Two Roads | Poetry

I would put a disclaimer in here about my views but I’m not really fussed about what people think. Title is going through transitions. For now let’s call it Two roads . Click the link to read 🙂 Advertisements

The Woman

The one lies in bed post-puke. The other writes poetry on vodka. – A machiavellian nightmare  hunting for space between thought. – Meting out pain in stanzas too brittle to hold her haikus too slim For his mind. – shot, shot, shot, shot  she is pregnant with abuse. – blood and water and pain congratulate…

Performing my Poetry

I’m sharing a poem with you. 🙂 Happy World Poetry Day. I hope you love it. If you do, let me know!  

Because dirty old men in pubs inspire spoken word.

MENCHA  The guitar hasn’t been played for seven years and twenty nine days. It lies on its side, lovelessly leaking. At every pub crawl, I ask the poor lost soul, Paul, what he plans on doing with such an instrument. He shrugs, says ‘nought’ with northern affectation, pours me another cider, grins wider then shuffles…

Agápē’s Apprentice

You are the reason I create; You are the author and pioneer of all art You are the universal need of the soul, You satiate our soul’s hunger.   I create because I want to. No. I create because I want to REFLECT YOU.   “The person I have for you, will love with My…

To Whom It May Concern

I love a nameless face This body for future hands to own.                                      Project emotion onto a blank slate; You wear a question mark for a face. From every pore It pours. This love, my dear, liquid fire….

The Interpreter

I try to love you from afar In agreement and obedience. In bursting orange stars In studio time. Extra time. In one hundred and forty characters. @ This story has been edited One hundred and forty times to fit your thoughts. Your responses Fly @me With – I assume – little Regard for mine. You…

Unromantic Reasons to Date a Writer

Date a writer because she’s weird. She’ll wake in the midnight haze, post-nightmare, eyes glazed and before seeking comfort she will grab a pencil. She will take time to scrawl down the ghoulish images before they fade. She has learnt by now that fears are concrete inspiration. She has learnt to turn the darkness into…

Lilliputians and I

-An old one- I am not sure how this all began The shipwreck was but a trigger I can’t escape – though you think I can – From webs of Lilliputian snigger Leave me alone, Lilliputian folk You control my every moment Beat me and fasten me to a yoke To enjoy my merciless torment…