“I’ve been thinking.”

Hannah’s head lifted from her chest as her grandfather spoke.

“Whistonwick church is rather quiet, rather peaceful wouldn’t you think?”

“I suppose.” said Hannah. She rolled her neck experimentally and hissed. She should have taken her mother up on that neck support cushion thing that always seemed to be somewhere on her person. It may have been the most horrendous colour in existance, and smelt oddly like onions, but at least it would have saved her another cricked neck.

“You don’t get many people trudging around Whistonwick anymore.” continued her Grandfather. “Bit of a sleepy place now and it seemed so… well not busy as such, but busier, back when I was a kid I mean. I suppose you must think that was centuries ago.” he chuckled. The laughter shifting, morphing into lung lurching chokes which sent Hannah onto her feet.

“Easy, easy.” she soothed. “Here, the nurses left you some water earlier.”

Her grandfather scowled at the plastic cup she presented him with.

“You would think they’d let me have whisky. Bein’ on my last legs and all. Not like it can do much harm now, liver’s half knackered as it is and my heart is plotting to give out on my anyway.” He passed the cup back to her and Hannah placed it on the little side table.

“Don’t be morbid.” she said. “You know what the doctors are saying, they still think you can pull through.”

“Ah my darlin.” He caught her hand inside his own, curling his bent fingers as best he could to hold onto her. “Always hopeful, just like your mother. But I’m not goin’ to pray for anymore time, I’ve had more than my fair share for all the good I’ve done in this world. You and your mother, you’ve got all that time left, and you shouldn’t be here wasting it next to old man who spends most of his time asleep.”

“I like spending time with you.” Hannah whispered.

“And I with you my darlin’, and I with you.” he smiled.

Continue reading “Whistonwick”

Upon The Fingers Of One Hand

You can count them on one hand,

those ones that mean the most

care the most

put up with the most.


You can gather acquaintance like confetti,

but there are always gaps between fingers

where people fall through

and when the wind sweeps by

it will leave you with empty palms.


Those ones who cling on,

who can be counted on one hand

are the ones who’ll scale mountains,

dig beneath oceans,

trek over desert

and parachute in over enemy territory.


All for the sake

of standing in the background

to push you forwards,

when the spotlight seems too bright.


Continue reading “Upon The Fingers Of One Hand”


We cluttered stone angels around your headstone,

in the hope,

that even if our faith had been misplaced,

they would be real enough

to keep you company,

and displace the bitterness

we soaked into your final peace,

when we gave our last goodbyes

and prayed to one we thought selfish.

Halloween Haiku

Closeup of a human skull.


I will take my seat,
To watch the skeletons dance,
While you carve my name.


Crack down to marrow,
Beneath the glitter of blood,
And the ragged flesh.

Written for the ‘Horrid Haiku’ prompt currently running at ‘Morbid-Poets’ on Deviantart.


What do you see that I cannot?
Some purity within this old rot?
But why should it encompass me –
When it is not what I can see?
And what deserves attention so –
When it drags far from life’s full flow?
Should I be here both blind and mute?
Would a parchment skin better suit?
For I see darkness in your light,
Have no true faith in greater might,
And where once I could find your eyes…
I see that now but glass resides.