I open my eyes No fresh glint from between the curtains. Just the vague grey light of day roves like smoke towards the duvet edge. Whereupon the creases are cut in geometric shapes As if I’d carved them with a paintbrush. I close my eyes Your name appeared And rolled endlessly down the screen. Oh let me return inside the dark world beneath my lids. If only it was so simple. Where before there was grey, now there is black. But I remain. You remain. It...remains. How do I go back? Back before I was born again this morn in bed. Back inside the cavern cast of vacuous dreams, -the interminable galaxy of scattered consciousness. Back to when I did not feel... Feel the weight of you the weight of me the weight of ‘I’. |
As the beekeeper carries his hive, Now to the mountain pines Now to the sea As the shepherd brings his flock, Over hilltop crags Over withered pastures So too, I carry you with me in the little pocket of my mind. Now through the rattling train - the morning chorus Now through the carpeted corridors: the computer clicks, the suit which slams the hammer, Now through the chaotic stirs, the rumbling drums, the seething streets, Now through the oscillating blur of shapes Which form when I close my eyes You appear through wavering wafts of murmuring colour as it darkens, And with the opening of your gaze I fall from this world to awaken elsewhere. |
The Poet Builder Chink chink chink! Shards of poetry fly As the rock crumbles beneath his fingers The flash of his eyes and The granite moulds Like my body to his touch. When he swings from high above The axe upon my soul laid-bare An image emerges on the stretched paper. And with each cry of the waves, With each new olive on the wrinkled tree Another little light glows along the way As the night comes to entangle our tongues. |
Tuesday heartbreak
The sky is heavy, dark, white… Lumpy, like an old polyester-stuffed pillow washed badly in the machine. The last remaining crumbling leaves tremble fearfully on the skeletal branches while a silver squirrel hobbles across the drenched carpet of grass. Its excessive glaucous green is sickeningly strong for the season’s palette. Two gloomy crows huddle on the mossy edge of a crooked chimney Where a rusty weathervane wavers hesitantly this way, then that Revealing, as we all do, more about itself than the wind it tries to describe. |
It churns
and writhes inside me. No it’s not you desire for you. I cannot rest, for when I lie upon the bed limbs falling limp, the waves within my torso rock and billow Crashing against each cliff of my body’s bones. It will never end it will never rest. The colours swirl and swirl, the myriad stars of light that blind all thought. I’ll take your body, your cock, silencing the restless cries like milk for a child… but it won’t soothe the whirlpool’s hunger, it’s after something else. |

Awakening
My breath slides in and out
Like a gentle tide, pulling and throwing back again
Its waves against the sandy edge.
Like your skin
And body, upon my own
Lost in the gentle realms of silken love
Forms a somatic swell and lull within.
Flickers of dreams flash then fade
The last few drops of another life
Dimming into nothingness
like the screen of an old TV switched off
Like the water whirling away
as the plug is pulled from the basin.
It’s different now.
My heart is filled
Now with you, now with him, now with a peace…
But just a moment, a message from you, the mind’s convoy,
And I’m adrift again,
A drowning fish in the stormy sea,
Tossed and battered by the very thing sustaining me.
Let me go back, back to myself.
Just the knowledge of your desire is enough, yet not…
And I start to suck..to seek..to enslave
my own sweet soul,
to suffer.
My breath slides in and out
Like a gentle tide, pulling and throwing back again
Its waves against the sandy edge.
Like your skin
And body, upon my own
Lost in the gentle realms of silken love
Forms a somatic swell and lull within.
Flickers of dreams flash then fade
The last few drops of another life
Dimming into nothingness
like the screen of an old TV switched off
Like the water whirling away
as the plug is pulled from the basin.
It’s different now.
My heart is filled
Now with you, now with him, now with a peace…
But just a moment, a message from you, the mind’s convoy,
And I’m adrift again,
A drowning fish in the stormy sea,
Tossed and battered by the very thing sustaining me.
Let me go back, back to myself.
Just the knowledge of your desire is enough, yet not…
And I start to suck..to seek..to enslave
my own sweet soul,
to suffer.
I don't claim to attain the picturesque beauty of even the average Instagram food blogger in my food; although colours do guide me in my cooking and preparation I feel the aesthetic of food follows a different criterion to that of visual arts! The aesthetic is guided by what 'looks good' and 'looks tasty': perhaps rice isn't especially beautiful to look at but it can be tasty to look at... So don't expect too many symmetrical carefully arranged platters!
I rarely follow recipes, combining ingredients I happen to have, and while I do sometimes eat cheese or eggs, I strongly believe the farming industries of meat and dairy and eggs are wrong and often abhorrent, so I usually stick to the plethora of glorious vegetables available. And I have a real love for basil tofu.
I rarely follow recipes, combining ingredients I happen to have, and while I do sometimes eat cheese or eggs, I strongly believe the farming industries of meat and dairy and eggs are wrong and often abhorrent, so I usually stick to the plethora of glorious vegetables available. And I have a real love for basil tofu.