poetry, shorts

Snow Globe Girl

Did it scare you,
When you realised that the top of your head
touched the stars in my universe?

That’s how I saw it you know.
Like a snow globe world encased in fragile glass.
Once you were a spec of swirling snow. You grew.

I had to climb ladders stacked on ladders to reach you,
But the stars are so much further away than they look,
And so was every inch of you.


Repeat Repeat Repeat

Originally written as a spoken word poem

Tell me again, Love,
why we were so confined.
I have it memorised, trust me but repeat.
repeat, hear, beg for a repeat, repeat. Rewind rewind, rewind.

Can you simplify it, Love?
I’m always drunk when it needs repeating, so simplify a little more.
You know I can’t leave it alone
You know I won’t believe it’s done.

Then where will be be?

Sober I’m red faced, can’t ask, what a waste,
The thing is that I have it memorised:
sober, drunk, asleep, unaware, insane, angry, upset –
every repeat like a hit,

“We were both messed up back then, and now it’s too late.”

Missed chances, shitty counselling and prescription pills.
Then: university – opposite ends of the country,
and I’m smoking, drinking, joking, not able to pay the bills.
You never reply, you never pick up and soon I forget to try.
I watch our collective inability to wait, converse, date.

‘We were both messed up back then, and now it’s too late’.

I hate begging for the repeat, but I need it,
particularly at a bus stop, 3AM on New Year ’s eve,
last time I’ll see you for months, and the thought’s too hard to conceive.
So with the memories of midnight imprinted on our lips
I’m gonna need our excuse

Because hey: ‘We were both messed up back then, and now it’s too late’.

poetry, Uncategorized

Retracing and Rewinding

Written in 2015, not submitted to any grading board.

Retrace your steps to recover –
turn around on your path, disrupt the dirt road.
turn around, turn around or find another.

Lost things may be found in dark corners,
but remember how dust and dark deny you definition.

Consider the lost hours:  you’ve turned, retraced –
And more time’s wasted.

Consider lost memory: thinking, photos, reminiscing –
think of all you’re missing.

Consider lost people: wonder, wonder ever wonder at the cost –
wonder wonder if they knew they were lost

Consider lost you –

Stop retracing, stop rethinking.
Deny dark corners new toys
Let lost things stay lost

If you can stop your mind– stop the rewind to things you’ll never find.


Four old Hoofprints

Submitted as part of a poetry anthology, AS Creative Writing, 2014. 

Four horses raced across the world,
astride were mighty angels – wings unfurled,
and swords of flame held high and swung
A song of death the angels sung.

The angel, grey and glorious,
behind her brought an offering of pus,
a shining crown atop her head
Watched as her pestilence was fed.

Upon the red horse, flame and fire,
Brought fury, strength, and wild desire,
and instilled hate in all man’s hearts,
and smiled and watched her bloody art.

The black horse devoured all to sate her famine,
and spat out those bereft of sin,
and drank and chewed and gorged upon
every other child, daughter, son.

And then the angel upon a white mare
and blood fell from her empty stare
and any left alive would have understood,
that death was all that remained of good.



Three short poems submitted in a poetry anthology, 2014, AS Creative Writing.

Alliterative allure

You kissed me and I felt fire
in your lips and teeth and tongue,
and I ignored the bites and burns,
in favour of your fervour.



She remembered the past in framed photos
Heavily edited, highly posed,
Brutally selected.



I envy the quiet rain
That lulls you to sleep
I am the storm that scares you.

Shouting at the skies
Rather than just whispering
My words while you sleep.

I envy delicacy
softness and quiet:
Obviously I envy




Submitted in a poetry anthology, 2014, AS Creative Writing. 

You can roll your tongue,
And you got it from your Mother.
You’re hair colour is your grandmothers
(Father’s side).

You learned to bite back
From TV, and teen teardowns,
and it made me laugh,
(and cry and rage and want to die)

You’re eyes look like your Father’s
but his have laugh lines and yours
examine my faults.
(How similar to your mother)

You learned to punch,
when you were nine.
You punched the wall once.
(I was scared I could crumble like that plaster)

You smile like your brothers;
easily, often, and brilliantly,
with chubby cheeks, and crooked teeth.
(Only not so often anymore)

You got your anger from me.
I pushed, and pushed,
and formed it in fire
(like a ancient smith makes swords)

(How proud I am, to have helped make you).

poetry, Uncategorized

The Treehouse

Submitted in a poetry anthology, 2014, Creative Writing AS Course. 

The house that reached the sky,
built by your ancestors,
I always thought the earth
had grown it just for you and I.

The house that swept the sun
Where we were Knights and Queens
Until the night rolled in,
And every battle left was won.

The house that weathered storms,
and civil wars between
our parents and ourselves,
And hiding there until day dawns.

The house that was too small,
the expended effort
To fit in small spaces,
Between claustrophobic walls.

The house that had been rotting,
Far longer than I’d known,
The ceiling falling in,
I watched our kingdom fall.