Searching

Look inside a different view.
A world spun on a wavering axis.
Shifting and shaking to a tectonic heartbeat.
Bring a different truth, I’ve heard so many.
Cracked from the ice and the frozen tongues.
Coughed up by devils and delicious ruin.
Was I allowed to change my mind?
Change my religion and make it fly?
Or cloak my thoughts and despairs.
Drown the reasoning in a bath of holy water.
I held my breath.
Waited for the manna to rise.
The milk and honey to seep out of my blood.
Out of my mind.
I caught the world, flying on the wings of a dove.
Into the eye of the storm.
Looking for a home. Looking for a hope.

Run

These leaves, they cover and smother me as my mind claws and scrapes at the end.
Called down to the lake, past the rotting trees.
No one came looking for me.
Broken bones and a honeycomb heart that heaves to an old tune.
Tasting tears, and welcoming fears to consume and throttle me.
Adrift along that quiet sea of loneliness.
Watching the lighthouse of hope slip beneath the sky.

Still running away

The rain had come as soon as she left the main path. She heard it now pattering on the leaves in the canopy above her. The sheltering forest where all was unsure and forbidden. She never saw it this way, this was always how it was put to her, and this is always how it was made to be. She ran along further, carving her own way through existence. The sun had yet to set, but the rain clouds had smothered the earth in that part of her little kingdom, and the forest now gleamed with a wet twilight.

She had caught herself only a couple of times, hesitant to step deeper within and away from all of what she knew and all that she resisted. Her feet sloshed now in the puddles that had formed on the forest floor. Bits of moss and time made her slip and stumble, but on she flew. Running away, running beyond. Looking for herself again.

She had left the hills and the ruins behind her, blinked them away in a heartbeat as her skin touched the dense air of the woodland and the smell of freshness. A return, a renewal of sorts; though she knew it was not to begin anything again. The sanctuary lay beyond this world now for her. She had seen the darkness, and tasted the decay of life. She had thought about her death time and again. Stored it away in small pockets of her world, only to find it ever present on her horizon. Popping out of the days and the jars she kept in her kitchen cupboards. No one knew of course, she had shuttled from each thought to another in the dizzying malaise of the worn down and woe-begotten. Left to sit and turn in the sun like an unloved pot plant on a window ledge. Her death had come each time in many colours, brilliant reds and blues that would drip down from the sky and swallow her. There was never any pain; that was how it was supposed to be. The ashen taste in her mouth told her it was coming, and all would be done. Pushing through the thicket now, she came to where she was meant to be.

Making her way into the clearing she, the forest heaved and silenced itself, as if waiting for the show to begin. The leaves parting like the curtains of a stage. She stepped out, like tiptoeing onto a dream, making her way to the clump in the middle of the clearing. Her eyes were thick now with water, her eyelashes shaking off the dew of a realisation. Cracking and tearing her way from the chrysalis. Tiny eyes shone out from the trees, the beasts joining her in to taste the end.

The small knife gleamed in the grey light which danced around the clearing, little sparks and souls prancing lyrically on the blade. The ash had begun to fill he mouth as the black sky above had begun to open. Her world was beginning to drown as she felt the skin prickle and the cool metal throb to the vein.

And then she stopped.

At her feet she saw the body, the clumped skin that lay before her like a rug at the end of a bed. She stood frozen, the rain trickling down her face as the sky now heaved and lightened the vista. The dream was begin to rumble, the humming underneath building like a train rumbling underground. She knew what it was before she touched that place, that skin and hair before her which had to be known. She knew already, but she was scared to see. Scared to reach in and feel her way through a thousand lives and know the truth.

Bending down she rolled the body over, the eyes shining back like she knew they world. Reflecting mirrors that caught that dancing light and shone back to her like the waves of the ocean. Her time flowed through her in an instant, a tidal spray of understanding washing over her. She stared at her own body, laying on that cold forest floor. Discovered only by herself and the eyes of the animals now which fidgeted and rustled around her. The blood had dried over her throat, the deep slash made a lifetime ago, yet the crimson stained her skin like a smashed cherry, licking at her neck. Her death had come a gone, many times before.

This was a moment she was discovering now, but it happened all the same each day. Every time she took that knife from the drawer. Each time she turned off her phone and closed the world away. Those moments at work when she wished to be away from everyone. Feeling alone in a crowd while they burned holes into her. Those were the times she died, when she came here to that forest clearing where the sky above swallowed her. These were the moments when her soul cried, and dripped down into that forest on the edge of her life, taking her further and further from god. Further from the light. Blurring her memory into a stain on the window of time.

