I touch smooth skin and soft hair – whatever I can reach – in reassurance of his existence. As if my vision is a lie my other senses in denial. My boy, smiles, and so do I, following the rise and dip of each vertebra holding him together. As he …
I’ve been watching an argument (debate does not cover it) in a writing facebook group I’m a member of about why poets call themselves writers. At first, I found this really insulting. While I don’t think the original poster meant to insult any poets in the group, he didn’t do …
I remember a good summer bright with promise, crushes and sex, my memory nebulous a floating soundtrack to the sun. If only I could remember more. Not every winter was barren, not every summer bright, it’s on the edge of something wonderful an awakening of senses delightful and distressing all …
I haven’t quite decided what they tell me is true pluck away one by one and leave me hanging by my bones my soul scoured clean and raw by every touch. Probably should’ve listened but here I am all the same We are here all the same put off for …
From The Edge Of Nowhere (and back again) is a collection of poetry about Wales, England and travelling between the two – something I’ve done a lot of over the years. It’s my third poetry collection – you can find out about the first two here. It’s available in ebook …
Sometimes all we have are dreams like aniseed a strange moment we can’t quite identify. Or enjoy. I breathe in stale air sleep on sheets rucked up beneath me wake to lines imprinted on slack skin. I twist into them sweet and bitter dreams that go together better than I …
I fell asleep in the new year to new rain, heavy and haunting as if it knew what was coming – what had come before. the One year can be no better or worse than another and death still comes in with the tide that the sunrise washes over again …
Blank looks are reminders that you’ve forgotten again. Start again. We drank tea late at night telling me stories that you’ve forgotten now. I remember. Mum died of cancer. Dad was a postman. You are a forgotten hero but only forgotten by yourself. Start again. They didn’t understand, we did. …
In the shadows of summer that pass under rainfall and the reflections of winter that pass under harsh sunshine know you are loved. From the moment you were created through every melted flake and cool breeze into eternity as death will not stay my love only you can, only you. …
Not The Man You See Legs reddy brown from April sun April wind, and tangles of matted hair, he waits fr a train to somewhere warmer to walk and wander in sandals and shorts, everything and nothing round his waist and on his back. Another day passes with sneers not …
