Your friends and my friends all speak a different language

and it is the language of complete contentment

they are content with doing absolutely nothing and receiving no praise for it

and we

we’d rather live as free as ever

with hopes clinging to our feet as we run

and run

and run.


I Am Although Not

There’s these “other” artists

they add the “other”

because they can’t think of anything else and they’re the same as your standard artists

except they complain about everything and anything and try to resolve it through poetry.

I am no “other” artist

I’m too lazy to express myself through anything other than these words

so perhaps I am

an “other” artist

someone too absorbed with their own self to see through the blank page and out

out into the openness of something other.

Trace to Measure

The signs on the walls are spelling something

something is trying to get its way out

out through the bricks

through the emptiness

through the rain

it’s trying to get out

and these signs

they’re flashing up

then disappearing

then flashing


the point is

no one is listening

no one is looking

the signs are everywhere but ignorance positions itself wider

in the middle of minds

screaming into the ears of the faces passing.

If only we could wake up

what a refreshing world we’d live in

bathe in

breathe within

if we took the signs as a friend

and laughed with it

listened to it

loved it

the words would begin to ring true

just as these

except stronger

stronger than one’s own murmurings but smaller than them all.


We’re drinking to nothing in particular

but they want a toast

so we say

here’s to…


and they cheer

and we drink

and morning comes

and faces leave

and we sit

and we think

and we drink

and we remember

and we live

here’s to living!

their laughter still erupts whenever we try to open the door

so we stay inside and drink and cheer and laugh at the sounds of ourselves.


My mind still can’t process the fact that you’re gone

I suppose time will continue

ageing us all

but I still can’t believe you’re gone.

The days are dragging

and I have everything to do

with a space in my vision

left only for you.

If you could see me now

face down in bed

you’d think I was the one dead!

I know this poem is not really a “poem”

it’s just my hands moving

brain spinning

thinking of you

but I still

even now

can’t believe you’re gone

with these thoughts spinning

hands moving

tears coming

I love you.

The Day

I’ve learnt now, that life, it’s precious. I am not going to possess this body forever, it will wither away and like the flowers my mother continues to plant, I’ll eventually disappear to, getting lost within the soil. The truth does not bother me quite as much as I once thought, the end comforts, hugs my bones; it needs me and I too, need it.

My body feels heavier now, almost as though the whole world is spinning on my shoulders. I no longer fear getting older. I’ve learnt now, that life, it’s not forever but simply forever in our minds sense. I could go on forever! And I think I just might.

Meal for 25

There’s a space at the table, we’re all here but she

she’s not.

My mother’s crying, tears running down onto the plate and I

I want to go home but it seems this is my home and we’re all just stuck in hell together

and my father’s cracking jokes that land in the silence of the tablecloth and I’m staring, fixating on the food on my plate- I must eat, I must eat, I must-

and the space stays empty

I thought she’d return, spring from the grave like a vampire but this

it isn’t a film

she’s gone, she is

and my father’s jokes echo

and my mother’s tears follow

and my emptiness, it disappears with the first mouthful of food.