Unearthed design

These dreams that held you, turned you over in time.
Made you everything but mine.
They smell like morning peonies, precious symphonies align.
You found the bones of a long lost soul, turned up in the tide of your blood.
Washed away in monsoon floods.
Seeing if your veins could fly, coughing dandelions and mud.
Crack this dream like and egg, stitch up the wounds that never heal.
Stretch it over the world.
Pulled into another paradigm.
Live now for those golden days of charm, pulled out deep from the mire.
Throwing us both on the pyre.
Setting your soul on fire.
Then leave all this decay behind.

Mooncats

(A Collaboration with the cosmically colossal Nara15blog

The depths of space.
Cold and frozen like a liar’s tongue.
Decorated with imagination, and the Christmas lights of the Milky Way.
Like kings we travel across mountains, the time valleys and the soundless desert to offer the myrrh of our hearts.
Watching the world from up high above.
Metallic buckling and inclination set us down.
Dropped onto that dusty surface.
That sunken dark side of the moon.

A whirl and snap, a titter and tap.
The astral music of our future calls out across the dunes.
Feeling our subtle energies, ameliorate with the salt intake.
To deflect the dark interference, a vast endless shriek

In the indigo star mist they barely exist, through cells of the unknown.
A flight of fancy tickling their whiskers, as the mooncats rise, out of klexy carbonize ebony.
A night call that sounds all hours of the day, as the sun passes them by.
How their lives abide, stretched and multiplied by the gravity of circumstance.
They ceaselessly divagate in the nebulous noon-shine quest.
Tunnelling in the honeycomb of a starry satellite.

Beware the fringes of the universe and the edges of the rock.
For lunar moths will dance on their nose, and call them out to space.
A grave of diamond dust to mark where they had been.
Eclipse our minds with astral sulphur, and sing us to sleep with the haunting Egyptian sounds of the gods.
Bastet tiptoeing in your ear, while the mooncats purr.

Summer climb

Did you see?
The moon collapse. Sinking into the hazy blue.
Nightsleep shake and eyes wake.
Body rise along with the mercury.
Taste the air like nectarine slices.
A sweet design.
Walk into the softening air of the summer climb.
Sunshine sway on the sand abandon.
The moment lands on the skin like a dragonfly.
Holding out hope for a break from chrysalis.
The time has come. What have you done today?
Laughing as the butter melts on your back.
The midnight sun which never fades.
Uncertain, like talking to strangers.
Burning longer, as the time stretches out onto the horizon.
Catch the rays like the insults.
Thrown our way to re-calibrate our senses to summertime highs.
Watching starfish rise into space.
Et chantez dans les vents solaires.

SHELL OF IMAGINARY IMAGINATION

Strange little threads that are held on to.
Causing commotions in my morning coffee.
Sinking feelings that cut too deep, simple systemic exposure.
Buzzing like the office fluorescents, dialling a tone.
Naked and running. Leaving myself at home.
Heaven bubbles in my veins, blowing blooms along my spine.
Disturbing the herons of this mind.
Take me down to the water.
To the catacombs of the happy, were they hoard their treasures.
This middle distance, which keeps us at arm’s length.
Puts my past to sleep, and rip open my mind.
Something so obscene.
The devil can dip its fingers in my soul (if out of sight).
A sunglass reflection in the mirror, which at first seemed so close.
Cut the distance and pull the cord.
Curtain calls and swallow whistles.
Finding me alone on that wondering star.
Flying, down Mulholland drive

Scratches inside the skull

Hear the clouds, rolling and calling.
Rumbling across your spine.
Vertebrae by vertebrae it moves you.
Like a little child crying out in the dark.
The air gets heavy. And the rainbows die.
Anything you wanted, falls back.
Turns into time.
The rain you feel on your fingertips.
Are the tears you cried as a child, busting the dam.
Flooding your spirit, marking a way to the funeral of a childhood friend.
The one you wished the most for.
Built those dreams with sand and innocence.
Playback the videotape in your mind before the lightening burns the image.
Filling your eyes with fog and fury.
Of a lost dream, crumbled and put to sleep.
Snatched by the monsters and left to die in a foreign atmosphere.
Alone, in a time glass.
Covered each second in the sand of regret.

Land of the free and the home of the brave

Her eyes flickered from the calendar on her desk to the phone quickly as the device in front of her rang out shrilly. She knew who it would be on the other end of the line, she pictured them, slumped against the phone booth while the hot July sun glared in through the tampered glass. Her arrangements were all unfolding as she had anticipated, each one of her children doing exactly what she had expected them too. All was coming together, there was just one thing left to arrange and this phone call, she hoped, would finalize that. She let the phone ring once more before lifting it from the cradle, placing it up onto her heavily powered face.

She did not speak, she waited for their voice.

“Mame?”

“Yes.” she said, curtly.

“It’s all arranged. She said she will be there for the 4th of July.”

“Good, thank you Perkins. She is aware of the situation I trust?”

“She is aware yes. She wasn’t surprised at all, but it’s strange as she…” He began, but was interrupted.

