Latest Submissions

The mystery of our love is like a secret garden, always there and thriving but in secret, hidden from all public sight, like some virginity that can't be touched but must be safeguarded and well not to be trodden on by ignorance and strangers. Still it is, we always were humiliated but still always rose again like every garden after every winter, and by every resurrection our garden has outshone them all in lasting purity ...
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Who silenced you, old music treasure, spreader of such warmth and mirth? Who put an end to living music to replace it with but noise and junk box nonsense, yelling concerts and the soaps of television? Shall we never hear again the natural pure music that is live and soft, melodious and musical? I am afraid the evil goes much deeper. Already when the first world war raged, both poetry and music almost died, gone ...
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A concrete pond in a torrid city drowning in rage. Harsh and pitiless. The skirl of sirens defiled our ears. The water’s foetid spurned by mallards, no kids dib their nets through floating debris. She gave my hand, a comforting squeeze.  I squeezed hers back. ‘This was a lake. There used to be willows.’ ‘Did you fish here?’ ‘Yeah, I took home newts and sailed a yacht that dad made for me... Some big kids ...
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you'll just have to imagine ...
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If I growled, “You are asking for a wallop, for me to thrash your face into a pulp, now shut your bagel-hole, you vole-brained trollop,” so my marshmallow of desire should gulp, the sisterhood would gather for the lynch since it’s a sin to turn your lover victim, to reduce your sweetheart to a flinch. But Man has cause to feel that something’s tricked him, as many girls think it’s pure Missus Pankhurst and a ...
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Lost in a Durham Landscape   I kicked my heels in the living room while Aoife was in the kitchen mulling wine   a painting above the mantelpiece (where a mirror ought to be) drew my eye   a watchman is walking through a gate pushing a rusted bike   behind him tumble-down allotments ahead a row of cottages   it’s late the sky has darkled a hazery of moonlight drips across ice-moss grey-green slate ...
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bringing intrinsic positivity! A tribute ...
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finalized ...
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I do not like change ...
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Here is a short piece from my new book, I'm still playng with it trying to get it right ...
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A pome about dysmorphia - I will rewrite this in a few months when it's gone cold but not restrict it to 8 syllables per line - it is (in this case) too restrictive ...
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'Good morning sir Your face looks so familiar.' The man smiles. 'Ah! You belong to my WhatsApp group I must have seen you there.' 'No' 'Then you must be with me on LinkedIn, FB, or on Twitter' 'No, not either.' 'I don't know where Am I missing something Here? For I must've seen you somewhere?' 'Yes you have. Good morning! I'm your neighbour.' ...
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Sometimes you suffer for no fault of your own. Sometimes it's worth it ...
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What goes up must come down, as proved old Isaac, and though you purred that I made you chirrup and chortle more than any other living mortal, it came down shattering in your room of lilac. I see no reason why you’ve come unsmitten with a man you’d loved from your aorta, who made you breakfast, stroked you, brought you water in the night, my pretty ginger kitten. I see no reason, rational or empirical, ...
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Intro: up to 50 words (delete this text and enter your own) ...
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Tongue, nose, eyes, ears Liver, kidneys, pancreas Arteries, veins Every drop of blood And the heart Organs of all beings Sing the same, at ease If they don't, it's disease. With all our organs Working in unison We hum of differences We fight for might Words indisposed, don't coalesce Wonderful world, under the weather Wailing ceaselessly for peace. With our injurious Intelligence We bombard the stage Arms kill, they don't stretch Yet the earth With ...
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My thoughts undulate like not seas, In depth sway lovely images at ease, They come with shallow fancies without end, And swing with shadows slowly increase, Love crumbles under my lofty bed, While foam of sin floats in my head, Nakedness creeps up the wall without tongue, And females ' ghosts –pretend to be young, tapping and whispering at the door, And in the mirror are installed even more, And the smothered chimney breathes black ...
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The moon watches from far above,In obscured space of loneliness,Feels whispers, cries and sighs of love,Among all miraculous creation;And guide hearts that dwell in brightness,For light is the language of the soulOf the fair, the ugly, the unsatisfied and allCan wait no longer in separation;Nothing can be right more than the moon at night,For ages and further in subtle lightness,Unchanged moves, unhesitating high aboveForests, valleys, primitive beings and civilized,Odor and spirit of light's grace,So quietly ...
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Of all the places to die you decided on my arms. I’d seen you earlier, flying by the tree. From the corner of my eye, a flash of cobalt blue. An insect intent on immortality, in my mind at least. It could have ended there if my second youngest, hadn’t hounded. A damsel in distress. Final flirtations following a fortnight of flight. Blessed beatification, balanced on a sun-ripened wrist. The waning whiz of wings, which ...
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Sleeping all day and taping memories through the night, stoked up the fire of feelings he called regret. Realising that the scream from across town he heard at this time of the dark, might just be for him, reinforced melancholy. He wrote on paper how living with her was hard and how he would give it another try someday, should he have the chance ...
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