within a glance.

perchance a display, lit brightly by the power above
documenting a costal horizon from childhood pass
a scent of salt laden air mixed with vanilla cones
comes to mind.

locked up within a surrounding, of cream paper
a black frame, containing memories so distant
masterstrokes of watercolour talent
ocean to land.

shovelling coal into a furnace to fuel said light
which brightens up this floating image
of days gone by
innocence lost.

I sit alone and glance at a painting in a frame on the wall, I place myself inside it. It’s warm and beautiful. I study the frame holding it and compliment the glass container which is giving it light.

strange things i do alone in the night.

I wanted to write.

I wanted to write but could not. I sneezed and coughed and looked at myself in the mirror.
I wanted to write but I slept. I snored and I tossed and I turned in my bed in its sweet warmth.
I wanted to write but I cooked. I ate and I drank and I sat whole the food digested deep inside.
I wanted to write but I browsed. I watched and I admired and I thought why don't I write.

I wanted to write. I wrote about what stopped me from writing, I wrote and I thought and then I stopped.


A beautiful thing petals crimson and soft.
if you grip too tight torns will cut, a river of blood will flow down
to a chest with a heart beating with no meaning

rose thats wilted petals turned dark and violent
ready to fall to pieces
if you grip the torns still strong still sharp.

I was a Rose, You were a rose

Suit of Bread

I’m gonna wear a suit of bread for my pigeons to eat,
Run to the park and scream out loud it’s dinner time, a treat
The pigeons flock and caw and fly right to my bread lined clothes
And I stand there a buffet, but then there came the crows

The crows couldn’t contain themselves they came from east to west,
hearing on the grape vine of my wheaten; tasty chest,
a murder of them swooped in and started pecking hard
The pigeons fled defeated, free meal taken by crow charge.

the suit of bread no longer white but now a cloak of black
crows cawing, scratching, pecking now there was no turning back.
the crust turned to dust to reveal my naked skin,
the crows kept eating heavily, ravenous full of sin
their gluttony took both my eyes but yet they wanted more

then all was left, a pile of bones
its me dead on the floor.