Tuesday, 11 December 2012


This poem first appeared in issue 26 of 'Urthona' magazine http://urthona.com/

I left my name at the wood's edge
and entered its tree-green shade a stranger to myself.

I found a clearing, a quiet space
and in this peaceful glade
bound together branches with vines.

I sit beneath this weave of hazel and breath.

Behind my eyes I find my heart - a bruised apple.
I hold it gently in my mind.

Occasionally a black dog rises up and barks a memory at me.
I play fetch with the ruined fruit.

Always the beast gives chase and always brings back
not the over-ripe taste of rot
but a cracked, white eggshell.

I place this empty casing in the cradle of my ribs.

And here, almost imperceptibly, it pulses and throbs,
pulses and throbs.

Tuesday, 25 September 2012

The Daisy Sequence ( An Unconventional Romance)

Drawn from the language of Mills & Boon romances, this text is a reworking of a randomly selected paperback. 

It is written sequentially. As I scan-read the book, page by page, letting words and phrases present themselves to me, a strange narrative evolves. This unconventional methodology offers the reader an offbeat, potentially erotic storyline. 

Using 'Twitter' as a first format for presenting the text, each section is formed of 'tweet-sized' chunks.

Here it is in its entirety -

Daisy froze distinctive drawl. It pierced the buzz and bolt of alarm. She had to be lashed by tongue duty. Swinging people expected her. Daisy stretched the spray that sprouted a few blue arrowheads. She checked every spillage. Elbowing her fixable stain was this nasty crisis. Daisy stopped emotions. Her inner savage flesh was power-packed to shoot hostile eyebrows. Puzzlement bored into distraction. Daisy clicked. 

Daisy had one arm in his sculpted mouth, perfect white teeth making Daisy's spine crawl. Daisy pleasure rattled out. He viewed her brown. Daisy viciously took his grip, pressing a dominant please and giving subservient temper. Simmering, perverse, limelight floated unreal lack. Daisy held firm cutting. He nodded towards the disappointment. The rush of watching mischief and the ego trip with feather girlfriends. Daisy slid his blunt fireworks, curvy body swish into her scalp chocolate. To extract himself like dirt he slung a slave tossed shrug. 

Daisy left horses glued to suburban anxiety. Privately, she bothered chefs. Rigid venomous stomach churn. Her battle with cage. He'd automatically force a face-to-face, aroused like a pale bristle. She sucked a shooting act. Her mouth blistering precision. Impasse. She tried biting mocking instructions. His body evasion attacked her reading. He stilted her beautifully feminine bitch fingernails. Oh!

Daisy's mind was whiplash. Panic ribbons sliced in. Daisy tried displeasure. Her hair-prickling bomb was going to fall out. Blabbermouth. Limp and unconscious, he had to hook her blood-jungle. Stiffening, he grimaced. There was a huge smallness of her waist. His bulging agreed.

Daisy babbled offensive affairs and hissed at appalled dizziness. A chair was needed. Correctness would answer his actions. Black dog wits. The phrase wrecked his face. Daisy flocked extreme guilt. She drove messy twiddling to several trucks. The flood was huge, white symmetry. Daisy couldn't bear justice, she'd stopgap male charisma. Riveting him near hormones, despite differences. His touch was a pink nothing. 

Daisy was unsettling. He spoiled obscene people. She'd been a blind charmer. All he'd been was a forging crisis. Disillusionment lingered. Dirty bedrooms and enormous vanity, her head wasn't messy. Daisy bit too disturbingly strong. He rattled out a short and stocky mistake.  Daisy made the men laying the mix, splash. She shot a bit too much into airs and graces. She laid out on the floor, regret at its removal. Perhaps the lady wanted a good block. She snags the flow. A man brushing a physical flash needed her bent. Daisy greeted silk, the deep V.

Curly muscularity oozed, the more she saw of him. Wantonness eroding to lift her above. Daisy would have intimate dreams. Opened sex at eyes. The twinkling flutter flashed a teasing grin. Besotted by mush, her pulse tossed a featherlight thundering. Her terrible part sucked in. Daisy was vulnerability coming a wad. She mouth-quirked amusement to emphasise splash. He popped out of her smile, smacked a fun promise. 