“Excellent. See to it that money is arranged also.” She said, and hung the phone back quickly into the cradle, her mind now dancing over the weekend arrangements.

In a phone booth in downtown Boston, Robert Perkins held the phone to his ear, trying to hear against the traffic which sped past him outside his glass shell. He heard Veronica Van-Black, his employer, hang up the line her end; yet he finished off his sentence that he had begun, as if trying to figure it out still himself.

“…it’s strange, she said she was already there.”


This fourth of July, come and spend the weekend with the Van-Blacks who will delight you with wit, suspense, good food, séances and murder. A good time to be had by all, except maybe one.
Keep it together – out now in paperback and eBook. More stories here.

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Mother’s milk

Grow up big and grow up strong.
Be nice to others. Get along.
Don’t do drugs, and don’t’ drink coffee.
Savour each day like a delicious toffee.
Always colour inside the lines.
Say your prayers, once; two times.
Be still, be quiet, be seen not heard.
Be small and quiet like muted bird.
Play nice, play well and be enamoured.
For the nail that sticks, is that one that’s hammered.
Those thoughts of lofty aspirations.
Are just a sign of desperation.
So do not fall into the abyss.
Of needing help, to love or kiss.
For the witch is what they’ll call the other.
The fallen woman.
The post-natal mother.

Seen on television

What position did you wear, glaring out with weekend eyes?
A real woman. Wearing a smile and turpentine.
They cannot buy the things you have, make an offer.
Sipping souls with a slice of lime.
Slip your tongue into another lie.
A strange life where the fake are sanctified.
He’s a real man, he’s the real thing.
He’ll do anything.
Holding out for all but a mother.
Splinter eyes and matchbook teeth.
Both now adrift on that world stage of comedy.
Tracing figure eights and commodity.
She’s a real woman. Saying a prayer into small boxes.
A real man. Attuned to product placement.
Grease those wheels in the mind.
Spin into a Monday morning, hung like a broken jukebox.
Looking now for new interruptions.
Chasing new enemies.

Orbitam lunae in caritate

(Moon love in orbit)
Abound and in the air.
Tied down for fear of flying.
Skim you clouds like a shuttle into space.
Rattling past like a shooting star.
You take me higher.
Coughing out an atmosphere.
Pulling through your gravity to dance like moon daises,
turning towards the sun.
That face of you, eclipsing my world.
Suffering craters so gladly.
My new lunar religion.

Haunted hunter

A mournful tune to play as the bones buckle.
The hum inside your gums while the night lingers on.
What sound called to you, rose you from that grave of regret.
We sit and watch the world tip over, spun into a dizzying dervish and lost in the mind of God.
These darkened eyes that haunt you, casting casualties and consequence.
Do you leave them to turn to stone?
To honey up and glaze like the milky itch of remorse?
How heavy the skin of the idle.
Bleached into the alien grey like driftwood on a beach.
Turn on that apology and settle into an xstatic rhythm.
Shaken from the willows of the wilds. Shaking stars and dust from your mind.
The black swan which follows you, cries out for change.
Etiolated in the darkening world you occupy.
Be still its cries of the dying, the call for collapse.
For this flightless bird of paradise craves warmer climates.
And a world much brighter than our own.

Love saves the day

In his heart, he couldn’t say.
Why on earth he was born that way.
And in his mind, his thoughts progressed.
His soul did ache, heave and compress.
For when he learned that there were others.
He pulled down deep within his covers.
And smiled a smile of understanding.
A powerful notion that was commanding.
That it didn’t matter if you like either gender.
It only mattered if the love was tender.
So he took their hand then stated proudly.
A message to the world yelled out so loudly.
That he loved them the most, come what may.
And in the end, love saves the day.

A lost tomorrow in today’s pocket

We’ll never be the same, crawling out of this chrysalis.
Rubbing the eyes of disillusionment with the fingers of the future.
Everything given, is repeated.
Swimming back around like sharks in the water.
The future begins to fade like a dying star.
Leaving the shelter behind, swept away in the storm.
Love came and went. Permeated, then evaporated like the morning fog.
How we longed to be held safe in those arms.
Rocked into safety as the grey melted.
but everything they gave, was taken away.
Leaving the skeleton bones and the residue of knowing.
A maddening knowledge of what the other is.
A long kiss in the desert to feed you water.
The cut on your wrist as you ascend to the surface.
The monsters flare their nostrils and whisper to me.
Asking me what the future should be.
So let it go. Let if dip and disappear like the day’s sun.
The yellowed eye of the universe closing for slumber.
Rebirthed, repackage for tomorrow.
Without the shame of today.

acquiesce

the little spark

I wonder what she did. I wonder if they had planned the coup of you
The wild bird, the fierce spirit, fearless zeal, and heart alight.

