The Architect

I am no architect, nor visionairre,
I just sit here, thinking, playing with my hair.


Consider the architect-
who drew those windows built like lego walls,
and walls are windows, they have always been
scattered like the retired builder’s tools.
He stops for tea, every day at two fifteen
and the architect –
who admires his work, in a cold smug stance
before commending the men on their whipped dance.

He smokes a cigarette every hour, on the hour
without fail, whilst his coffee grows cold and sour.


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The New Year

Hello everyone! I hope you all have had a wonderful Christmas and New Year. I know I have been neglecting this blog for a while now, but I… *fingers crossed* hope this will change. Alongside the stress of being in the final leg of my degree, I hope I can write a bit more and share my world with you.



I found myself
half drunk (and half hearted)
ten PM, New Years Eve
half the girl who used waste hours
half wishing

I hoped, with half a mind in a glass
that next year, things might change

and I, half-resolved in dedication
might drink less, or talk less
that the glass would lean emptier
and leave all the poison in the gutter

refill the glass with quarter kisses
and quarter thanks, hope and faith


January fell 0n us like the common cold
and we came home, tails quivering
hearts shivering thinking,

tomorrow will be different
tomorrow things will change

before falling, half queasily
onto beds with new sheets, and citrus fumes
and dreams where we felt fine, and always had.

Never mind, never mind,
morning will tell a different story

and maybe we would hate less
and cry less, and less and less and less
until the glass was filled with nothingness
but smudges on the glass

they had been there since last year
but this year, the new year,
a serpentine kind of year
we will wash the glass, half-heartedly –
aware that the sun never stops setting
aware that the flag always flies half mast.

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This Winter Life

I saw oceans sway in the sky
and the stars fall frail with frostbite

I saw a lack of colour in baby eyes
and curiousity spill down the gutter –

this winter life, this sheltered life
this life of mine my eyes deceived

and all the waterfalls we have shared together
will dry up, come the summer

where the grass is always several shades of green.


I have seen the world turn slower
when stars rain from the ocean sky

I have seen the grass more green
when guilt has become a sword of kings –

this winter life, we are mistaken
and spite makes zombies of us all.


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Dinner for Magpies

Sometimes, breadcrumbs just won’t do
sometimes have is not want, grass is not gold
and rivers never lead quite to the shore.

If you could, you would pick and pull
a thousand tiny shreds of silver just to
pay a debt to someone you have never met.

We spent years, trying to peck the biggest peck
or laying the largest egg from which will spring
a thousand tiny shreds of silver birdlings.

Regardless, in humble attire we attend a dinner
set out for our greedy feathered, noisy friends
and debate, of whom commits the biggest sin.

Then the waiter, nothing more than a specky finch
upon the table places (and with the chef’s compliments)
a plate of breadcrumbs draped with foolish gold
and seven for a secret never to be told.


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Autumn Sun

and up rises the fog
a gentle caress of rain dripping
whitewash runs down the walls –
I would follow you, frost
lost in pomegranate sweat
the shells of conkers are smooth
remember remember, the trick
the treat of warm autumnal sunshine
an annual celebration of me and you

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Cerise is the colour of this year’s Autumn
and from folds of silk we wrapped it around
all that had so far passed, and still –
They look so much more alive, in pink, it’s funny
how it really brings out the colour of your heart.

We ate the cherries, flown in from somewhere
where the world has not reached the last hour –
“Yes the leaves will still fall next year but always remember
that cerise is the colour of this year’s Autumn
a slightly brighter shade than any season before.”

As if I could ever forget, the cerise of your cheeks vs wind,
of love vs love, versus the autumn of your love,
and the way death is fought with life, and laughter
and all the things we have learnt in storytelling,
giving colours to all the Autumns we’d seen before.

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Don’t let it drag you down
because your heart can be easily fixed
with the right surgeon.

Never forget to give and be thankful
for all your God has given you.

Smile, more than sometimes, because
smiling always brings light to the darkest
of audiences, even when the curtain falls.

Treat everyone you meet, despite all,
with the kindness you lament the lack of –
in extending your hand, you’ll be surprised
at the warmth of the hands you will meet.

Don’t stand up straight in this cave
or accept that you are hopelessly lost:
it was you that walked the path that led you here
and it is you that left a trail to lead you out
so follow it, and sacrifice all selfish dreams.

The lightning that you see through the window
of your tower will disappear when you
unlock the right door.

Lingering in a forest will lead you to take a wrong turn,
you know the wooden path has been built for a purpose
so take it.

Remember the science lessons where you learnt
that you will only get as much as you give.


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