Hello readers, So … somethingeveryday. At first I started this website and internet project to see whether I could engage new readers with poetry - whether there was a place for poetry within the confines of the modern world. With instant gratification all around us how could poetry keep up with this? Poetry is focused upon the minutiae of experience, on the little things that make people...
Eager like a brush, rough tugged through knotted hairs you cling. Superglued thumbpads tab at my ribs. Paw at my bones and bone to make me into something else. Velcro’d hairs attempt their spindled clasp. I lie solid. We in dark and breathe irregular, think in thoughts that never cross. Kisses plant in different soils a germinated mutant bud. We lie and dream in two worlds,...
If … if I close my eyes and cross my heart … think hard enough. If I blow the heads of dandelion fluffs: thinks of me thinks me not. Close my eyes and think hard enough of alleys where we kissed and rubbed places we still live in memory-touch. If I turn the light switch forty two times for every day we spent all the hours now nothing meant and...
I was given a task by Jo Bell to write a poem on the train from London Euston and Manchester today (National Poetry Day). Here it is: Across England there are homes. In pubs and streets and library waiting rooms. Places I could turn up, call my home where people stand unmiked reading, paper quaking some performing their own and others’ tales. I am not. But parts of me are...
This kiss shared. Two breaths: lipstuck merged. Together. Okay, I’m liking lunes. This one’s the Jack Collom variety (3-5-3).
Lune for Love
We bit lips and chewed down on love. Your name bruised my neck. The Robert Kelly lune uses a 5-3-5 structure. I also did a Jack Collom lune back in April called Lune for Words which uses a 3-5-3.
She tells me she’s losing the will to live I tell her I’m losing Will we give each other hugs, still and get on with it like you do.
Afterwards, he says: “You have a gorgeous body.” Smile. ”Says you.” We kiss.
Something short of amazing, this. Pressed together in a book of limbs. A story writ from a soaring night’s dreams. We are words on pages folded, like kisses, xs of lines joined. (Possibly part of a larger piece.)
secretswithheld asked: You are absolutely sensational. I adore your writings. <3
I want to hold you And whisper the day’s secrets As you drift to sleep.
He is drunk again. I put my arms around him and try to mean it.
These things embed like YouTube clips on loop. In the head before sleep under covers, one-man shivering. In libraries, shops, cafeterias, at bus stops eyesight flitting out of reality; clicking play, again and again, again.
(promise I’m not going to be hiding for long)
Trash - Part One
The fashionistas the trashionistas the pencil lined faked smile assisters the skin-pocked tightened totts the orange-sun-bed-skin-rot the covered up and stripped down the nightmare garish body clowns skele-mums with the double-tucked tums with the lipo, hypo, iron bums. The baby show off pageant wheelers the new-fad diet dealers, the money rich the culture poor the plastic gods of...
Bradley Knox #1
Wendy Cope (semi)famously wrote a series of short poems from the perspective of one Jason Strugnell - a poet she invented. The poem is called Strugnell’s Haiku and can be found here. Anyway, I wanted to do something similar. Here is one from a rugby-player-womanizer, Bradley Knox … I Took some Viagra. Take that, son! Back of the net. Now it won’t go down …
From I Wish I Had A Cat To Meow With Life’s surreal, internet. Very surreal. In the last year everything’s changed for me. A year ago I was shuffling along to poetry events, about to study my second year of Biology at the University of Manchester and hating life because I was unable to write, unable to spend my time doing exactly what I knew I wanted to be doing … without having a chance to....