Poem: Blind

As I sit here hours milling away slowly,

let me tell you a story of a blind man and his sin.
He sees no colour to the seasons, 

they hold no meaning.

It’s the sounds that tell him season turn,

by the silencing trees and the crunch beneath feet.

It’s the fragrance that sing of spring,

or the bone chilling wind that heralds winter.

He tastes the earth through tangelo

or a glass of red,

but no way can he describe the beauty as we see. 
His eyes are his hands and feet, his ears and his skin. 

He can tell you many things, the way we dare not see,

but he can not read emotions on faces unseen.
Think not to fool a man who gives his friendship blindly. 

That sin is purely yours indeed.

Poem: Whole

Do not let her cry alone,

do not sing the blues

do not call names

in anger that consumes.

She walks with your hate and her fear

no energy left to battle on.

Wish it would stop but knows it won’t

not till her numbered days come.

All her jumbled feelings muddle

all the doubt and worthless bouts.

Do not let her cry alone, no.

For she may never come out whole.

She may never come at all.

(A poem that may not be much, but with it is the truth that you never know the demons one battles alone, so be kind, be wise, and most of all, ask that important question ‘Are you okay?’ It’s not mental health week but here’s to caring anyway.)

Poem: Carefree steps

I tend to generally write a poem that fits a novel I’m writing, and this I usually do without realizing. Must be the fact that that story subconsciously stays in my mind.

Carefree Steps is something I wrote and rewrote couple of days ago and it’s supposed to fit the new spec Ebony & Frank. But something doesn’t feel right or sound right. (The flu has muddled my brains!!)

Would love an opinion or two on this if any one is game. 🙂

Carefree steps

Into the darkness

strays carefree steps,

the dying light

sleeps amongst the land of promises

by morrow, the light will bring everything

but home

which by and large you passed

an age ago.

Poem: Night grows deep

So silent, the night grows deep,

deeper still lays something, watching 

the pinprick glistens, ever so slightly 

hidden behind a slivered space of the wooden paneling,

waiting, biding, enticed as you slip so comfortably into sleep.

As the night grows deep, beyond the walls 

it breathes.


With time, the night goes deep.

Poem: Ribbon

[The following poem is an exercise in working with writing prompts picked at random daily. Today’s prompts were crime genre and the line ‘a ribbon delicately tied around her neck’. The poem is for MATURE readers ONLY as it contains graphic imagery and violence and which by no means condones them.]


…ribbon adorns the pale canvas of her skin…

It wasn’t to be today, this day
the plan though still in progress
upon haphazard panic, betrayed.
…the contours of her body as she lay…
Was it fate, or a simple coincidence
that here we were
the quite hum of the day.
…those crystal clear eyes stare, steady, unflinching…
The clammy palms of mine give way
the pounding of my beats
the swelling emotions, swayed.
…the room awful quite as is she, still, compliant…
Why? I whisper. Look what you made me do?
I grip the handle tighter still,
against the warmth drips of red.
…the ribbon, and the stranger in his bed…
Fate or coincidence? He eyes get flash of blue and red.
[Prompts: ‘a ribbon delicately wrapped around her neck’, and genre Crime.]

Poem: Mused, amused. 

Musing, amusing, where you are?

Been days, an age, you gone too far?

How is the journey, bumpy bars?

Across the meadow, is the land too far?

Briefly, some grief, hopped over,

now the time is bright, some even say right,

so come on now, why don’t you come over?

We will play once more the wordy war

feeble be the story no more. 

Mused, amused, where you are?

Time’s a wasting, time’s awaiting 

all for your whim, your glory.

Muse, my muse, why so weary?

It’s only pen and paper I carry. 

(Going off the recent affinity to comic scripts, here’s a dip if the toe quite flamboyant indeed. You like? Any thoughts?)

Poem: Time

For you, I’d change the world,

back many moons, those unchained hay days

when we were young, not an ounce of weight

upon these slim shoulders weighed

nor a map for the road, just the sky as it were

dark, vast and sparkling

under whose influence we swayed

like young branches of now old trees

beside whom many a words were whispered

of promises and dreams dared for

despite the impossibility of mountains

out of mole hills

and dates that dissolved

a bit too soon for my liking

and there it was, that old age staring back

from the lined face for each lifetime I lived

in amongst the many stories told.

Time, how it changes worlds.

Poem: Ego 

Eager little birdies

stronger than their wings

aim as high as the fiery sky

unbeknownst the dive deep.

Sugary treats, as sugary can be

can no longer hide the bitter deed

as long as life lived

there can be no sanctuary of peace.

So goes the past, the present and indeed

the future you and I shall claim to see

while no ounce of honesty lies 

in the powers of flawed psyche. 

Tempted creed, long gone the days 

no innocence shall find ye

nor amongst the thorns and brambles

nor amongst the petals, no, no such thing.

Eager little birdies

with ill equipped wings.

Poem: Take my hand, lets leap

Search and ye shall find! At least that’s been the case. Found another poem I don’t believe I’ve posted on the blog gathering dust in the ‘Note’ app on my phone. I must have written this early last year when I was pretty much spouting on average 3 poetry a day on here. Don’t know how this one slipped through the cracks. So here it is, for those who are romantically inclined but hate to admit it. From me, to you. Share it around.

I also wouldn’t mind you share around a link to my short film anyone can watch for free on YouTube. The short horror, ‘The Circle’. http://youtu.be/OidYnl2p-_A

So here is that poem I was supposed to let you in on. This is…

Take My Hand, Lets Leap

I will offer you my hand

as we walk down this road in life

through storming weather and scorching sunshine

through our search and beaconed light

whether you will love me, whether not

I dare not leave and travel alone

I care not for lonely ponders

I offer you my hand

and walk beside you in delighted peace

seeing a smile upon your weary face

fear not, don’t despair

You have my hand, take it

and lets take a leap

with each other for company

down a road new and novel

down a path


for we are walking

each other

to that place

a place unknown

a place


Take my hand – and we walk together, love,

through the fog that lifts slowly

and we will one day upon the gates heavenly.

Poem: Bygone ways

Can it be you can breathe fire

in place of air?

Or touch the hot ice where ever it lay?

Feel the still wind against your skin,

or swim amongst the frozen water

like it all made sense?

Does the moon’s rays reach you like a fireplace 

and the sun douse out the heat of the night? 

Do mockingbirds sing of disarray

or can that all be repaired to the corners of mental grey?

Do the words sound melodious to the dead,

the colours brighter in blindness,

or the well toned muscles feel frayed?

So silly. 

So silly it is, the vanity of all that exists. 

For a moment forget, forget that you live not for you,

but for me,

the bygone ways.