Monday, 27 June 2011

Pale Dew

Poems from Penistone Poets Anthology..


Her eyes deepened with curdled joy
seeping sadness towards the foggy moors
with the misty mildew trailing south
she danced and wandered along its vehement mouth.
'It makes me hurt
but I'll never give myself to you, ever,
come walk with me, over the misty fields
and promise me there
that you'll leave me be, forever.'

Pale Dew

I am not willing to breathe
you stand in front of me
the shivers sing
and bones hang thin
but oh,
you can't look at yourself
you're too weak to undress

I must have died to have begun

I come from within
from the depths of beneath
my senses inept, alert
I detect, a miserable
stench of folly

I find my way
although misled and unkempt
do I know who I am?

I know I come from death
unlaid and regressed
every part of me outstretched
wholeheartedly and repeatedly

Reaching for life, but yet again
by this tormented grief.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

untitled II

''A womans legs can be spread as wide as the frogs. Our lips are as shiny as their skin. Theirs is green, yet ours is not..''

Saturday, 18 June 2011


Suppose there really is nothing there, suppose there never was anyway; that we never touched it, never knew it, never tasted it..then why do we feel it? That something we know is there, but that we find so hard to put into words, that is so difficult to explain, yet we connect to it, we share it – unspeakabily unsaid – but we know it’s there because it haunts us, everyday. We shy away from it, we’re afraid of it, we try to avoid it, but in the pit of our stomachs we know that feeling is right – or it feels right. That something that they can never take away from us, because it is embedded within us. It is our seed, and our seeds need to be planted – to grow and to share – to sprout and to live amongst other seeds. We just need to trust our seed and not be afraid of it, because all our seeds are the same; our seeds are true and what we need to plant and share is the truth.