Almost A Year On

Some days it’s like you’ve only just slipped through my fingers.

I’m still grasping for the tail-end of a thread,

trying to haul you back up, back to me

and everyone you left.

I feel guilty for the hollowness in my chest,

as if I don’t deserve to miss you this much.

I don’t believe I deserve to miss you this much

because I should have realised the acres of spaces you occupied

inside my head and heart

before the phone call rang in from your mother

and every worst fear was came crashing in like thunder.



For John

Daily Prompt: Harmonize

We’re not always in harmony you and I.

Some days my notes fall flat,

slip down the stanzas,

don’t match the tempo

thumping on right next to me.

When I feel you vibrating in my bones,

so close it almost hurts,

yet my own sounds come out as broken

scratching things

my throat aches to match you.

My lungs burn to swell and bellow.

To reach the stage you’re standing on

unaware I’ve sunk behind the curtain.

But I know I have to wait the darkness out.

Fight to find the spotlight again.


via Daily Prompt: Harmonize

I’ve not really been writing over the last few months so I’m not sure how this poem will go down. I might be a bit rusty. For some reason I just haven’t been able to sit down and write properly for most of 2017 so I’m hoping this post will mark the start of getting myself back into the habit of getting those words down on paper and doing something with my time.

Constructive criticism is always welcome so if you have any thoughts on how to make this piece a better then please type away in the comments below. It’s amazing how much my writing has improved since I started this blog and the comments I’ve got over the years have been just as much of a help as the practice.

Over The Edge

I have a fear of heights

but not just that,



steep drops,

most aspects of going downwards

too quick,

too fast.

So I’m confused,

as to why this new edge,

this metaphorical one,

leaves me so calm.

I suppose you,

might have something to do,

with all this…


It’s difficult to fear falling,

when you’ve got use to being caught.

Three Exits Past Memory Lane

We parked up three exits pasts Memory Lane,

you pushing keys on an old Nokia brick,

waving it across my seat for signal

while I sipped water,

bottled and lukewarm.

I didn’t say this was a waste,

though it was

of something.


You and your chase

for old conversations,

old moments,

an old haunt

you forgot and then remembered.

I stayed silent,

sipping water

and watching you wave.

Written for Inspiration Call: Creative Talents Unleashed list three.

A Little Green Book

You are as easy to read
as my mother’s little green book
the day
it came out of the washing machine
one solid
of gunk.

We dried it out
shelved above the rayburn
but the pages
never held together again
and the cover was lost
to detergent suds and bin bags.

Is that what you expect,
when contemplating outcomes
for maybe just once
letting someone see
a little more than this shell
you’ve carved to replicate
what people think is you?