Leafy Bones

Thursday, 26 January 2012

Student shopping list

Remember you're well skint
but treat yourself to a pint
then a pill
and a designer duvet,
as long as I'm going
I'll keep buying till I feel comfortable enough to
not look so dodgey in your shop,
even though I've been here 10 times before
walking the floor
for the non-brand noodles.
Stash the rest for tonight,
have a glass of pinot
and just a drag
get yourself some crisps-
maybe a large glass.
I'll have a shot but I hate them
I'll do a line but it does nothing for me
I'll buy this now because I can't quite remember if I have it in this colour,
and by the way I'll have another
whiskey and coke,
make it a double and diet-
3 times lucky as long as you don't get stuck in the hole
Don't eat- get a donnar
don't eat- don't eat- don't eat.
And a pen-
make it a nice one and a plastic one,
you'll only break one up for the shoot.
Remember we've got to be quiet,
SCREAM and laugh
and laugh and scream
and go and see these doctors about those recurring dreams,
get twelve extensions
and 1 with every meal,
slice them nice
ring your fella
go back and grin
you're nice and thin
and fat and fat and fatten you up
we're better-
never gone, just another
and another
and keep smiling
Itch it now it'll be like chicken pox,
just keep laughing
and you'll be dandy.

Inky eyed reflection

I hate to say "you're right"
so I wont.
My life is a ticket for an empty showing,
thousands of masterpieces
that aren't worth knowing,
My eyes can't be trusted,
and especially after a glass of two,
neither can I.
Vodka made me brag for singing
but the truth came out
when I said I'd lost my voice in a fight with a bull.
I hate to say "you're right"
because it is so miserably wrong;
to be made for writing
and writing made from pain.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

The bible and the babble

Dear father
who art in my veins,
voices of vice
birthed in the contrite lice
running the apocalypse down
my suspicious lanes.
Dear mother
who laid the sacred nill,
your intoxified vanity
spread nails to my will
but could not kill
the sanity
I let spike my facial
Good girls listen and work
whilst they obey
they never feel dismay
they know what they are
and who they can't.
Stay my shephard
crying from wolves bitter
I will carry sins
of my nothings,
your hushing,
on my imploding muse.

But not whisper at all
so not to hurt you.

Monday, 23 January 2012

The letter to Oz

Fear is love
and there is nothing more ferocious than the creature herself.
Listening quietly and glazing politely
wishing crooked smiles on the windowsill,
enraptured fingers hovering over your desolate skin.
You loose your mind
it'll never come back,
not without the rats and worms.
Living with new memory
speaking, running, understanding
loneliness and fear.
Fear the affair that casts your endless sleep,
how I wish the kitten would lick my wounds once more.
The empty pit of conciousness
I know that of wrong
but I wish it right anyway.

Thursday, 12 January 2012


I have faith in you,
I see, I know, I believe in you;
but why is it those who have faith in what they see
always seem to regret it later,
and those of you have faith in higher places
will never know.

I have faith in me,
no guides or spirits make me see
that this life should count as much
as any eternal moment I will ever have,
I have faith in me.

But sometimes I'm irreversibly wrong,
and rude and disappointing and even weak.
I say I believe but it's just to keep me going,
keep me knowing that if there is nothing left for my bones
when they have sung their last crack
they'll be none the wiser than I am in that moment.

Faith in nothing,
faith in anatomy and logics that keep me to the ground-
soon I'll be in it,
and that's all there is to it,
to keep me believing in nothing
but all the beauty I see.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012


The snow has forgotten our appointment,
and the sun has forgotten where to shine,
hour after minute after the loss of time
twilight is around us
until the dark begins again.

Sunday, 8 January 2012

Woman on street in B&W

I'm on the tip of your capture, licking acid in red light, with your thumb staining the grey blur I became. A momentum ruined by the light.

Pack up your tins and help me make some money dear,
the oil drenched her beauty
and she's only been gone,
she has only been gone
Wash away and she'll only be gone.

And I felt like tonight was today,
set on my heart having done it's pay,
but the rims have rings where the eyeball lives,
and the trunk gives away its age
like the knuckles of your grandparents do.

I'm on the tip of your capture, licking acid in red light, with your thumb staining my grey blur,I became a moment ruined by delight.

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Bunny in my robes

I pulled an eggshell
from my bed,
and thought what omelets had been made-
but alas only scrambled, chucked, poached
and fried I could think of,
with one acceptance
a bunny gave.


When you are able
to own up to the pen
that bled that tear,
you wont be able to write
a single truth
to it.

Memorial for the black coat

And in any hour
she would tare aware my gaze
the scoured flacks
of cheekbone,
hungry for face.

Memorial for the black coat;
never really gone though,
are you?

Wednesday, 4 January 2012

Inside the ribcage

here is an art version of my poem Inside the ribcage :)

Also links onto my facebook fan page if you would bless me with a like :) xx


The rolling twenties

I'm in love with a sailor
who cruises deadly swamps,
his eyes are scarce under his eyelashes
though big as the pools he plunders,
so I can't tell what he is thinking
whilst his lips move or cease to part.

I'm in love with a sailor
who has emptied my heart,
of it's liver, of it's guts, of its frost bitten blood.
In place there is dewy bark,
of my ever complicated woods-
but like the rain forests drenched in sun
the floor is an eclipse of it's stature.

I'm in love with a sailor
who rids me of all life,
and I am to live
as ever in the darkness of knights.
Dear traveller I cannot see you so far off,
my eyes are over age
for the dreams you left me to lead
me, in that other universe...

but without them,
what, without them?
Shelves of ideas of words of numbers of
realities that drain lemons
to make bitter lemonade.

Happy New Year :) DVerse Poets and The Poetry Palace poets too x

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

The barble and the Garbfish

"Not I"
"Not me"
said the Barble and the Garbfishy!
"It must be her!"
"The cat!"
and there she sat,
oh so fat devouring the poor little rat-
(subsequently, Ratty squeeled
"it could be worse, your skin could be getting peeled!"
and Barble bubbled and bloated
whilst old Garb he giggled and gloated
"It could be worse, we could be a rat!"
-"no, no" said Barble "a cat,
who must dine on a rat,
to get so fat,
I'd rather anything but that!"
and they both did roar,
until they stopped roaring that is).

"Silly mog, it's time to work!"
and with twink of her second left whisker down,
the place began to drown,
"spinn spannn spick spock"
(she purred)
"What a devious feline you've got!"
(the rodent eeked),
Old Poseidon let the Dolphins loose,
who played chess with a portrait and stole a goose!
Whilst Barble battled a belly dancing jelly fish,
hanging on to a genie granted a pig it's final wish
and Garbfish swam
the deadly mile of hangerclam-
but all too soon...
The doorbell zapped them all
and so the dust fell from the wall
and so it was ready for the call
from their relatives...

"To dinner my dear"
"To tea indeed"