Tuesday, 22 May 2018

Back In Black (It Never Went Away) - Blank Verse

Chemical spaying of the black dog sniffing around my mental de-scent, 
Ureic spray marking my ligneous hide.
Lightning volts to chase away the black cloud squatted somewhere across my pate
Lithium’s little local climatic murrain.
Acupuncture needles don’t hurt as much
But the vision lying on the slab like a stuck pig, 
Banderillas sprouting in every interstitial direction from my vegetative mire 
Multicoloured, chromatic, garish markers for trepanning bullish me 
The mounted picador pricks me, pierces me, permeates me, venesecting blood, lymph and chi flow
Transfusing blood black, sable, onyx and jet
Black is the new black, same as the old black
Lamentation, mourning, mold
Effaced contours of female flesh behind post-nuptial veils
Death cult zealotry over purity
Cimmerian, tenebrous, atramentous, places of Stygian gloom
Chthonic cave interiors, 
Lignite, bituminous coal, crude oil excreted from Gaia’s bowels
Tar and pitch for when you cover up the gouging of mother Earth.
Jacobean black bile melancholy 
Lucifer named for the light, but his visible rays only ignited by the plummet from Heaven,
Burning up on reentry, fleeting friction match struck phosphorescence.
Black heart black as sin, Goths just playing at it
Smokey Robinson’s - Smokey really? - “The Agony and The Ecstasy”
Here come the leeches… 

Thursday, 17 May 2018

Walking Cane And Able-Bodied - Flash Fiction

I became tenderly acquainted with death at an early age. A very early age. Before I’d taken my first breath, my twin drew his last. Carried off by midwife pall bearers, while I was borne aloft into light, air and pain. My first wail a lamentation for us both; for my dilating and his collapsed lungs. Death engendered me, he whom I call ‘father’. My handmaiden through life, or I his. My new goon companion, the cuckoo who had usurped my bosom buddy. 

A future headshrinker proffered that I had sawn my sibling off. In a fit of pique a boo hoo (who?). Fratricide in utero. I dismissed it reflexively of course, with that constriction in my throat a phantom emulation of the shared cord that had noosed him off. One into two does not go. Not when it’s indivisible flesh. Gestation’s entrailing guilt, riven at parturition, only became fully fledged that day supine on the couch. The blood they had hosed off me in the delivery suite was not that of my mother, rather that of my brother. The nurse placed heavyweight me to suckle at my mother’s breast, while she insisted deadweight Bruv be laid on the other one (how can a lightweight, or no weight, be a deadweight? Our first exposure to gravity). My mother’s body was lopsided from that day on, grief spiting gravity, so what do I know? My nativity body count lay at two. A brace of husks. Leaving me unbraced and liable to topple over at any moment. Death gave me a bony shoulder not to cry on, but to prop me up. Wearing me in a papoose. Doubling up with my brother’s shadow for a life of twofold stygian persecutions. 

Tuesday, 8 May 2018

Shortwave - Flash Fiction




Over and over.

And over.

Over and out.

Maiden over bowled


It’s over.

It’s all flaming over.



Oh very

Oh vary


It’s over.

Over and out.

No do-overs

Over all



Too late in the day to turn over a new leaf.

Head over heels

Arse over tit

My oeuvre


And undersold by my overseers

Publishers on manoeuvres

They have me over a barrel


Apple turnover

A leftover vestige of appetite 

Comes over me

Charon row me over to the other side

Man overboard!

The struggle is over

Over and done with

Long overdue

Game over. 

Saturday, 5 May 2018

My Top Ten Books

I took part in the Booktube "Top Ten Books" tag and in choosing my all time top ten books, i thought I'd share the results here.