Tuesday, 19 March 2019


Furtive gloom-light slips as seductively as Lolita

Into the void and, caressing the spine of darkness,

teases sleepy day into rising, damp, pink,

 and hard, against the dexterous digits of curled clouds

that roll and buck, restlessly as spurned lovers,

against the amorous attention of night.

 And as the growing tremor of light builds below the bud,    

a sprinkle of stars spark in and out with euphoric gasps  

 matching the repeating  thrust and pull of unrequited lust

swaying in broken shadows where night and day come together.

Sunday, 26 August 2018


Punctured, and weeping, along the rutted racecourse of time,
Phantoms murmur in the darkle and watch
As stretched shadows roll inward, tremble,
And stutter toward decay.

Crudely carved onto broken ground, whispered silence is cast in ghostly silhouette.
It bites with sharpened, wraith-like, teeth,
trails the savaged, green, soul of the earth, with suffering,
and claims a puckered forfeit in rusted blood.

Saturday, 11 August 2018

The Fall

Bone-thin, molten-skinned, hackle-hunched and shackled
All gnawing after truth, and a place to rest,
They search the skies.
Eyes, cleft, yellow-red, and rolling inward
As white -wings descend from heaven and hide reality
in a snowstorm of purity and light against the dark.

Talons, marked by angel’s blood, scatter feathers
And eager tongues, split by lies, taste misted-memories
rising in forked wisps
from the ancient  quagmire of unborn hopes and dreams
spawned by daemons after the fall.

Friday, 27 July 2018

In The Gloom-Light

The half-bright, glimmer of liberated souls flicker endlessly in gloom-light,

calling for him to bring them home: The sound touches his heart and he weeps.

As the sad tone fills the air, the shadowy veil of gloom-light creeps   

 relentlessly over the earth and without exception obscures them from sight.

He bellows his rage at the golden one; The Creator of such suffering.

And his voice casts light upon the world, shining into dark places,

giving hope, creating strength, and growing, as it traces

a melody of hope, rising and touching a myriad upturned  faces, singing, 

Sunday, 29 April 2018



A soft, almost dead, echo trails away as she knocks at the ancient door. 


 She repeats the intricate knocking-code and stands, with arms crossed, waiting. 

 The door creaks; bowing outward as something heavy comes to rest against it. The stones of the tower send down a fine primordial dust. 

‘Go away.’ The voice sounds old and age worn like the door. She knows it is him. 

 ‘Still alive then, old Jackal.’ 

 The door vibrates. ‘Anpoot, is it you?’ A snuffling, sound comes from within and more dust floats down. ‘No…too young ….. Yet… the scent is familiar.’ The voice is deep and filled with the sound of hope. 

 'No. Not Anpoot. She is as you are - miserable and dying alone because of pride and foolish sense of duty.' 

 ‘She sent you?’ 

 ‘Of course not, she’s as stubborn and packed with pride as you. 

I came because I love her; and … because you should be together. Now open the door.’ 

 ‘You know what may happen if the door opens’.

 ‘She told me, yes.’ 

 ‘And still you would open it?’ 

 ‘Yes, she needs you, just as you need her.

 I have watched her since I can remember. Seen her suffer and struggle with her mortality: Heard the catch in her voice when she speaks of you. She is a papery shadow of who she once was. She has suffered. You have suffered. Open the door and let me bring her to you.’ 

 ‘Open the door and unleash the beast, again, how tempting.’ 

 Maybe the creature was strong once, but that time is gone. You of all the Numen should know that. The power of your immortality has diminished, so has hers. Now open the door. She is close by in a litter. It’s time.’ 

 There is a long silence. ‘I cannot open the door. I do not have the key.’ 

 'If you don’t have it, then…’ 

 ‘She must.’ The door creaks and shudders as a great weight thrusts against it. ‘It will be that thing that has joined us together over the aeons. Find it, find the key, and bring her to me.’ His plea ends in a desperate whine. 

She stands, quietly, for a long moment, and then goes down to the litter she has dragged behind her for days. 

 Pulling out a small, almost, swaddled, body she struggles to the door. Taking a dagger from her sleeve, she raises both arms toward the moon-dark sky.  

The thumping on the door is frantic and with each beat he moans, ‘Anpoot.'

Once, twice, she slices each palm and smears her blood upon the door. 

‘With the blood that joins you, I unseal this rift’ 

The door dissolves into a dark void, rolling forward and enveloping the step, then it vanishes, so does the body. 

The door is unchanged but now there is hope. 

A glorious howl rises star-ward followed by overwhelming quiet. 

She smiles and walks away into the night. The shadow of a jackal lopes after her.