Dream Girl

Inseparable from his vision he gazed awake.
Plentitude was her absence from his existence,
A dream but a dream now lost on the sunlight,
She was his meaning, his torment and his plight.

Through breakfast he reflected on her eyes.
Him through silent blue skies they could take,
And did with demanding effection on his reflection.
As he soared she poured into the distance …

… Never did she shine again on his unconscious,
A dream of love now time-held in darkness.

I Rule the Wastelands

Dust blows thick ‘cross the cold wide emptiness,
Like a devilish uncontrollable spirit with a naked purpose.
It gets in my eyes,
And it gets in my hair.
It gets in my mouth,
I spit it out, I don’t care.
Island of waste,
Ocean of dryness.
Nothing to race for I am the highness.
Grains of sand
Escape through the gaps between the fingers of my hands.
They ride the wind,
I watch as I stand.
I rule the wastelands.

Here I sit upon my ragged throne,
Watching over my land of sorrowful decay.
I built this world,
I want to rebuild this world,
My nightmare makes me weep,
Put headphones on your ears,
Put reasons in your tears,
Then you can go to sleep.

I rule the wastelands,
With understanding untrue eyes.
My power is my food.
I rule the wastelands.
The valleys, the trembling mountains, the steepest rise,
I laugh in the nude.
My nudity and mental poverty,
Hang me,
From the Tree of Twisting Misery,
But I’ll return to me my dream,
And I’ll see what I have seen,
And I’ll remain the King.
Whatever time will bring,
Fruitful or frightening,
Loving or fighting,
Tumbling pastures green,
Or diminishing wastelands cruel,
I’ll rule!

Silent Cigarette

Little cigarette,
Burning slowly and emitting a smoke that waltzes with my imagination, hypnotising, rising.
Curling swirling, beautiful misty twisting.
Silent cigarette. Burning slowly a mixture of tobaccos, enwrapped in a delicate skin of fine paper –


Held tightly in its length by gum, and the memory of the stroke, from my loving tongue.
Decreasing in length,
Increasing in strength,
As I draw.
The deadly and the tasty marry my lungs,
Soft and warm and doing me harm… wonderful, making me younger than young.
Smoke now streams from my nostrils as if escaping,
Feeling guilty of raping my lungs,
And rising ash invades my eye,
Bringing it to water – creating a tear, more or less,
As though it were suggesting I should cry,
For the endless friendship between us, or the decaying in my chest.
Gently I tap the little cigarette, and ashes drop,
Into a small mound of memories occupying the ornate but cheap glass ashtray.
Growing little pile of dead paper, dead wood, dead ash.
A dull construction, little cigarettes as the architects, for this necropolis black and gray.

Little cigarette,
Coming to an end. Outliving your usefulness,
I pull at you hard for the last taste before I stop the burning, cut the smoke.

Pressing you into the mound to die and join the others,
I thank you for your pleasure. My lips are dry so I make them wet.
No more smoke, no more burning for now.
Silent cigarette.


There was a man,
Who looked at the sun too long,
And went mad.
He pulled a funny face,
And the wind changed.
He looked at rude pictures,
And went blind.

He was suffering 21 years
Of bad luck.
For breaking three mirrors.
And 3 years more for
Walking under ladders.

He was the blind mad man
With a funny face.

Love or Suicide

Slay me, sweet death.
If there is love… where is it?
I am weak.
Come to me, I’m blind and deaf.
If you have love… bring it.
I can’t sleep.

Leave me, black life.
I am dust, I am crushed, like bone.
Trust me, death.
You’re light, you’re nice.
You have words, you have lips… I’m alone.
Kiss me.

A Multiple of Six

Victor moves and slips a lie into between the truth,
To wash a stain of ungratifying pleasure ungratified, so he cannot move,
Vanessa bares teeth to grin for no apparent reason,
And leafs go brown as Autumn begins to swallow the Spring season.
Victor vanishes into the mud.
Bad is beautiful, spit out the good.
Vanessa vows faithfulness for as long as long.
But bad is wrong, and good is wrong.
Or maybe bad is right, or good is right and wrong.
Maybe Victor is the singer, and Vanessa the song…
Purple emotions wrapped in black dance with the unknowing boy.
The Swan swallows a snowflake and never leaves the lake, but her feathers are crimson, oh boy.
Crimson’s skeletal hands.
Crimson’s stars fall into the lake in brilliant white streaming strands,
Victor watches from the side,
Vanessa swims, will she drown? No? Yes? I can’t decide,
Says Victor.
The mind seems weaker and yet the demand for knowledge is stricter.
I love you in a special way, Vanessa. I do.
I love you Victor. I do.
Vanessa kicks Victor in the heart with a devil’s hoof.
Victor moves and pulls Vanessa into between the truth.
I love you in a special way, Vanessa. I do. In more ways than six.
I love you Victor. I do. In more ways than six.


I’ve got to go and find out
What you’ve kept from me.
You’ve got to go and take with you
My growing misery.

Don’t want us to be together.
Don’t want us to be together.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt
I don’t want you near.
You’ve got to realise it’s true
I’m aching everywhere.

Don’t want us to be together.
Don’t want us to be together.
Why must we be together…?
Leave me alone.

Just hold my hand, in your hand
See my heart, and understand
That we can live a life so grand
And to start, just hold my hand
And we can fly together
And we can lie together – forever and ever……

Don’t want us to be together.
Don’t want us to be together.
Can’t you see
What you’ve done to me?

Leave me alone.

Good Night

The day is old,
Quiet and shadowy,
Faint clocks of the second hand,
Overpowered only by occasional cracks,
From cooling down electrical goods.
The fridge blurts into a purr,
As male voices converse,
And pass away in the dark outside…
Clock. Clock. Clock. Clock. Clock.
A thump and a squeak from above,
Then quiet, and quite uneventful,
The room slips away from tired eyes,
And all sounds mingle.
The dutiful fridge dies again.
A single drop of water into sink.
Sweepings of far away traffic,
Are one with a consciousness that submits,
And slips away…

Writings and Posterity

All of the things I’m publishing here on my site are kind of for posterity mainly. Whether I become very well known as an artist or not, at least I’m putting my work and story out there in some way…

Just a quick post to say how I’ve been adding to another new section of the site. This time a section for my written work, poetry and other bits and – if I ever get down to it – short stories…

The site’s turning into a general collection of my artistic/creative works. At the moment I’m sticking old things on the site and kind of creating a collection of stuff I’ve done in preparation for my new/current works that will start to appear more as I begin my journey as a Fine Art student at Uni this October…

A ‘Meating’ of Minds

Hardly noticed the rain.
She told me I’m OK under my hat,
Then I saw the rain leaving spots,
On the ground.
She’s going to see a game of cricket
On her own and I’ve never liked cricket,
And I’m not invited.
On necessary feet shuffling,
I pronounce my secrets unwillingly,
She is pale and puppy eyed,
I am scissored Lizard under my hat,
Waiting to head for H.Q,
Scared to death and pale too.
Alright on her own … Not.
Alright on my own too.
Are you?
Having to stay and stand,
Speaking the past for the sake
Of the moment.
Wary the way I share with her
The only cigarette.
This time she promises to call,
And is pulled out of reach
By a friend of hers from school,
Taking her to a taxi,
And leaving me to leave,
For the long walk,
I go immediately.
Suddenly I am home.