Category Archives: Free Verse



Supper was a spicy affair;
cocooned in cardamom and chilli,
the newness of us flickering
against old stone walls.

The black dog slept,
woolly head on its master’s lap,
as Jack’s shape-shifting melodies
softened our edges.

Dusk danced at the door
as you led me outside,
draped your arm around my shoulders
and kissed me as the sky caught fire.


Filed under Free Verse, Poetry




How strange that you are drawn,
again and again,
to our quick, bright flames;
our warmth, our spark,
flip-side to your dark.

Dull, brown moth, chasing the light,
damaged wings clutching
a small, glass jar
that contains only your fears
and your small parched heart.

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​It has taken until now to begin;
for my throat to form the sounds,
my mouth to mimic
the shifting shapes of sorrow
and release them into the air.

I am an infant, grappling
with the birth of language;
each word connecting
and disconnecting me
to and from myself.

Love letters crawl from the
tar pit. Black, sticky,
coated with grief, they slip
beneath triangles that
no longer tessellate.

As the banshee leaves
all that remains in the
blonde light of morning
is a girl, so much stronger
than me before you.

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Y Ddraig

Worm's Head

I’ve looked at it from many angles,
this two-headed serpent that the Vikings
named ‘dragon’.

A thirty year gaze from my own quiet shores
and then briefly, lovingly,
from yours.

I turn it often in my hands;
some days a smooth, silver sadness,
others a jagged saw

that drags at my skin
as a sharp wind claws
at Dylan’s ‘slipping stones’.

I watch it now

from the safety of the West,
the sun sinking behind me,

and as the tide begins to fall
I realise that I have never seen it
from the sea.

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She runs a bath to break the silence,
watched only by a silver-framed
sullen moon.

They sit, at opposite ends
of a warm thought, until words
tumble into soft vanilla light.

Her back moulded to his chest,
he washes her hair, long fingers
untangling caffles.

Intimacy lifts the grey weight
of the day, her transient relief
trickling unseen.


Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

The Present


Strange thing this, to sit with silence –
millennia of regret; cold stones at our backs.

Clutching worry in work-worn hands,
we balance, fearful, on this brittle plinth,

while the gift of the unopened moment
lays unnoticed at our feet.


Filed under Couplets, Free Verse, Poetry



The sound arrives
on the tail of rain;
low-level hum
held in fiddlehead cocoons.

We listen, rapt,
as tender vibrations
climb velvety stems
bathed in long summer light

and as I lay half-curled
in the crook of your smile,
we turn our arms to the sun
and let the newness unfurl.

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Kissing Zephyrus and The Art of Wearing Sandals


You teased me
as I tripped down the boardwalk,
through wind-blown dunes
in unsuitable shoes.

Words tumbled
across rough-hewn pine,
our newness palpable
in candlelit tales.

I felt the sand shift
as I wiggled my toes
– a habit from childhood
when laughter laced my days –

and again, later,
as you crossed the sky,
pulled a star from the roof of the world
and glistered my lips with a kiss.

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Petit Mal

girl 2

Tonight, I will write,
about the girl who disappeared,
how she would fade in front of us,
one moment a solid bundle,
of skin and bone, brain and muscle,
then a blur of a girl
that no game could hold,
no skipping rope tether.

Her eyes would leave first;
wide, glassy, fringed by the dark,
fluttering, shuttering out the world,
seeing only the pictures
painted on the inside.

Then her ears;
small and neat,
her head cocked,
to scoop up the murmurings
that hovered at the edge.

Lastly her lips,
that I remember she licked
just before they began to move,
silently committing
the unseen words to memory.

I whispered to her once,
‘where do you go’
but could tell by her eyebrows
that she didn’t understand.

So tonight I will write,
about the girl who disappeared
and the man
who, years later, would wonder
how she could run away
without ever leaving the room.

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Thirteen, wrapped in spider milk dreams,
she steps from the kerb, warning unheard
beneath melodies and verse.

She remembers it hard;
metal-glass shards of light,
sun bright, plucking at tearless eyes.

Years pass, everything fades,
even the blade that snaked from her
quiet throat past whalebone white.

And still, as she dreams, she steps
from the kerb, warning unheard
beneath sonnets and song.

This time, no metal chassis,
just his hard body slamming
into her small, soft frame.

He takes her, broken and bruised,
while she chases her mind
through sunflower fields

her tongue catching
on one beautiful word
after another.

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry