Category: Poetry

and so, what does make a home

May 25, 2025

and can we make one anywhere?
and what about belonging,

do blades of grass belong?
taken for granted and stepped on,

and what about the daisies,
ripped up and made into chains?

does a tree ever dream
of forests far away?

is the hermit grab grateful
for no fixed address?

and is the swift yearning to land,
and crying for rest?

is the mountain growing to see
what lies beyond the seas?

and so, what does make a home,
and can we make one anywhere?

THE CONDUIT

February 6, 2024

i am not an artist,

i am a conduit.

a demonic infestation,

is wanting

to be let inside.

it whispers to me,

softly, “let me in.”

banging.

banging.

banging.

oppression, followed

by the possession,

begging for an exorcism.

the most diabolical haunting,

the voices, they echo,

the walls, pounding –

willing me to listen.

the yellow wallpaper,

moving, telling stories.

and the illustrated man

sleeps.

dark corners, become alive.

everything looks so different

in the darkness.

pick up the instrument,

command it to move.

one stroke, and then

another.

is it fate,

or fluke?

magic

or genius?

i am being played with.

a voodoo doll,

violently shaken

like a rag.

the mortal pawn,

for the universe’s

divine hand.

THE VOID

February 5, 2024

i know we all

fall into it,

believing our things

will somehow change

how we feel about

ourselves.

that we’ll magically

be happier,

better put together,

complete.

but it’s never

the answer.

that vast expanse

inside,

that dark void

will linger.

the emptiness

shall never be filled.

not until you look

at it, i mean

really look at it.

stare into it.

face it like a foe

or a friend.

a demon that

can only be

vanquished

or conquered

by being fully

accepted and

acknowledged

and risen

above.

THREADS OF AN OLD LIFE

February 4, 2024

they told us to just

“go back”

like it was nothing

and everything was going

to be fine.

and it would all be

“normal.”

“let’s just get back,

y’know,

to the way things were.”

and what way is that,

exactly?

run into the ground.

weak.

exhausted.

completely burnt out.

although,

i did try

at first,

to simulate

a life vaguely resembling

the one I remembered.

gathering those

old threads

to weave

into something

new.

but the result was patchy

and threadbare.

what was once deemed

beautiful, now ugly.

something else was

mixed and woven

into my skin.

and the more i

resisted, the more it

pulled and tugged and

bled, as i refused to

accept the foreigner

that was squatting inside

me like a toad.

dark days realised.

but i needed

leverage to reach

the blue dome above.

and to land on jagged

rocks at the bottom is often

the only escape.

you can always look up

when you’re down

and witness the vast

expanse of

studded stars.

BROKEN PALACES

February 3, 2024

i walk towards broken palaces

like ivory towers

in the distance, castles covering the falling stars

that cascade onto crumbling sand dunes.

my heart it shatters like glass

but that doesn’t stop me from

running so fast towards you –

away from you

and into the dark forest where it is always

night but no moonlight

shines, only the illumination of

my soul that throws a glow

of enchanted curiosity.

what was it that led me here?

what was the spark that ignited

the fires? as the clouds gathered

overhead and turned silver

like swans.

what electricity travels through me

and who is even writing now?

if i stop the magic stops;

like water not flowing, rivers not running

and i know i’ll never stand still,

like a shark constantly swimming

to avoid dying,

and all the king’s horses,

and all the kings men,

could never put me back

together again.

and when it rains i cry

and it cries when i reign.

but i am no queen, like a pauper

i am

begging outside these stone walls that we built

pleading for your time

and your mercy.

CORA AND THE CROW

December 21, 2023

what bird is this

that comes to me

so late at night

and speaks sweetly

bringing word

of places unknown

with tales of forests

overgrown

of running rivers

never dry

of star filled nights

that shine and thrive

it whispers to me

where i reside

a dank, dark well

amidst the tides

for i know no sunrise

or blue moon that shines

my world is darkness

and endless night

poem 2.2

July 9, 2023

consider the letter “F”

consider the letter “F”
i have always perceived the letter “F”
to be the most comical letter in the alphabet.
i associate it with being
the beginning of some of the funnier words
from the english dictionary.
fart. farcical. funny. funk. fuck.
but then i remember some of those words
made to be written in lights.
fantastic. fabulous. fortunate. famous.
then there are less funny words
like fake and futile.
and the emotional words like
found. forgiven. forgotten.
but on the other hand
fork is a funny word.
but to fork something is quite a violent act.
perhaps i have been wrong for all these years
about the letter “F”.
it’s a dark horse.
a sad clown.
it presents itself one way
whilst hiding so much beneath the surface.
if the letter “F” were a vegetable
it would be an onion.
not because of the layers,
that would be a cliche.
i mean that i do not believe
an onion is really a vegetable,
it feels like so much more.
and so there it goes,
the level of thought provoking debate
prompted by the humble letter “F”.
the more that i think about it
the less that i find the letter funny.
suddenly, “F” appears pretty gangster;
so sharp and edgy,
a silent assassin.
an introvert.
it’s not showy and dramatic
like the letter “Z”
or vain like “V”
definitely not a narcissistic, psychotic, megalomaniac
like the letter “X”.
“F” is understated.
a charade
and master of disguise
with a sense of humour.
a fabulous, fantastically fake, fanatically flamboyant farce.
the humble “F”.

now F off.

poem 2.1

July 3, 2023

a billion to one

we travel through billions of molecules everyday
that gather on either side of us,
and sometimes it is hard
to see the beauty through the endlessly mundane.
flowers floating in sewage water.
it’s about looking at the road
from a different perspective.
there is a reason that the path you chose
is less traveled.
it’s dirty and difficult and confusing.
anyone can be content,
even happy,
if you choose to seek adventure.
in every person there is a hero;
in every task there is a quest.
it’s a billion to one
that you’re even here.
what are the chances of your mother
meeting you father?
what were the odds
that they would fall in love?
we are all artists
waiting to paint.