Tomorrow drove the kiss coursing in a sweeping staircase. Only constraints stopped him. Daisy surrendered to the vibrating moment. They met.

Daisy was wearing trim socks, athletic loose blue over a sensible sexless outfit. One stomach simmered green. Men are up. Down the vacuum. Wives dropping hostess salads, onions with a shrug. Daisy was vexed, she would dump her cucumber vigour. Chemistry was pillow-talk gamble. She could manage a cherry whipping. Those wickedly urgent limits. Compelling some headway, she'd played dead-meat sex. Steak and sausages. Every second it jerked her to dripping wet. Emanating savage quivers, he'd slid her with fast fingers. She was uncontrollable in maintaining. Her body-frantic snatching stripped thought. Daisy had jelly belly water watching husbands joking devotion. He irked to arouse her nerves. Daisy rose to difficult tongue. Her quip legs shining like a brazen pouch. Her blood-conscious nipples insisted a stiff anxiety. Sensual? He waved meat rustle, leaving Daisy open-mouthed, struggling for escape. She would have him by beating him. She could hold vulnerability.

Daisy changed back into morning, an acute light pretending the surface. The wipe-me-off attraction anticipating easy twinkling. She sliced. She netted a delusion beat. Her rocket, his bemusement. The fizz of pleasure undermined the bruise. His relish in bearing his foolish loss. Daisy practised to dominate every skillful beating. He dropped, he tossed, he swept. Banging exertion, her body was hot, wild, surge. Kiss. Clamping her spread hair, his intimate furrowing locked her scent. His untouchable embrace more lusty animal than the break-up. Earth hate. She didn't Cinderella him, he'd had enough crooked prize pushed on and going home. Tomorrow she couldn't trust herself. Jeopardy would be.

Daisy responded sex fantastic. She erupted shock criteria bouncing swiftly toward the caveman. His angle followed her to the pride equation. Daisy could barely bind umbrage. She had passionate twisted expertise but was his flesh pumped? Daisy had wet patches. Working laces, sigh. He laid the groundwork. Anguished weakness waiting for sardonic satisfaction. She was shying hot colour. The time span jagged harshly. 

Debt. Future mistress, sweeten that humiliating truth with a huge pleasure. Personal wound savagely mocking narrowed victory. She took on a twist. Little witch unhitched, unfolding tension like a compressed house. The nape of her neck reached the closest door. Bitter truth was hers. 

Daisy was quickly bubbling mistress depression. Her weather poured warmth. He expected to have her matter-of-factly and as usual she was on. She put telephone-difficult nerves home and ambivalence demonstrated the die was cast. Now he rolled on. At first, Daisy was pinned to it. It was irrelevant what went down in his house, absurd how much pleasure it gave her. Sex was extraordinary lengths, a ruthless softening. The carpet question plus electrical apparatus left the needed elsewhere. Daisy dizzied with ebullience, her excitement a fierce gladness. The next morning, Daisy let him completely dominate her. The line had to be a euphoric state with no physical contact. Cream dip her whirl. He took longer than usual to stop her trembling hands smudging her mascara. Unlikely cleavage, swingy folds, painful mirror. She felt it.

He was mentally fatigued by Daisy waiting for him at home. She'd been so perverse. He hated to take everything, as glass as a ponytail. Pleasure welled in their noses. Daisy the princess-mould and him, the back door. No trace of upper breasts, groin strides, electric thighs. She forgot to remember the kitchen-shock. Patting her free hand, his batted vigour switched off. He was completely primitive-freak-bondage. Eloquently, she smacked his blood. Like a lollipop, she dumped her grin on his stipulated sensitivity. The wish gurgled from her throat.

He rolled on, unbuckling, jackknifed and unzipped. She hadn't worn her nipples. He commanded her sleeves with all-devouring, inner muscles. His terms had sabotaged her benchmark. Of course the highs were guarantee of time wanted. She wormed bliss on wagging bottom. He spent out. 

The morning after... Daisy lay spooned. How did he intend to fill her? Hardship addicted flow was his tired toy. The inevitable line. Very slowly she lifted her bag, clownish eyes fastened in a top-knot. She soaped all over, a brisk erase in her skin. She was in the act. The rich purr of satisfied demanding ran down her spirit. He had a slave breath coming to an abrupt blaze. Battle-vivid laughter rippled. 

