Poem: Aniseed Dreams

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 …

Poem: New Year Rain

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 …

Poem: Blank Look

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. …

Poem – Whatever The Weather

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. …

Poem: Not The Man You See

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 …

Spring Has Returned

Spring Has Returned Frozen eyes, harsh breaths all disintegrate under your spell. I have shivers and shakes still under my skin and I’ve been waiting four long months to have you warm me from the inside out. I’ve never known how to welcome to you properly, I’ve been a little …

Poem: Appropriate Jealousy

When she’s kissed she’s alive, wanted and wanting and I am jealous. I am never alive not kissed, nor loved, not held. I am. This is all. Little comments that dig at my soul. Little kisses that inflate her ego. Rightly so. I am jealous. Right so. He is nothing. …

Poetry: Pinpricks

Stars are pinpricks of heat and light that burn. We are desperate moths blind and lost, abandoned, Clear nights call to us, beckon us with a whisper, we can’t resist it the desperate pull. Stars are pinpricks of heat and light that burn, until we are turned away. Abandoned. r.l.w