Your bluest eyes narrowing the pathways of your brow squeezing in to examine

Lips pursed, did you question the timing of events?

Calling you back in need.. a need to shackle you and tame you.

To break you, to break the fire and power of your will. Did they conspire to confine you?

I wonder..

A witchcraft that had me hung and bound upside down in wait

In your hunger for me this impossible dream I waited for you to make us right

Your bitten nails to the quick the light stolen and put out in coal and ash.

Held in place, bound till you broke. Acquiesce to their whim, to their rule

Deceived by their plan to hold you. To capture your wild…

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The Day of goodbyes

Falling into a sleep that’s caught between the devil and the deep.
Blue, everything blue blue blue.
These hearts, caught on strings and spun around fingers.
Worn on the sleeves, cut into ribbons.
The world need not worry, the moon cares little.
Little spheres of sadness that fade into the space of time.
But there was that day, that long terrible day of goodbyes.
Cut deep into the soul of existence.
A meteor into the ice of now.
Tears stained, then dried as they are spirited off.
Into unknown lands and parts of their mind.
An aching blue, a neon pain remained.
In the absence of other, a divine emptiness.
Conspired by the fates to lick the face of loss.
Not knowing what they had, until it was gone.

Disembark

“There would never be a place where that would feel like home to me.” She said, her hands trembling as she tried to keep herself under control. He looked away, and at that point she knew his decision had been made. Her heart sealed itself in that moment, covering up in a sheath of self-protection she had learned from when she was young.

“You could be happy there Simone, you have tomorrow to unfold and your dreams to come alive. Don’t place your happiness at my feet”.

“Not when they’re walking over me.” She said.

“Don’t be this way. I told you from the start I was leaving, I made you no promise.” He said, a little more determined now after her petulant remark. He didn’t want the hurt to be there, he didn’t want it to show. The pain he was causing, he was happy to ignore if he couldn’t see it; cover it up and sweep it away like the good intentions he’d had. Those intentions were always to live in the moment and not dwell on the future too much. But Simone needed that security of tomorrow. She needed to know he would be there, not just when she needed him, but even when she didn’t. A static presence in her life, like a lock on her door to keep her safe.

“I’m sorry, if that means anything to you.” He said, and her eyes bore into him. Scanning his conscience like a metal detector, sniffing out a lie.

“I think you believe that.” she said, and her tears began to drip out of her eyes, lifting off in the zero gravity. Floating out into the planet’s green atmosphere. She was hoping this day would never really come, but when it did, he would change his mind. He would see the love they had, and the love she had for him and stay. Push away all the pullings of the other life and reasonings of leaving and just stay. Be with her and let them carve a life out together. A part of her knew he never would, but she had wished and prayed and begged for it be different. She had read in a book once that she could change her fate. What she didn’t realise was that sometimes you got what you needed, not what you wanted.

As he went to kiss her, she pulled away. The moment hung like Christmas decorations in January, gaudy and out of place in the grey. He turned, but all she could see was the blurry colours of him departing as the tears bubbled in her eyes and she wept at her loss. A pain that quickly stabbed and settled within her as his rocket left forever.

I’m Out

Standing there waiting to get rich.
Capturing snowflakes and copper cultures.
Pulling at the loose threads of humanity as the earth boils.
Wake, work, repeat on a set shift.
Eyes blinking into obscurity and conformity.
Waiting for the computer to load and the phone to glow.
An alien iridescent-ness which steals your soul.
A final broadcast will not be aired.
Turned down your voice as they block out the sun.
Brick bones that build a city of sad sapphires.
Sparking in the ruins of a Midas dream.
Leave your stuff off me.
Unhook the claw of the social disease.
I disconnect and disappear, logging out of sociopathic media.
Where you capture nothing but a sad slow demise.
I run naked, like in a rainstorm.
Bathed in the sulphur from the solar wind.
Running away from your ivory nightmare.
Leaving the broken cage behind.
I’m out.

Fables of a beautiful weakness

Tell this story tonight, worn on this face.
Tantric and telling like the birds in flight.
Showing much more than flesh and bone.
Keep it safe, snug in your pocket like a pebble.
Dipped in the gold that is spun from your eyes.
Hold tight.
On to me and all that we have to carry.
Refugees of a dark place we once called home.
Our fabled postcard from the other side.
Slipping down the side of the couch of life.
Forgotten if never mentioned by anyone but ourselves.
Take my hand and dance through the flames.
Kiss me and let us bathe in the rains.
Alive with the magic running in our veins.

My earth gives way

Crawled from the cobwebs of a translucent dream.
Stretched out across the fingers of the gods.
Held down and wrapped by you, suffocated in love.
You’re in the air as I breathe.
The god particle that explodes within.
A bigger bang than the galaxy around us has ever witnessed.
The seismic shift of you.
Burrowing deep into these lava bones.