South-End

It is quiet today,

The train empties out its soul,

Silence is barely pinched

By the funfair.

Gulls form random complications,

A single pattern,

Suspended as an object

And we leave like the first time

Out of a cinema.

Action Against Awe

With one big hand

I grasped the twinkling aeroplanes

From the stars.

They blinked at me,

Scrunching them up like paper balls,

I put them into my smaller hand.

There should never be too many lights in the sky.

It is inappropriate. 

The Crow

Is it all you wanted?

A spattering of snow

Against the cold ground.

Were you happy how you ended?

Any deeper

No-one would know you were there.

Do your black iced wings remember white morning skies?

The changing moon,

The yo-yoing sun.

Now a breathless puppet,

Once a vessel for air,

Reduced to a kick-thing for the inquisitive child.

Outside the playground.

One Hundred on the Horizon


As I fell I saw the black hills against the night’s dark sky and one hundred on the horizon.

It was pretty and impressive, with every hour it came closer, reaching me at dawn, each part breaking, covering me in a thousand pieces of the sun, dressing me in red golden light and I was happy to have stumbled to see the beginning in this way.

Like a friend the day picked me up with a firm and approving hand.

All I had to do was live in it.