Bathroom Mirror |
New weight clings thin to
Edge; Jutting structure
Sucks,
Hold,
Stand,
Arms back. Slung shoulder bone slides
Beneath the beige.
Crooned neck, bobbed gulp.
Short breaths, hollow eyes.
An hourly morphi... Posted by on Fri, 02 Nov 2007 07:25:00 GMT |
Chin-Seng |
Its four am.
The goosestep beats fold over ten.
Six balding overweight men share
Polystyrene trays and chuck their guts outside Chin-Seng. A
Lipstick stained wine glass shatters in the road right then... Posted by on Fri, 02 Nov 2007 07:23:00 GMT |
New Medication |
Sombre strips of rugged road lead left across the field
To where butterflies and caterpillars die.
Now a wind is crawling in and clouds skull-fuck the sky
Paper creeps from holes down where you kneel.... Posted by on Sun, 19 Aug 2007 08:28:00 GMT |
Blocks - a short villanelle poem |
Broad strokes brush the foxtail sky
Over London's crispy morn, and
There is no more content than I
Filing through this cluttered pile until
Out of dirt and dust we're born, as
Broad strokes br... Posted by on Sun, 06 May 2007 07:02:00 GMT |
If you actually wanted to know... |
..>
Basics:
Name:
James
Date of Birth:
The 30th of the December of the same year Bill and Ted was released.
Birthplace:
Farnborough hospital, south Greater London
Current Location:
Kin... Posted by on Sun, 06 May 2007 06:16:00 GMT |
The Comet |
The comet struck at ten thirty pm. Jennifer and I were left behind. Our families didn't know where we were when the government planes came to evacuate the town, or at least I don't think they did. The... Posted by on Thu, 03 May 2007 09:17:00 GMT |
Faith |
As it is known within the hearts of us all- that when the earth's scorn merely shatters our bones, the grand movement of men's minds possessed seeks retribution of our 'corrupt souls', tearing through... Posted by on Tue, 20 Mar 2007 13:25:00 GMT |
The tale of Mad John of Sevenoaks |
Sevenoaks is a humble hillside home to the city's suited slaves (though every plate of affluence has a salad of council flats), but amidst the private schoolchildren and their striking mothers, the ro... Posted by on Mon, 19 Mar 2007 12:11:00 GMT |
A (true-ish) tale of mine from Grammar School |
James was fifteen years old. His hair was cropped to the skull and his suit hung loosely off his tall wiry shoulders. The Teacher was fifty; a short and slightly podgy man with black hair like a distr... Posted by on Fri, 19 Jan 2007 10:25:00 GMT |
A true story about my father |
Young Peter could see through the curtain crack how autumn was drenched in life; open mouthed and tilting his chin to gaze above the rooftops and through the deep oceanic sky, under which all East Lon... Posted by on Fri, 19 Jan 2007 10:22:00 GMT |