Daisy felt like an aeroplane. Her coffee-black possession hankering for the whole-moon package. That frightening loss of months. He runs. Though there had been that frightening bed, he started cutting up, shooting up and wading through gold dross. Daisy slipped out a lemon. She tilted an ironic doubting. This power-dress was spicy and eager to burst into arousal. Daisy did not leave satisfied harmony. 

She gazed. White wakes shifted her glamourous black wave, hugging her mind until she became a fantastic flute. He wished with flitted mind but he shied. Daisy bent for filching, meticulous about not taking her stick. He locked ice. She hadn't heard the thick cream. Footsteps murmured relax. Daisy clamped down on the bitter truth. 

Her quibble wanted long, fierce desire. His embrace kissed a savage need, all passion when tomorrow. 

Daisy's astonishment was given exaggerated worth. She'd already told them she'd seen a big hole. Her champagne trips made objection free. He was a control freak and Daisy was hopelessly in love with him. She dropped protection, hammered pie and gathered eye-popping stuff. They deepened reasonable galloping. She had emerged and bloomed sunshine, he had pounced on her magic, pink fish. Instincts had to nail her. A crowd of entrance gates escorted her towards a pin-stripe suit, Daisy winced encouragement. He was rudeness needing flamboyant belly hair. He had queen-cupping shoes. Daisy was walkable. He threw up hero-frustration. She tossed off. They simply constructed quizzical graces.

There can be no ego in that story. Daisy let her bitch-loyalty shake hands with a stunningly porcelain hat. The big man demanded quaint cow. Daisy replied, relishing the roll of her tongue. Flirting, the man was with bigger pockets. Daisy answered in gaudy snipe. He held her high. He performed an amazing helicopter parade. Daisy's chair leaped up. She vacated the empty box and tried riding a dizzying detail. He swept. Bubbles burst into giggles as they rode the elevator. She sucked, he took his willpower under restraint. The moment-door shared it with him. 

Until the telephone rang, Daisy automatically repeated skitter-time. He thought sweet problems. She might bring the crushing dream. It was. Daisy emphatically burned violet stress. Her fly-panic fumbled the probing ferocity. He frowned. Her hook glinted with sickening doubt. She believed in being obscenely, sinfully, sexy. Her obsessed counting was as odd as a huge basket of misgivings. Daisy dressed in green. 

She heaved a sigh to loosen up the tightness. A wobbly burden drove them to appologise in a cul-de-sac. Children nodded. Daisy watched baby. Daisy yelled awkward husband material. His stumbling blocks crossed the centrepiece. He complimented her mother-pork. She felt constrained. They swooped on astonishment. They crowed puzzles. They cheerfully scoffed about toast and a black hole. They raised a family of nose dreams.

Sunday, 5 August 2012


It started when he gave me the Roses. At the time we were both working at the call-centre. Having found out it was my birthday he had asked around and of course anyone who knew me knew I couldn’t resist a man with a box of Cadbury’s treats.  Now, it seemed, I was in too deep. He was coming round later with a block of 70%. I had the equipment ready.

The first time, it had been my suggestion; he’d stood over me and unwrapped a Flake. I’d tried to catch the crumbling strands on my tongue. Later, as he’d kissed the melted stains around my lips, he’d told me how sexy I looked. 

My weakness had been disclosed and so it appeared had his.

After that we met once a week. Each delicious rendezvous brought something different into our lives. We took it in turns to think up the moves and provide the goods. Love didn’t come in to it, it was pure lust.  

A jar of Nutella which, we spread all over our skinny, white bodies with butter knives, and licked off. Cream Eggs inserted into every orifice. Mars Bars with their rippled, caramel veins. Shared Toblerones that, we would eat at the same time from opposite ends until our noses met. I would suck Whispers to warm goo and feed him by dribbling it into his mouth. I couldn’t walk past Thorntons without my knees buckling. 

He recorded the commercials and edited them so that we had our own growing collection of choc ads; confectionary porn he called it. We would watch them before and after our sessions. 

Last week we’d pushed the boundaries yet again, giving each other hot-chocolate enemas. The exquisite surge of deep, brown heat entering my body had made my legs tremble. Forget the cosy image of sipping cocoa from chunky mugs; this was what the sacred bean had been created for. 

It was as we were loading the washing machine with soiled sheets, that I’d leaned over and whispered in his ear my latest idea, he couldn’t resist.

He arrived at nine with 3 bars. Piece by piece, we broke it into the glass bowl occasionally nibbling a corner. I filled up the saucepan with water and lit the gas. We held hands and watched the dark chunks begin to liquefy, stirring it from time to time with a wooden spoon. Finally it was ready. I slid open the draw, carefully lifted out the syringe, dipped the needle into the rich soup and sucked it up.

Monday, 23 July 2012


This poem is one, in a line of others, using found texts as source material. In this case, the text was an essay called 'Poetic Evidence' by Paul Eluard.
My method is one of deleting/editing. I use liquid paper (Tipex) as a writing tool. Rather than producing new words, I reveal them. By erasing the old I create the new.


Pot Eden.

Mace pots clam the hand,
taint the red pole.

Her menu if night be fry
and what nuts they have.

Bells that ring dark cold are news man
and beware the vile ear-mud on the shapeless, greatness.

There is no mode for him that seeks what he has never seen.
We long to wither.


Eyes equal an uneasy spite,
a sort of cut that ages,

Eyes, all ivory, all speech,
come to shut.

Eyes more useful than love.


Sin is the top ale,
it can devalue every man.

Sense is a solid sown, mental child.


By then thin, olden,
he ages, grouting wearily.


Post-very tight vanity.
Too old.
Prose, novel.


Butterstone, magnetic sting.

A rented non-living plight inverts the verse,
out its hot art.
Eaten verse.
A uni-sentence fuses the truth, the truth, the truth
to the truth again.
Objecting to ponder.


A modern kiss,
a hip thing,
a terminal word,
a sly sentiment,
a sand sensation


Call my volume, soft hum.
Speak ether.
Form dust.

This volume is a nail-snap,
a log-timed tribe,
a useless van’s immense rot,
an object, a tall order.


The hunger for elves is a potty war
that lashes the vinegary tone
between a real hat,
a concrete hat,
a blood-wound hat.

The hat that seems to emit an orgasmic yes.
To hide their lack and their hat torture.


Sea-books demonstrate knowledge and prison.
They bone food, sew order, rosy matter
and destroy meaning.

Trepan the threads countless swarm.
Ore-practise hole-divinity.
Pop hell in the till,
toot tree thought and soot-rot a member’s protest.


Man, an atheist,
went to the supreme being.
He dared to piss against the people’s being

From noon to print he enters


Swish, gack,
vile man forces
his liberal wee onto the name of God.
The supreme ape melts when its oneness
is wee wee fresh,
and snow, profound,
wet the roof he loved with nil words.


Tics and wolves are not being loved.
Impossible hair-princes pleasure their love-rise
against cunt.
they sour morality.
Our paradise, our God, our hell
and slow, liquid, skin-fires get blood-spit mad.


Sperm swords set up hep ways
that ape the true poets.
Lost, they hiss, " Lion-trial. "
Let them.


Lust must live first.
The maddest host waves at the she-ghosts.
Boil a total verse, bed it.


Trip, fear, sexist signs.
One moth-soft twat,
wet, moist, lights.
The fierce art, whether vulgar or subtle,
straps us by the toes.


Bland, auto-strip slides
adorn each beach object.
Aches meditate on becoming real holes,
to reveal the full, useless heat-sphere it creates.

Dead-rot horses
rave themselves by the miserable fire and water.


Anal-weapons anger the eyes.
They demolish the imps rage,
they ravish the doors open violence
and wither mans face.


An array of arms and chants bunk the power ecstasy.
The long beast trims the slim chain of knowledge.
Here a swell driver pounds sea-demons
with his end-fuse.


An absurd bone and ice disc
slows down all the trees ariel-elastic.
Time apes the small, numb pig-person
and that is human greatness.


Today is a no, go area.
Never utter in the ears of the gun.
Axes bombard the ears with cheap wax.
Each artist dogs a mat with a bee-drawing.


Dirt chases tar over the evil, evil sea.
Sleep goddesses’ cries
fuse the moral nothings to the liberal ideas.

Death is present in wax and bells.


Under the pavement a ghostly song is heard.
Pay little heed to laughter
it is of science.