When I Say English And Pretend I Don’t Mean Weak #DVersePoets #OpenLinkNight

I’m very English sometimes,


to the stranger staggering by,

shoulder swung into mine,

sorry caught in the air

with the dust cloud he trails.

So I’ll repeat

in case repetition makes up

for distance,

for an inability to find fire

until much later on

when I am a city or more


and still thinking about bone

and muscle

and a sharp snap of ‘move


No please.


Image by Grae Dickason from Pixabay

This Place Is A Bog Where I Cannot Swim

I have tried to rise above but some days are like mires,


memories bubble up from the ground to catch my feet,

and there’s no pushing past the darkness

when the backs of my eyelids become cinema screens

for the voice in the my head that’s always judging every move I make.

It tells me friends are only pretending to my face,

and when I’m gone they are talking about me.

It knows exactly what they are saying when I’m out of earshot

so it repeats the words like a mantra

over the patter of memories I thought dealt with,

sealed into their graves long ago,

but somehow resurrected just when everything seemed

to be going so well.

This type of cold cannot be shrugged off,

instead it chills every bone in my body

to the point where I become brittle as glass,

ready to shatter at the slightest tremor.

Somebody tell me,

how do I rise above this?

Daily Post: Above

In The Back Of My Head

I’ve already put more thought into your next sentence than you have.

Can you hear them?

All the words chattering behind my eyes

working out a way to get inside your mouth?

I know you’re not a bad person.

Lord knows I know you would never say these things!

But there’s that part of my brain

ticking over and over and over and over

and each time it ticks there’s another snipe, jeer, remark

worming deeper into my grey matter

to the squirming core of lies I create for myself.

When I go home I will dissect this conversation.

Post-mortem my comments until I’ve found every mistake.

Run your talk through countless translations

hunting for the hidden meanings you didn’t plant

just so I can wonder what you meant by it

and who else you could have said it to?

All the while we will be smiling,

all the while we will be happy,

all the while I won’t say anything about these thoughts

buzzing in my brain.



Last week I was reading a post by Suzie Speaks about overthinking, something I have a fair amount of experience with. It reminded me of the start of this poem and I decided that it might be worth giving it another visit. Suzie’s post is well worth a read so if you get the chance I recommend dropping by her blog and taking a look for yourself. You could even write your own post on the subject. I’ve found that often with these things, the best way to tackle them is by talking about them and a single post can be the start of a much bigger conversation.

After all, WordPress is a community, and if you can’t share your experiences here, then where else can you?



My chest has drawstrings.

Some days they pull so tight

my lungs cram up into my throat.

They stop words from forming,

keep me from telling you why

I can’t keep my hands still

or quite catch my breath.

They keep me trapped, alone.


Quadrilles are perhaps my favourite form of poetry at the moment. They’re short, sharp, and oh so punchy. Tonight’s prompt from the dVerse Poets Pub is to write a quadrille using the word ‘fear’ as your inspiration. Unfortunately this is a word I have a fair amount of experience with, I’ve let anxiety box me into corners more often than I like to admit.

If you want to join in then click the badge above and check out the pub and all its patrons. I’ve no doubt they’ll be overjoyed to meet you.