Sunday, 17 April 2011

Blanket of blue

The world is steeped in a blanket of blue,
everything and everyone wrapped up in twilight,
shrouded from the trials of the working week 

The Blues

Pulsing Red
Coursing through our veins

Pulsing Red
Vibrant Life
Pumping with warmth

Where do the blues come from?

Saturday, 16 April 2011


Radiant smile lights up his face,
no story,
just quiet inner peace

Friday, 15 April 2011

Non poetical ranting

I am prejudice against the prejudiced
Your hate fuels my anger
Ill conceived hatred
Only serves to highlight the stupid
Your mind is narrow
And your soul blackened
Where is the love? 

Wednesday, 13 April 2011


...A heart in a box
             protected from the world

...A heart on a string
             easily lead

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

The Advance of Time

The room is warm, the skin is cold.
Silence, but for the ticking of the clock,
tarnished are it's arms, laboured is it's movement,
but always ticking onwards.
Unrelenting in the advance of time.

Monday, 11 April 2011

Border Land

A whitewashed house stands on the edge of nowhere, marking the transitory division between the world and the apocalypse.  The city sprawls out as always behind the house.  In front, lies only sand.  Deep, orange sand swirling in the tormented breeze.  Slowly encroaching ready to cover the world.

The sun shines more brightly than ever recorded, a fluorescent quality surrounds the sphere.  The heat is intense. Lizards run from the dessert to the town, scratching at windows and doors to gain shelter from the heat; or so they say.  They are not to be trusted.  Windows are fastened and houses secured, but for how long will these refuges be safe?  There is no hiding place when the time has come.

Sunday, 10 April 2011

A Cataclysmic Schism

A cataclysmic schism,  enormous, sudden and gaping; swallowing whole houses, trees and cars.  With knuckles white she clings to the edge, rubble and branches falling past her, lost forever.

Is this the end of the world?

Searing pain in her hands as they keep her from death; creaking tree roots, car alarms and the howling wind through the canyon accompany her thoughts.

"Does he know I'm here?"

                  "Will come for me?"

     "Will he love me forever when I am gone?"

The rubble loosens beneath her fingers, a clump of earth, dislodged, bounces off her face and into the void below.  She begins to weep softly in her desperation, as dark clouds roll across the sky, shutting out the light.  Eerily cold, she holds on no more.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

Remasked, reventure

The smell of new leather permeates the warm, heavy air. Dusk is starting to settle across the horizon, casting an orange glow through the voiled windows. She pulls on her knee high boots; they creak as she pushes her delicate feet into the toes, and zips them up tight. It felt good to be back in costume, and new boots always gave her a sense of adventure; excitement hung in the air.  Finishing touches now only remained, black leather eye mask, tied prettily behind her head, and long leather gloves that perfectly highlighted her alabaster skin. She flexed her fingers, slicked on a quick coat of red lipstick, pulled aside the nets at the window and sprang up onto the ledge, nimble as she ever was. Here she crouched, poised, looking out across the city skyline, as a gentle breeze whipped her hair around her shoulders. With a delicate smile washing over her lips, she whispered to the void below her 'it's been too long' as she proppelled herself forwards and leapt into the twilight.  The curtains billowed from the window she'd left behind, and the unkown lay ahead.

Dull, Dark, Grey and Wet

Dull, dark, grey and wet, 
The universe continues to surprise us yet

From within the gloom, and featureless skys
A rainbow blossoms and fills our eyes 
Bringing hope to the desolate few,
Strength to face next mornings dew 

Friday, 8 April 2011

I love layers

I love layers
Clothes on top of clothes on top of clothes
I love red
So vibrant, so happy, so alive
I love freesias
The smell of a summer breeze through an open window
A happy beat over a sad song 
Clean air after the rainfall
A strangers smile when you catch their eye
Laughing with friends till your face hurts 
Knowing that someone loves you (and someone does, trust me)
I love early mornings in big train stations
Being awake while everyone else is sleeping
Feeling tired after a really good book
Catching a deeper meaning
Connecting with others
I love contradiction, summer vests made of wool, sunglasses in the winter
I love glass, sunlight passing through, bathing your face in rainbow colours
I love pasta
And I love you 

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Watching for Dragons

The fair maiden sits high within her tower, defending her window from princes who would imprison her heart, and watching the skyline for the dragon that will take her to soar among the star strewn night. 

