Monday, 29 September 2014

Closed for Business

The curtain draws shut as another show ends, slipping quietly along runners well-greased.
Marionettes stripped of their costumes collapse in an exhausted heap - the time for dance is over; now they must sleep.
The crowd remains, expecting encore, but none comes. The dark material hangs, silent, facing blank stares with blank, faceless thread.
Eventually, the crowd disperses: unsure what they saw. Their confused complaints lost in muffled echoes as the last stragglers go.
The world spins on outside. No-one really watches the theatre; they watch the show.
A good place to hide? No... Just empty and hollow.

Friday, 28 March 2014


It is a pale darkness, always on the peripheral of life. Slumped, knowing and silent against a cold wall while you walk past in a hurry.

It is a creeping menace. A numbness that urges you to hide inside its empty halls and lonely desert gardens.

It beckons while you're not looking, acting all nonchalant when you turn around - making you think you're going backwards because you want to, not because it's calling, constantly, softly... making you paranoid.

It is an addiction. It is your melancholy friend. A part of you apart from you, making you feel less alone.

You drown out the noise of friends and family trying to help.

Be quiet! I can hear it now... It's calling me down.

I must go.

Monday, 13 January 2014

The one with the toad in...

Author Foreword

I wrote this one in Ridgemede Junior School, Bishop's Waltham some time in the very early 90s.  I believe the school has since been renamed to Bishop's Waltham Junior School.  This is my first ever poem.

Roller-skating down the road.
Oo, look at that poor little toad!
Oh no! Now I cannot stop.
There's the toad...
... and there it's not.

Thursday, 2 January 2014

Spirit of Winter

For Ellie.

My frost creeps through streets,
covering cars and garden plants in white sheets.
Like an abandoned theatre, the echoes of life fall
dead on quiet midnight roads,
and the dance is ceased.
Silence steps in time with the beat of my feet.
I halt beneath a solitary light,
breathe deep the chilled air and watch
as the vapour shifts and curls from my lips.
I smile as I bend my will
to timeless work
with tools that never wear.
My winter is here.