Saturday, February 20, 2010


what else is there to do here but dream?
dreams are cold and hungry just like us
if you fattened them on fire they would kindle.
but left locked inside four walls they start to rust.

what do dreams that have rusted look like?
spent and sore like bodies tethered to fear?
or red and burnt like pain that's rawed anew?
or neither - just a defeat of all that's dear.

dulled and dried and dying in the sun.
dull days have dull reflections, what is new?
and thoughts begin to wander without cause
and collect unmeanings. paint in sorry hues.


look here, you've drained me dry
of all the resentment and all the hurt
that i bore you the day i came.
there's only the weariness now
left to me, to cling to me
half-lost memories of a burnt out fire
of songs and war-cries and tears.
all that's left is weariness.
now if you come to me now
with your little bundle of letters
tied up with that rotting string i don't remember
with your own fears, your own songs
your own war-cries and all the fire
i've lost and you've found
all i have to say to you is this:
i am weary. let me rest now.


Spare me the apology
for i have wounded every stone
and every brick in this dungeon
that has held me for so long.
And i will depart
with the blood int my veins, throbbing
and the stains on my arms and chest as markers
of your trusted infidelity
to the human nature of change and reaction.


A cupboardful of gore,
neatly locked away.
Hands fumble with dying breathe,
that thinks it's here to stay.

Blank verse is easy,
but rhyming has its chance.

Monday, February 15, 2010


shhh. tread softly.

she knows what we've done.

we can keep quiet

and save us a riot

and still have the fun.

but she knows what we've done.

hush. paint softly.

she knows what we've learned.

we can keep seating

our shacklers' beatings

but she will have heard.

she knows what we've learned.

shush. speak softly.

she knows when we'll run.

we can shed tears

and give rope to our fears.

and wash down the burns.

but she knows when we'll run.


safe colours, greys, blues,

solid and immovable,

silent, strong

steely, safe.

You can't steal

my colours, no

you can't

they're safe

and sound

in a box

in a tin

in a drawer

by my bed

by my head.


Please sir.

Dear sir.

Respected sir.

Much obliged.

Kindly do.

Thank you.

Yours respectfully.

Your prisoner.