Leafy Bones

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

Dear Quiet thing

Dear Quiet thing
your slumber is unblushed.

lithe and forbidden
my desires tousle my spines,
dear coffee, dear shower, dear bed
you're not quite as divine.

Breathe catches my tongue
sober the sombre daylight,
with guilty mane without much to tell.

Dear Quiet thing
your slumber is unblushed,
lace snapped and gnarled
I am heaving mockery
and dust on your little soul.

Our forgetful ballet.

Oh Quiet thing,
oh my quiet things.

Cool as a cucumber

If I am,
I am at all,
I am bound.

Alphabetically diced
musically ambitious my paint drips to meet
your shadow.

I am mesmerising
enticing, exciting, different
and done.

Microwave- ding!
Not quite the taste of the slow,
but I am here and now and wonderful whilst I last!
But I am always, always, always on the go.

Quietly I sink
to my unforgotten world,
because If I am,
I am at all,
it is I who remembers myself;
the folly, the flippant, the brawl.

Waltzing the void

I am being the coward I loathed,
shady under my clothed
the beds re-made day to day,
scratching as old leaves fall;
my body is always in autumn.

Certainty heavy,
I already miss,
I simply do not know what to do.

But I know I cannot commit to problems
and I know I cannot commit to solutions.
I am an allusion amidst the mirror,
but the host
is unrecognisable.

This is my post for the Gooseberry Garden and DVerse Poets, I'm afraid it's miscellaneous really, but here it is anyhow. Thank you for reading :) x

The nothing

I've been sent here to discover nothing is left to be discovered but that notion alone.
And now that its done,
should I simply become
no- one?

Thursday, 24 November 2011


At misery crossroads,
there are no great cast aways'
Just paw printed
pre-fossil life.
Beyond the flesh
those mesh of atoms,
Tracing limbed blueprints
till the workers

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

Point of return

I'll lay my love in these letters,
and how I'm so close to them being the last.
What is here for me?
You say you understand you are only part of me,
but yet you are the only part I can see.
Don't hate me for dreaming
for scheming,
for wondering if I can't be either or.
Tonight I am alone
colliding with the million voices
Tonight I am young
with limited youth beyond me,
wondering what point of my life this is?
Do I work to die with all my selfishness unfulfilled?
Come with me and let me have it all.

Analytic puddles

I will speak statistic,
interpret eyelashes,
look at walls which only invite
the collection of spacious nothings.

Sunday, 20 November 2011


My brain is running down my fingers,
My brain is slopping on my soldiers,
My brain is yellow
My brain is yellow
And yet I don't enjoy it one bit.

Tuesday, 15 November 2011



This is my poem for the The Gooseberry Garden Week 13. For me childhood, dreams, books and role models all fit in one, they float around in my inner child, and I don't think I'll ever grow up and out of their ingrained memory. I hope you enjoy it.


I've never been special
but in my heart and yours.
Cave-scribing till I understood
whilst singing in the garden.
The last time my hair fell in my eyes,
I'd become grown.
Shoelaces binding stories
and my sketches
to memories that
can no longer breathe alone.
My clouded head
grazing on love,
I will try to avoid walking
with my hands in my pockets-
I promise.

Back from out of space..

Forgive me, I just started a new job (at Waterstones huzaah Books!) and been unwell, so I have been a bad community spirit! I should be back into the swing of things soon though :) Hope everyone has a creative if not beautiful day xxx

Inside the ribcage

She's difficult-
interchangeable, indescribable.
And until we're in agreement
my mind can't keep up.

Inside the ribcage
nest upon nests are made,
and maybe I am in there too.

Compass to masses:
stranded out here,
in your beautiful arms- outstretched
across the miles
that descend loneliness.
That ascend her clots.

Picnic on the marrow,
she beats a thousand drums;
land, home, hereafter.
Tomorrow it will be plain,
and tonight in vain.

Thursday, 3 November 2011


I saw a dead mouse
next to a dead kitten
and in the corner the dog
dead too.

What tragedy
could cause these three
to not chase another again?
Well it was in the kitchen
I saw the rotten stew,

slightly nibbled in
paw prints.
That was when I thought
of the butler
and noticed him lying down
face a greyish blue.

Monday, 17 October 2011

Running shoes doorstop

Salt away my sorrow
Till I forget the past completely,
I don't remember the love
The lived or you,
But pains still burrows
Unloading empty casket.
To be free of you
Would to be free from myself,
My movement as placid in this dim place
Is still more than I ever dared venture.
I am lost, lonely and in love again,
Life stuck on the conveyor belt
Waiting to extend to new roads.
How do I defeat the old with the new
When opportunity rushes ahead?

I dream of ease rather than fortune,
Of accomplishment rather than gain,
And as I often dither
I gaze upon my running shoes,
That time of year again,
To pick up, start off and train
For the new game,
And give myself a head start.

Will I bare the snow as well,
As when last winter fell?
Will I steam through dusk
To find springs of day,
Will the branches bare
To travel me a new way.