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Amelia (Stagecoach) Meadows

Dust plumed up into the air, spiralling and swirling behind the runaway stagecoach. The thunder of hooves and the creaking of wood deafened her ears as she skidded to a standstill in the dirt track wake of the carriage.  Seven years she had been in this game, and it didn't get any easier. Leaping from a runaway wagon still hurt like hell, as much as it did the first time.  Ah but this time, this time the reward got just that little bit sweeter! This time her chips had really come in.

She got to her feet and patted the dust from her leathers and stood, ready to inspect her haul. Her cheek stung from hitting the ground and her knuckles were raw, but the thrill of the heist and beauty of the bounty made her tingle.    She sighed deeply, proudly, and pulled the pouch open, eager to see again that which now belonged to her. She peered inside and caught her breath; 'this day,' she thought, 'this day is the day that I made history.'

Take my Heart

Take my heart, use it as your stepping stone; 
Let it's warmth keep your feet dry,
as you make your way to someone new. 

Sorry if I got some blood on your shoe. 

Tuesday, 5 April 2011

Shoot me into the Sun

Shoot me into the sun, let me burn brightly in his firey embrace; may his flaming tendrils carrass me and shield me from the dark shadows of the world.  I want to bask in his glory and feel warmed, warmed from my head to me feet, through my soul and very being; filled with light and love and serenity.

Monday, 4 April 2011


Is she asleep? ...too scared to touch her face... will her skin be cold... clammy... like they say in the movies? -Oh! Did the bed clothes just rise and fall with her breath? Is she breathing?! I can't tell.  How long has she been like this? In this place, alone.  We've searched for her for years, or is it months?  ...and now I find her, here, like this. The appearance of peace, yet I feel uneasy. Something isn't right. Is she connected to the body still, or has she been taken away? ...too scared to touch her face; I hope she is sleeping.

Eternal Hope

He keeps leaving his drink unattended, in eternal hope that someone will slip him a little something more interesting.

Sunday, 3 April 2011


The rains fell, hard and heavy.  The parched land welcomed the water, absorbing it quickly into its baked exterior.  For the longest time they have hidden away from the deathly rays of the sun.  Creeping below rocks and foliage, cowering behind plant pots as not to become an empty shell.  At last, the rains have fallen.  At last they can frolic in the wide open spaces as the water revitalises their souls and provides life, adventure and liberty.

Saturday, 2 April 2011


He gazed out of the window into the summer’s day beyond his grasp.  “How long have I been here?”  He thought in his thick British accent.  “A multitude of days, weeks, months?  How long is a multitude?  A lot, very many, too long.  They keep me here for why, decoration?  To torture my spirit?  Perching me with a view of adventure, of hills and trees and the smell of the ocean, and yet keep me from its reach.  Forever trapped on this dusty shelf of eternity.”

Friday, 1 April 2011

A Tragedy

…Even from here, in the corner of the world, I can hear the desperate cry as his life force is slowly leached out of his body.  He made one last journey in solitude, covered the mountainous regions of filing cabinets and crossed the treacherous chasm that divides this world to reach Mr Paxton, the one individual that has been prophesised to be the helper, the one who can find the solution.  But it seems that now, even this was in vain; he was too late.  The life giving air is still painfully escaping from his bulb shaped body; every breath may be his last.  His time on this earth has been short, his purpose has been fulfilled; his only comfort is that he made a birthday girl happy.  He slowly waits for eternity to claim him, as he dreams of his next life.