Over on Etsy I sell a full range of Custom Written poetry which can be fully personalized for you. You can have a poem based upon an idea, theme, image or your favourite poem. Below are a few samples of poems I’ve written in the past.
My poetry was included in the NewCon anthology ‘Dark Currents’ and won the 2012 New York Times found poetry competition.
“The Only Face Left”
From ‘That Moment’ by Ted Hughes.
I stare down the barrel towards his masked face
and dial your number
At the end of my life I don’t want to hate
You are the person, your voice I hear
if I can’t
breathe, our silent conversation broken
And I never did call you
And you never did hear me
The killer won’t wait for my regret
as my life is taken
The life I didn’t care for has gone
Useless technology beeps besides me
Your life goes on while mine puddles below me.
“De Mairan’s Nebula”
Defend your spiralled staircase against
the rising attack of noise and light.
Machines coming closers, faster as the
world begins to invade. Pull up the ladder
and seal the trap door. Close your eyes.
Fingers in your ears, hum louder than they can
and keep it alive. Keep it building.
The end of images flicker over your lids
the last refuge before the walls crash down
and you have to start it all over. Again.
Limbs twitch and stretch while you breathe
a little deeper. Stronger and refreshed.
You’ll never get back in once you step outside.
“The New World”
An old man’s toothless smile
as his street organ plays a
The daily grind with only
a monkey to keep the company,
while he tips his hat –
hoping others will too.
As the century turns on there is
a Fortune to be made.
Tea, silkworms, kumquats and peonies
are the new Gods,
and the street falls silent.
Not the light or joy
but a devil in Heaven.
Five children bribed by the promise
of chocolate cake and a toffee jar
visiting their future.
Her swollen ankles dangle alongside
the twisted fringe of her chair
with dust trapped in each turn.
Porcelain cats and dogs line
every flat surface to reconcile
the domestic void.
An almost empty fridge is
only stocked for visitors now
while the china fruit bowl
holds an over-ripe banana
and a pair of abandoned glasses.
Her face lighting up does not
make the trip worthwhile –
until years have passed.
Then once again the same cat
reminds you of your future
and her well-loved past.
There were fourteen grains of sand left
in her shoe, weeks afterwards.
The beach had long washed away leaving
behind grains of memories.
It had rained all weekend so that they
had huddled in the corner of a
bus shelter exchanging love tokens
while old women in pink scarves
looked on sourly at their twisted joints.
The cruel memory of a long lost life
sharp as the cut of a lemon
through bitter black tea.
Then refreshed they clamber onto
the number nineteen bus to sit tall
and enjoy the superiority of age.
“A Canvas Sky”
The circus came to town
every Tuesday at 4pm.
A clown in small shoes holding hands
with a tiger,
Face-painted acrobats are scared of trolleys
so the human-cephalopod carried an armful
of baskets. And another.
Smiling tears; torn stripes; colours tumbling; watered ink.
A diverse society, a changing catalyst, a dying art –
to stare or to run.
Now that the freaks are everywhere,
What’s left to look at?
There is a tall lady – soft but solid
with tangled red hair standing
in the September pumpkin field.
Surrounded by globes she holds
a ukelele up towards the day-time
stars. Unseen but ever present.
The music starts but she isn’t playing
and one ladybird lands on her
white dress, attracting its fellows.
As the run warms her morning skin
she dances – chains of beads
clattering to a different tune.
“Ashes and Wine”
A small dash between life and death
one date to another remembered
the just born and barely dead
connected by a tactile link
to touch for the first or last time.
Belief in a purpose – hope for a future.
Welcomed with tears and sent away
with a sea of open smiles.
To recycle a life – once more and again,
the hope that we will live on
in a form, with something to someone.
The meaning of life to find it.
Every person mindful of the next day
only considered darkly in the recesses
not held up to the light.
No one knows what will come next.
She died quietly with one hand in the water,
her fingers wrinkled to match her blouse
and the scent of chlorine bathed her skin.
The night sky watched this child of the day
not waking, not drowning, never waving, never sleeping.
Time passed and her temperature recorded the hours
until the sun rose and a riot of noise came
as the birds brought in the new.
The house behind her kept her in the shadow,
protecting her from the sun and hiding her from the light.
Dark and overcast
Your mind tells you it is bright
But you see the sky.
Little black ‘v’ flies
across a two-tone sky.
A child’s sun smiles on the curved waves,
crumpled, increased edges
Thin people play and fall
on a yellow beach
In the mind’s eye –
Outside factors cannot
Blinded by youth
not seeing the blinkers.