Creative Writing


Clumsy synonyms for beautiful
stuff my moist mouth
with cotton wool

Quotes about happiness
read like project management plans
and dried up deeds
to forgotten houses
failing to compare

Playlists for parties
catch a glimpse.
They spread
like the New York City subway map,
glistening and brilliant
bursting with chains of potential

I resort to planning menus
and building feathered nests in sheds
driven to neurotic stepford inepititude
by attempts to illustrate

All the fun chemicals in the world
couldn't simulate an experience to articulate
this formula
as we collide and react
in this fibonacci sequence
of glorious, shimmering hyperglycemia.

There were of insects and seeds that day
as we hid in the shadows
and cracked open
in the sunlight,
warm lager and ice cream
in our bellies.

Dandelion clock fuzz clung
to the witch-house
like spiderwebs,
enchanted and sparkling
under the glare.

Watching the children
waft aphids from their curls,
we were too old 
for playground follies
preferring to loiter
in charity shops 
and beer gardens

As the sun passed over
the yard arm
and the low grade
overspilled into syrup on my lap,
the sticky-crotched haze
of the day bound us together,
like slugs in cider.


I was travelling
to Norway via Leeds when I met you
at the bus stop 

Tired and wide-eyed 

I could still smell you


As you asked for a light
I hesitated
Smoothing the plastic planes in my palm

But your eyes flicked to my hand

and I held it out

smiling awkwardly

as you ignited

the grimy butt
 The glowing display
announced 32 minutes
until the 44 would arrive

You weren't going anywhere quickly

and apparently neither was I
 Returning the clammy lighter
You told me I was beautiful
but that you weren't trying to sleep with me
I suspected the opposite of both was true.

You asked me what I did

and embarrassed

I told you.
 You said you had a hostel 
for tonight at least
and thought you might be getting a council flat
now you'd got clean 

You loved your Dad

but you'd never got on

He was deaf 

and you wanted to sign for people 

who'd been arrested

although you hated the police 

Becoming more animated

your hands began to spell out

each movement of the tale.
 The two stories
(verbal and physical)
wove a patchwork
of signs and signifiers
I didn't want to read between the lines.

The brutality of words

was decorated with dancing gestures

leaving sparkler trails hanging

in the air

We smoked fags and laughed 

but I wanted to cry 


32 minutes later

the 44 pulled in 

and I stubbed out my roll up.
 You had stayed the same

but I had changed


Weighing, measuring, sifting the base elements
The forge chugs into life.
Fluidity unfurls the edge of the pat
and warmth slow seduces its core

The prickle-pop of fuzztickle 
begins to itch-twitter in the viscous juice.
FOOSH!----falls the sundust,
and bronzedrizzle blobs down to the pot.

Surging flows of lava humbubble
Convecting magical toil and trouble.
Scoop and plop via scaldburnt fingertips,
testing the witch's broth.

Pouring liquid alchemy 
into the final mold.
Scraping lines and wrinkling the skin
of the caramel majesty. 

She steps through the door 
and into the showreel.

Tonight, she's living through the lens,
as she shimmers her claws 
and preeningly prowls, 
extending each metallic vertebrae galactically.

Gusts of sherbety dark matter 
fly into the eyes of dusty mortals,
as her fuck-me-hard boots 
kick up a storm of fallacies.

Her gloss-licked pout 
reflects the unfulfilled dreams 
of the gaping hordes.

Her polished smile 
inflates her glowing cheeks.
Their hard lacquer 
rendering the residual crowds
bland and analogue,
ticking over helplessly,
as she digitalizes 
in glorious technicolor
pixelating endlessly into stratospheres. 

Turning her face to the wall,
she milks one more bitter tear.
Curdling the mix.
She stirs the lusty concoction
and sets the brew to ferment.

Chanting one last incantation,
she says the magic words,
crosses her fingers,
slips the rabbit's foot silently against her chest,
and dives under the surface.

She holds her breath,
closes her eyes against the stinging fingers of the fluid
and kicks her legs
charging into the current.

Feeling her veins bulge,
her chest tightens and throbs
and she knows she's alive.

Adrenalin sharpens her synapses 
as her blood turns blue.

A whisper becomes a cacophony,
junkthumping a crescendo into her crunking consciousness
as the seaweed's gentle fingers barely need probe to provoke a twitching climax. 

As he utters a final mumbled word into the churning ocean that envelopes her,
she's sure she can make out an eternal devotion 
over the deranged wails of the waves, 
which promise to break her bones and stiffen her flesh. 

Bang on the door to enter
in this place of strange angles,
vibration white finger, tinnitus,
asphalt and the rest of them.

Sparks of sharp hotness are smoothly deflected
by your strange angles
Strangle strangers
Strange place
and long days.

Looking the same,
does your easily earnt sweat
taste the same?

In hard earnt moments,
do you look the same
as when you wind and grind
on the edge of your blade?

The glow of industry
and faceless identity
casts impossible shadows over a city
of sharp edges and grimy faces

Winding upwards with symmetrical blocks,
there is no oxygen between
your right angles
and mathematical glue.

Vapours and residues of you
leave an invisible trace
cracking lines on my face
tracked out, like trading routes
carrying me away from you.

I dock my armada and acquire opium from China.
My sweet narcotic - anaesthetic or addictive, I wonder.

In the next port, offload the stury slaves you've been trafficking
in exchange for rich Moroccan spices.
You flavour the stew liberally,
hoping to get the taste of me out of your mouth.
to no avail it seems.

We pray that each exchange will accumulate profit,
but each time you pocket a blood diamond
a sliver of Aztec gold falls between the cracks in the pavement.

It seems my anti-cyclonic weather system
may have taken the wind out of your sails.
As I rounded the Cape of Good Will
you got lost in choppy seas around the Horn of Plenty.
I couldn't see you as you were wased overboard by a tidal wave of fury.

Small fishes chewed the whoelsome flesh from your bones,
sculpting you into archetypal new shapes, 
disguised to others,
floating down. 

Residues of you dissolved in the salt water. 

The saline rose and the sediment settled.

S e p a r a t e d.

Your former self fossilised forever on the ocean floor.

Prohibition and charming sneers,
Your solvent dilutes me.
I get drunk on nothing more than fumes.
It's short because it would be.
It's not your fault,
but it's not mine either.
Looking down,
but leaning forwards.
Over before it started.

Chicken or fish she said,
she said chicken or fish.
Eyeing up the pair of options,
each in an equal dish.

Surely there must be other choices,
other things to eat?
I always thought there was a variety of other edible meats.

Chicken or fish she said,
she said chicken or fish.
Chicken or fish she said,
she said chicken or fish.

I find one of them too gamey,
the other one too bland,
Can't we create another option
with both qualities hand in hand?

A beast with scales and feathers,
with a tail upon its hind?
Why that would be a scandal
of the most unnatural kind!

Well it would certainly be different,
something fresh and new,
but surely you shouldn't write it off
just for being different to you.

She dusted down her apron front,
and took a weary sigh,
Maybe this will help you out:
the veggie option's pie.

I don't define myself as veggie
but that option's on the tin.
Must I assume that identity
if I want to eat the thing?

Chicken or fish she said,

she said chicken or fish.
Chicken or fish she said,
she said chicken or fish.