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The Last Dance

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What is that, lingering on my tongue whilst you smoke rings of thunder through the air?

This garden is busy – birds bursting with song in twilight hours, as if to lift a heavy heart 

But there is no music in the sky tonight, just the stench of starvation

Hunger for before, between then and now – this very minute

And I, sat here with nothing but memories to feast on

Quietly look upon your face and see contentment

You have no appetite – no fire 

and your skin is blue with cold


Right Hand Down

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I’ve broken the upper part of my humerus but let me tell you…there’s not much funny about it.

After falling down a flight of stairs, I am left sore and melancholic…missing the freedom of having all limbs fully functioning. Luckily I can type but my guitar is stuck on its stand and I have travel plans that this is going to hinder.

So this is me venting.

It’s raining, I’m feeling all sorry for myself and am thoroughly fed up.

Moral of the story, people – don’t rush down the stairs to answer your door, wearing cheapo socks.

Conversational Writing

Okay, this is something that I get asked about, time and time again.

Conversational Writing

What is it? What’s the difference? There’s a massive difference. I don’t know much about writing novels, I have more knowledge about writing scripts/screenplays…you get the gist. But for even the budding novelists of the world, this is important.

When I first began writing scripts, It was not my plots that got me noticed – it was my dialogue. ‘How do you manage to write like that?’ ‘You have an incredible ear for conversation and dialogue…’

It didn’t mean much to me at the time…my answer would always be that I just write how people speak. It was only when it clicked for me that this doesn’t come so easily for everyone, that I realised it’s true value.

Whatever you a writing – a book or script, your characters will need to talk and interact. I’ve read so many great ideas and stories but for the voices of the characters to fall flat and sound unrealistic.

Realism: That’s the important thing here.

Check out this video. It’s funny and it’s been cut but whilst I was laughing watching, I also noted what a great example it was, in terms of dialogue.

Imagine this exchange as a script – this conversation written down. The characters would interrupt each other; there would be half finished sentences. The exchanges are short and snappy…real people don’t burst into long monologues, when chatting!

It really is some great advice for any Writer – to listen and observe the interaction and conversation styles of everyday people. It really is vital, in order to really achieve that gritty exchange on the page.

The Encounter


‘Please don’t hurt me.’, I heard her say as she slept. And that was the beginning of it. The precise moment my evening ended.
I lay there tormented; just wondering where she came from; what horrors she had seen, underneath her closed eyelids.
Her disturbing slumber meant no more for me and so I left her side to indulge in coffee that made me think of the waitress, in the Coffeehouse down town. It was the colour of her skin.
Those images soon evaporated in the steam as she came forward, dressed in a towel too short for her modesty.
‘Who hurts you?’ I asked as I stirred the whirling thoughts with my spoon.
‘Sorry?’ Said the stranger, walking around my kitchen like she worked there.
‘You cried out in your sleep…’
She sat down and sighed,
‘Your knee was lodged in my spine. I was trying to be polite.’

Burning Constellations

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Constellations can’t tell secrets –
revelations deeply secreted in stone steps
that weep as I walk upon them; wailing woes
with wetness and staining soles of shoes.
My soul mirrors sneakers – battered and bruised
but drowning in tears that cannot be told to another.
Imagine that – taking kindness from a light source long gone, like you
are now
No more, the sunshine that warmed my skin. And in
this darkness, amongst silent sorrow and whistling winds
I close my eyes and touch your face. A forgotten purchase of
pictures now passed, embrace with heart – giving stars the strength
to warm me.

Heavy Sleep

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Hurting hurt with hatred
Is only effective if
you can create but
I have no incantation nor
And so I pop it under my pillow
with a sprig of lavender
and lie as heavy on it as
it does me.


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Decide on dice and draw
pistols at dawn. Warn
hearts of darkness and
remain just that – trapped
in existing, swallowing down and
resisting love; refusing to dance but
betraying for lust.
Trust in feeling –
disagreeing with dealings of
rational thinking, linking love and
life with hopeful dreams.
And no.
Life is not Disney
but we – you and me
are story tellers, all the same.