Friday, 14 October 2011

From my window

From my window
I find the winds dust,
greying up my view with every dusk,
it stains and grows mould,
to be wiped and do over again,
whilst my reflection grows old
and the seasons grow cold.

Window to window,
the world and I
looking on each other
as we slowly slip
through wherever we fall,
the tireless movement.

Thursday, 13 October 2011


Sweet heart you lay me,
And I can't hear the streets,
Every specter dissolves to
Blue nectar

I am foreverly canal knots
To timid for the bow.
If I open my eyes
Will the skies
Be sour?

I am in debt
For taking the sapphire
Flames to admire
Atlantis beckons in sweet hearts.


Here's some spoken word for http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/ I hope you enjoy it :)

Okay, this is my first attempt at this poem out loud and at filming so forgive me if you will if it's a bit off :) I will be performing tomorrow at Liverpool Poetry Slam, if I don't freeze up of course ;)

You can see the written poem on this post http://strangemouth.blogspot.com/2011/10/diversity.html

Wednesday, 12 October 2011

Old Nelly

Old Nelly so blue
hasn't the notes to do
some say she's a one hit wonder
but she knows she's made of thunder
singing those sad chord days,
she plays her jazz in new ways.

Old Nelly play the nose,
ring out the sax
and soak the audience with your hose,
stamp them with the facts,
Old Nelly's back!


I was born out of a number,
Faces defining my world,
and I've always been inclined to cumber
the distress I witness at this berth
against the figure.

Yes, the figure that is and is not,
because I have no culture, no heart, nor home.
I am something light tricks to be, an illusion of diversity,
the colour of your teething bone,
the greatest profanity
being humanity,
I am much less-the unfortunate- the unknown.

Words are nothing without your lips,
and spite can't see without some tongue.
So being human cannot reason
without some puncture to the lung.

If there is a God he is not here,
the reliance of invisibility
is one to me
an unintelligibly cowardliness of fear.
You want the air, to take care of what you said was your own will.
You want new souls to suffer for an ancient bill.
You want me to stand and say I am sorry for something I haven't done,
when you're the one,
who is ticking the times tables incorrectly.

Today will be tomorrow and soon after the great past,
If you don't want history
to be seeded in misery
then you should stand out and make it last.

I was born out of a number,
mathematically spiralled into life,
and so far I still find it a struggle
to understand the joy of waking.

To be born is to be alone,
To live is to be surrounded,
To die is to be free,
but for that you must work first.

And I don't barter with this curse,
if there is nothing- I may as well exist a little first.
But what I can't compose is how I see these faces,
where others separate by numbers, words and races,
I only see one in the mirror:


This is my entry for the DVerse Poets Open Link Night (http://dversepoets.com/) Hope you enjoyed reading it if you stumbled upon me, check out some of the other poetry by following this link http://www.blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=dversepoets&postid=09Oct2011

Monday, 10 October 2011

The Musics On

Like the common thread we sew
of the ink running through my torso
like the common waves rise
to make the cliff crashing demise
that laps them back to the sea,
You and me,
the worlds biggest profanity
whispering shell oceans
and paint splattered commotions
the artist plays
on the canvas ways

Wednesday, 5 October 2011

KiddieKat Crawl

Pitter Patter kitty's natter,
meow on the wall
eight to go after the fall-
what a whisker risk-er!
And such a minxy tinker!
The paws at the door
straight to the cupboard crumb
sneaky biscuits for the tum,
and into the hall a cry "Mum!-
What's for dinner?"


Thank you for all the encouraging comments yesterday :)

They are all much appreciated.


Tuesday, 4 October 2011

As I walk amongst you all

I have a confession.

It's about time and what it meant,
it's about memories and how they are spent,
it's the truth and the truth is
that I am clueless.

And for all these things
tumbling away,
I didn't secure my own mask first...

I don't vaguely remember if either or any of us
were saved,

or if I am here
or if I am there,

I opened the book
and fell defeat
a little oozing animal,

So sweetly delicate
cast upon me-
this disarray.

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

An atom

The pockets of the lab coat
spread out the walls
to that one laid
The room is cream
and the bed brown,
the hair red
as the eyes green.
As far as opposites
the machine's in my heart.

I brought it
to tie it
to creep the darks
and shut the solitude
into one evolutionary
surviving anatomy,
but maybe the fittest fall
for a finer tune.

I got on a bicycle

I have you in the front lobe
curving and grinding,
I have it like something sweet,
as I was,
and I got on a bicycle
an felt the same.
But it wasn't you I remembered
but me.

Tuesday, 20 September 2011


For your own benefit,
let me love you.


Can you know?

She knew, knew, knew so well
well as the ocean
she'd fall her halves
till she'd known.

and it'd been done

For your decision

its not to be spoken,


like serpent feet-
hardly at all their...

smiles in the Evergreen.

I make clay faces

I make clay faces,
there not big
not small
not anything,
because I make clay faces.

I'd paint garden benches
and put them in your kitchen,
sew your jeans
and put the kettle on.

But I make clay faces
washing away to stone,
made of my own,
grey, white, terracotta,
no mouths- nor eyes.
Just Hands.