The City

The Resonance of the industrial

Tweaked with consumerism

Glancing at exotic peaks

Lines of grey and red

Straight edged

Lines fall through turning rides

Shops propped up by the conscious money slot

Through reels of time

Keep turning burning desires

Of a civilisation

Leaves fall to pavements

Crumble to dust

Rust falls from escaping cars



Tiny seeds slept under glistening stars which garnished the ground.

The depth of the darkness was felt in the air.

Nothing grew

And what could, would sleep

Trapped underneath while she was gone

The stale air thick with cold could be cut into chunks.

The chunks would sit as lumps in throats.

The dark days dimmed on until eventually she stepped out of the ground

Bringing warm rays which glowed and felt like honey dripping down the throat.

That sweet smell, the first flower popped up. The stars that lay in the ground turned to

glistening eyes as excitement bound for winter to spring once again.


Leaking Light

Leaking Light,

Spilled through lenses,

Seeping through any gap it can,

A sneaking persistence to demonstrate looking

Looking with sight and looking with my mind

Perceptual thought spirals onto the matter in hand.

The matter of sight

To see a quantum particle of light

A beam of a bright idea sparked into existence from the trail you make.

eyes drink in the liquid light,

like lasers looking for fuel

Fuel to ignite my thoughts of light

A glimpse through the lenses of sight.


The Gift

The gift it sits on my dresser, hidden in a tattered box it wears the dress of time. A brooch of art nouvaeu design, steel, glass and blue butterfly wing combine. It was gifted from my grandmother who received it from her mother, I feel a sense of being reunited with the past, with family a generation I shall never know but I hold something they wore close to their heart, the heart the organ which pumps the blood around the body, through the vein which mirrors the branches of my family tree. We stand together strong as steel, we split apart we break like glass; we are like the butterfly capable of transformation and living free but oh so fragile too.