection over vast skeletal lansca...

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I want to dance like Louise LeCavalier

She flamed across stage

When I was fresh out from ballet

With the whisper of a spectre

Released from its chains

She took my breath up

In her pale hands

And threw it

Past the stars

In ever leap, twist, thrown and tumbled

She danced with the passion and

Power of a man in a feminine world

...

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ten past nine

i wait by the smell of the oils drying

and look at my fingers

think how the paint patterns of accident

look better 

than the offering on the board.

look at the lines drawn

in colour

on the fat side of my thumb.

The mount of venus

where all ideas of love begun.

they are still young, just weary

my fingers can easy bend 

and b...

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I walked 52 countries wide 

my feet weary and bruised. 

i let the tide wash over them,

52 lovers all die, a muse.

With the crashing of a wave,

their indifference

to the sounds i make,

to the waves of frequency running 

through my brain.

8 hertz and 8 hurts,

A stranger

in every town,

speaking the tongues 

of the Pentecost.

i sit on th...

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I stood in the tall mirror 

on the border of puberty,

not long before i had learned to see myself.

Glass against foil, a simple trick.

Even though the foil was peeling,revealing itself plain

i believed

in something better

and i looked right in to the point where they say He hides

deep inside the ripples of glass

and i squinted my eyes

knowing ...

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I stood in the tall mirror 

on the border of puberty,

not long before i had learned to see myself.

Glass against foil, a simple trick.

Even though the foil was peeling,revealing itself plain

i believed

in something better

and i looked right in to the point where they say He hides

deep inside the ripples of glass

and i squinted my eyes

knowing ...

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love is for somebody other

someone with eye blinkers like shutters

somebody else whose skin has never sensed

the crashing of all its pores

the closure of all of the doors

the suffocation of knowing

now that loves snuck in

only he has the keys

and he licks at the taste of their metals

Never had to question 

the ideas come to mind

all rose tinted

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You were asking for someone to come change your life

i did just that.

i was asking for someone to get high with

you were, without me having to go rewrite the past.

you wanted someone to like your poetry, your art

my mum says, "you see in people what other people cant."

Sometimes i think i have a window

where i should have a chest, a glass head,

sometime ago...

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I have a rat in my kitchen

he's grinding his baccy stained teeth

under his sticky brown moustache

he strains his throat to speak

'you want to forget about this '

'incase you get old'

'you write a good poem, 

you have potential'.

He does a bit of this and that this rat

 nothing more penetrative

no less pervasive than a lull, a lazy dull

anulled

...

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I met a girl in the corridor

she walked tall with limbs long

chestnut hair stroked her perspired fore

while through the air called softly a song.

each note formed round a lightening tone

her eyes stretched to see beyond me as she spoke

between her and the distance sentences had grown

into a lily scent with perfumed oils awoke.

she tripped with pleasur...

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rock in a storm

sunk with the cliche

butter drunk with compliments and doe eyes 

i gave you all my surpises like a rabbit in headlights.

i liked it

i liked falling

listening with twitchy ears

soft furred unfocussed mad march passed us and asked for a cup of tea

it was funny then

i loved to give up my thoughts

and our ideas

were like ...

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i said if i wrote

a poem

about you 

thats it.

it would be over.

There you have it.

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i once wrote to you about the tower

its been 3 weeks

and its been an hour

i dragged myself over the cattle barrs in the mud

and i whispered when i could

but its been 3 months

its been gone in a shower

the rain leaves patterns in my skin

looking for the place we did begin

im lost and i was drowning

but my throat had never swallowed

i worshi...

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"I am grateful to say, when quizzed, as I am thoroughly today,

'Wher've you been, where've you been, where've you been?'"

I steadfastly say, "I am come to church."

'As they can ask me questions of God again and again,till God has come home

And I will always have an answer.'

But of alcohol my heart beats hard inside my head and it hangs thereof.'

A fisher of men, my...

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The Dreadful Mermaid

Sonnet

Shore densed slabs slick wet edged bricken shard

Stickleback shell cracks cut scratch bloodful turn

My feet wanting drips sweet red a mallard

he feathers flood lorn prints the sand auburn 

Heavy footed I walked all the way here

Set my meat down and subjugated sat

Dry cried awful faces a snot smeared leer

Nothing to say ...

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One Nation under God
has turned into
One Nation under the influence
of one drug

Television, the drug of the Nation
Breeding ignorance and feeding radiation

T.V., it satellite links
our United States of unconciousness
Apathetic therapeutic and extremely addictive
the methadone metronome pumping out
a 150 channels 24 hours a day
you can flip through all of them
and s...

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Three tin rings wound round the other

Fell in a chain tin tings together

Ching ching the bling bill got bigger

And I tink you teefed it like a little tinker’s nigger

You hid it in your pocket

Lifted it with thin fingers

Spindled round a hypo

Swiftly mingled blood and hydro

Till im throwin in your jeans

Minging stink into the laundrette dryer

And chink chi...

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If we could imagine the love of one who loves men purely for their own sake, and not because of any need or desire of his own, purely desires their good, and yet loves them wholly, not for what at this moment they are, but for what he knows he can make of them because he made them, then we should have in our minds some true image of the love of the Father and Creator of mankind.

O. C. Quick

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