🍒 Articles, Prose - Whatever One Would Like To Call Them. An alternative creative process to my poems, and something I don’t see myself very good at which is why this section doesn’t go on for too long. An extract from: 🍒 Song of Myself by Walt Whitman I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every…

Free Verse Beochaoineadh. Gaelic (Irish) / n. / beɪ.ɒk.wiːnəʊ / bey-och-kwee-noh. An ‘elegy for the living’; a lament for someone who is alive but who has gone away. Once I filled my hand with mist. Then I opened it and lo, the mist was a worm. And I closed and opened my…

Free Verse Poetry with a side line of explanation as to its origin — to bleed me with your weakness let the doubt creep in your mother’s veneration riding on the wings of your subconscious. sensorial flesh spread beneath shadows of immorality. each rancid word a hiss of ophidian denial of truths I had supposed. vituperative rage destroyed my intuition each twist of lies…

A boy, a bus, our car and us… Imagine — a calm reflective glow of a dusky city sleeping before deep rivers ran with aches and cloistered memory — your strong hand saved me as a boys face scrunched its’ features hard against our windscreen sharp screech of tyres to burn in a…

Free Verse - plus, a FREE potted history … — Once a secret’s buried does it manifest with all the pain translated into bitterness? My grandmother her mane of white hair snaked over a band of black velvet locked a thought within her heart - of a child nailed in a box of silent memory. …

Free Verse with each tick of the clock I tried eyes watching hands minutes creep a paw across an unfathomable face. fine lines drawn for a disremembering moment. skin’s sensitivity drowned by the viscid liquid of his drool a drip from his exonerated mouth. but I tried. I tried. oh…

Free Verse — the silent sea of love — There is geometry in the humming of the strings. There is music in the spacing of the spheres. Pythagoras be all to me through all times to our dying rich wine poured at the souls of our feet the burst of red grape blushed with the musk of hushed breath sweet juice flowing to…

Free Verse Sisyphean acts of perseverance continually pull me to the farthermost corners of my mind where fight depletes determination dangerously denigrating life’s worth and meaning I have become nothing but a shroud of invisibility as with each gash earth cracks and all that was is silenced Demons bleed with…

Fifty Word Challenge #85: Censorship — I need to pull myself together else I will positively fall apart unpicked unstitched frayed and fucking unravelling a boat without a paddle travelling underneath still water without a life-belt oxygen unquestionably rescinded all light drowned out censorship a drag to the bottom enforced silence manacled about weep’s bleedin’ heart …