While at home,
Yours not mine,
Missiles flare and blank out
Square foot after square foot
Of children, mothers and fathers
Supposedly likewise bent on destruction,

Here you flex and bend
Your head low
Almost to my breaking point.

I can easily overlook death
When you bare your teeth
And curl that tongue.
In this moment
What hold does sorrow have
On me.

But Sorrow,
Sorrow can wait
Leaning against the back wall
Of her Northern Celtic Cave
Eyes cast downwards
The corners of her mouth
Curl slowly into a smile.



If my heart had glass walls it would be a slaughterhouse

In the northern lands
Of ice and snow
Where the winds are born
You made your presence known
Among my thoughts.

Your eyes glowed behind my own,
Like shards of brilliant blue ice.
Your necklace strung with
Glimmering Germanic teeth.

‘You smile too much’
You stated solemnly,
Matter of fact.
‘I will take now what you owe me’

Toothless it seemed,
and thoughtless too,
I wandered for days,
In the heartland of the
Shiver and the prayer for
Safe return.

I gritted my blooded gums
And steeled my breath.
I feared we would not last the night.

Dreams locked in a dead man’s chest

Close your lips and discover
The bitterness that sleeps
On the tip of your silent tongue.

In the evening the lights you see
From the shore are far off and pale.
They dance to the waves rhythms
And haunt your dreams.
If you close your eyes too
You can hear faint whisperings,
The succinct susurrations
Of children lost to the winds
And the waves’ roar.
Songs of dead sailors
Echoing and ringing
On the zephyr.

The blind see the world but through a veil.
The deaf hear more than they tell.
At night they come down to the sea
To touch fingertips.
They share our secrets with the wind
And their own with the sky.

Alcohol and Anticoagulants (or Warfarin and Wet Kisses)

Your open lips I have
encountered of a night
when, dulled and nulled
by phosphorous light,
we may have danced.
I cannot be sure
for eyes were blinded,
memory poor.

I entered this dream
like a room without door,
the ceiling all stars
and a blackened wood floor.
A small gentle mouse
with some grays in his coat
breathed his last gentle breath
and opened his throat.

And I knew then that life
would be always like this:
that the ones you had loved
would be the ones you would miss.
So i steeled myself
to the darkened abyss
and settled my soul
in your warm, twisted kiss.

Find Your Place

Find your father
and lay him down
and breath upon his
face and hands.

Then turn
and with your eyes
scan to the edge
of land and sky,

of field and child
and dry riverbeds
and the screeching of
a thousand heads.

Then lie yourself
upon the ground
and feel the cool
expanse of stone

This is your resting
place, your tomb.
Encased in walls of
earthen tears and bone.

This came from a Simply Snickers prompt

For Mum

When someone you love dies
the sky is no longer
just blue.
It is a million different shades of blue
and grey and white
and each day seems somehow shorter
and the wind tastes bitter in your mouth
like the salt in the wound
like the salt in your tears
when someone you love
is gone.

The Green Tunnel

That crunch and

like a head being laid
on a concrete pillow
at a million miles an hour.

Still so vivid,
those eyes,
appearing at my right headlamp,
large and dolorous
and on fire.

My licence plate was
kicked clear
across the road,
which was strewn fast with shreds
of my bumper, the crumpled
impact zone.
Blood turns thick and sticky
quick on a night like this.

It smears dishevelled
as Persephone’s kisses.
Her rich dark mealy lipstain.

And I drove on into the night
a little colder for our encounter.

Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors
the people knelt and prayed
to that same god
as blackened hearts
would have them believe
except for the coming of a man.

And they beat them with whips
and they held them with chains
and haggard pains.
Old and young,
it’s all the same.

And the bones came out
to greet the sun
and the tight grins
stretched, yellow skins.

And of the thousands
who walked that road
and rode that train,
only a handful returned again.
And not a single sole was left the same.

There, There Elliott

A pair of walking scissors,
razor point,
needle sharp,
sharp as nails,
hard as a fox.
These things could cut
diamond edges.
So they made light work of the living leather
upon which they chose to stroll.
But soon their evening constitutional,
for it was in the night,
these things are always in the night,
turned to a paddle
to a swim
to a dive
but lacking the will
and the little ships, all red and white, being too small to carry them
the twin mirrors, bolted lovers, plunged too deep.
No need to go down a third time they sank
and drowned themselves in blood
and never came back up
until, hours later, the paramedics arrived.
But by then
it was too late.