RSS Feed

Category Archives: Creative Writing

Agrypnotic

It’s in the black, you visit me

As I cocoon, you emerge
and plague me like aching teeth

I dance – an ancient, wrapped for the afterlife

but there are no beautiful adornings here

Just skin and thoughts, naked and raw

In a tangle of sheets

The Journey to Pickled Mountain.

You are worn, dear Peter

And pained like the cries upon a battlefield

Where do they go? Growing intense – a mechanism under skin that twists in coiled movement 

I know the hurt.

Clock chimes 

Three, then six, then nine

Twelve 

Silent striking, inviting, I hear it calling 

Here come’th the hour

But you will not die today, dear Peter

Sweet Peter

You will not die today.

Unspoken

It’s hot and sticky – a viscous, Mumbai sunset 
complete with Bombay’s colours 

I heard it said that those smiles are the best

but yours, dressed here now in glistening sweat

beams like the sky of high noon

You’re California

and I, aware of my own London grey

am content to reply with Irish eyes, instead

The Agricultural Engineer

I have a story in an old shoe box
and I leave it to spin out
all the time

A heart ache framed in that trusty old-schooled ink and it bleeds
like a bruise
on tattooed thighs

I’m stood with a blush of pink insincerity
and i find that I cannot tell a lie

You see, like a bird
like a falcon way up high
and you breathe like a new born
swimming child

You teach
with the wisdom of an ancient rested soul
and I want to be near you all the time

There’s a key in the garden where you fall asleep at night
there’s a lock hidden there under
the chime

But the wind is howling haunted
and it leaves you feeling blind
and you can’t
remember how to tell the time

It’s written in the kitchen, right there underneath the clock
There’s a sink full of truths I can’t deny

But you walk through the hall in those dirty, old work boots
leaving marks on my floor and on my life

A sidewards smile holds a cigarette, alight

The dirty, honest dishes
left behind

Thursday’s

We’re fizzing, dizzy with it
clinking glasses
chasing tequila like its some
wild, ferocious beast

And there’s us – just kidding
There’s us and thousand more bodies
bodies all sweating
drunk on the chase of frets and
foreign animals

We’re Serengeti Sailors – what?

Mexican Fire Eaters

that’s better

laughter and streamers explode
from the eyes at the table
and the warmth is real, save the last dance

My two left feet

In Sanity

I’m not like them
Are you like me?

I like interesting people

The people that often dislike people

Problematic, to say the least

I like my own company – no pretense

My world, not a stage, nor I
an actress

Not then – not in solitude

Just me.

My head is busy – I like that, it keeps me nimble, save the fidgeting

Tapping, dancing feet

I keep my back straight – happy for folk to talk freely behind it

Improving posture

Weak-kneed at times, I’m double jointed

Bendy and hyper

Mobile heart and soul, northern beats

I’m not like them.
Are you like me?

Perhaps we will feel like them, spending time away from them

together.

Forward

I’m always writing myself

Creating something

Erasing the lines made in error

Concentrating on the definition

I like grey scale 

and colour combined

And perfume – perfume all over the page

One day

One day dude, I’ll be a fucking 

masterpiece