Monthly Archives: July 2011


The bitter chill of absence shudders in,
sailing unsteadily on the gelid night air;
an unwelcome zephyr,
too rhino-skinned rude
to stutter an apology.

Saline squall erupts, furrows,
freeze-dries, cracks open the earth –

repeats; saturation slips me deep.

Awake, knowing
your name unfurled
on every molten breath,
to hang wraith-like in this room
and watch me sleep.



Filed under Free Verse


Imprisoned, confined,
unrefined surroundings,
watched over by captors
in damp, cramped,
concentrated camps.

Light and movement,
denied. Growth,
Disease, treated blind –
kept at bay.

The price they pay
for guilt-free,
neatly stacked
on the rack meat.

At least it’s cheap.


And this is how it should be done – my friend Rebecca’s gorgeous, well-cared for piggies at Brynmelyn in the Preseli Hills – Margo’s the big momma (that’s the pig not me)


Filed under Free Verse


‘Venusian only’ can tongue-tie;
grit much preferred to sugared dross
that wreaks decay. Pink candy floss;

a sacch’rine sickly-sweet spun lie
is even worse – give me barbed verse;
a jagged word fish-hooks the eye,

shrink-wraps synaptic gaps to cross.
‘Venusian only’ can tongue-tie.

This is written in Octain form.


Eight lines as two tercets and a couplet, eight syllables per line with the first line repeated (as much as possible) as the last. Meter is iambic tetrameter or trochaic tetrameter, but fine to just count eight syllables per line for people who prefer that. Rhyme scheme –


(A=repeated refrain line. c/c refers to line 5 having midline (internal) rhyme that is different to the a- and b-rhymes. Any extra midline rhyme is a bonus).


Filed under Octain

Wakey Wakey


Slept in late,
woke up to find
noon at the gate;
she can wait.

Slipped down,
magic pillow,
wallowed for a while,
couldn’t even muster a smile.

banged on the door;
more mail,
didn’t we get some yesterday?

Bills to pay, special offers
that end today,
colourful catalogues,
vast array,

small white card

wedged in the letter box,
almost missed,

‘you are cordially invited
to attend the rest of your life’

Screw sleep,
temptation to weep,
showered, dried tresses,
picked from numerous dresses.

No time to snooze,
find shoes – four inch,
don’t care if they pinch.
killer heels that make me feel tall.
I’m outta here baby –
Cinders is off to the ball.

Posted for the wonderful dVerse Poet’s Pub


Filed under Free Verse



‘Satellite’s gone up to the skies, things like that drive me out of my mind’ – ‘Satellite of Love’ ~ Lou Reed

She follows him home; fishbone-white, shedding the light of her acne-scarred face, as he runs through the grass, the trees and the fields, fear at his heels, a malignant sprite.

Camouflage clouds aid her quest, unquestionable zest in her obsessive flight. Thorns tear at his clothes, brambles at face, no matter the pace and refusal to rest, there seems no escape from this hellion possessed.

Though crepuscular abalone clings to his core, his door in sight – he’s outrun the whore. Gasping for breath, lifts himself from the floor, runs to the window, his god he implores,

but she’s followed him home; fishbone-white, shedding the light of her acne-scarred face. Where peace once dwelled and life was hope-laced, paranoia lays waste and defeat takes its place.


Filed under Prose/Poetry



Paddling out under flawless Sapphire,
Apollo – a million glisters
on rippled Emerald,

startled by the crane’s cry,
a lone clergymen on cathedral cliffs;
a rough-hewn reminder

that though each of us is out here alone,
with only our prayers for protection,
we are also free.


Filed under Free Verse



She crossed the threshold months ago,
slate-swathed, saline-bathed,
scrawled her name upon the walls
in various shades of grey.

Insipid taffeta petticoats
rustled, ruffled, scratched at skin,
wet wounds wept within
and misery had her fill.

She lingers still,
though lavender-gathered now,
and as the mist lifts
liberty reveals

that though ashen tones tarry
and parry tie-dyed tongues,
the hue of the rose seeps
and purple cadence will prevail.


Filed under Uncategorized

Gossip, hearsay and other untruths

‘don’t believe everything you hear, take it with a pinch of salt, halve it, dismiss ninety percent of it, shave a little off the sides, tidy it up a bit, stand back, look at it objectively – then you might find you have something which vaguely resembles the truth’


The cannibals are gath’ring in the street,
the hungry glint of scandal in their eyes,
to pick the bones of gossip’s juicy meat.

Rife rumours that secrete a scent so sweet
their nostrils flare, anticipate the prize.
The cannibals are gath’ring in the street,

no time now to be docile or discreet,

condolence; empathetic thin disguise
to pick the bones of gossip’s juicy meat.

No matter that the meal is incomplete,

who needs the finer details to chastise.
The cannibals are gath’ring in the street,

impatient for the frenzy, shuffling feet,
their sharp carnassials ready to incise,
to pick the bones of gossip’s juicy meat.

The truth flees now on skeletal stripped feet
while marrow runs in gutters laced with lies.
The cannibals are gath’ring in the street
to pick the bones of gossip’s juicy meat.


Filed under Villanelle



The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion~ Albert Einstein


Above concentric circles sits the pick-pocket of time;
grim, malicious grasshopper, devouring every second.
Each hour is marked by clanking chain in place of pealing chime,
golden eyelets blinking, unsuspecting future beckoned.

Mechanical escapement claws its way with steady tread,
creature’s constant motion eats up minutes; won’t augment them.
Though hypnotized by blood-red eyes, observers filled with dread;

twitching eyelid’s inward turn serves only to torment them.
As pendulum stops-stutters-starts; lights lag then race ahead;
life’s irregularities reflected in momentum.

Though insect never falters in persistent eerie grind,
Albert’s sound advice – go on and plunder timeless foundries.
Let go illusion’s obstacles, let waiver sit unsigned;
time quick-steps for those that choose to live inside its bound’ries.

For Paula Belli whose picture of the Corpus Clock was the spark of inspiration for this piece.

The form:

This is the Sonnet version of Stress Matrix Dectet/Stress Checkerboard Stanza – developed by Luke Prater

14 lines, 14 syllables per line – aBaB cDc DcD eF eF 

where lowercase are iambic heptameter (7 beats/stresses per line), and uppercase trochaic heptameter. This yields a perfect ‘checkerboard’ of stressed and unstressed syllables (14 x 14, equaling 196 syllables). <

Depending on where the Volta arrives (the ‘turn’ – resolution, or at least, change in tone, crucial aspect to a sonnet), there are 3 different stanza layouts (the rhyme-scheme stays the same).

If the turn comes after the first eight lines, as it does in Italian Sonnets, the layout is aBa BcDcD cDe FeF. If it comes after line ten (unique!), then it’s aBaB cDc DcD eFeF (same as English but ending on a quatrain rather than the two couplets).


Filed under Stress Matrix Sonnet

Glass Eye

Though painful,
insertion unavoidable,
after all, who wants to look
at a gaping pink pit
where brown beauty once lay.


Evisceration so visible –
a patch perhaps?


Would draw too much attention,
never welcomed, certainly unwanted now.


No, better this way;
barely discernible at a distance,
a double take followed by
an embarrassed look away.


The biggest tragedy
not the loss of asymmetrical loveliness
but the vision that once lay behind it.


Filed under Free Verse