I'm a poet and short story writer based in the south west of the UK, who writes surreal and imagistic work. I mess around with words and self publish, both here and in real life. I also perform as a spoken word artist, haunting open mics with my nonsense.

My writing has appeared in Neon Magazine, Nine Muses Poetry and Marble Poetry.

This website has all my writings and my books. It's a little broken at the moment as I change from Jekyll to Eleventy. Haven't got pictures working for example. Oh well, we will get there

It has a blog I've been maintaining for 8 years. Subjects include art, politics, poems and anything else I fancy.

Here is what I'm up to now.

Recent Posts

The First Day of Mourning

Soon, they joined together in hordes
of increasing size, shudders running over
their bodies like waves in a storm.
They sat together over the cenotaph,
the shopping centre, spilled out into two
lane roads, holding each other as their sobs
became life rafts. Confused crowds watched,
unwilling to leap over to understanding.
Soon traffic stopped altogether, drivers
unable to see through salt water.

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Quick Dice Poetry Exercise

When I wrote about creativity and Dungeons and Dragons, I mentioned I had adapted roll tables to create a random poetry prompt. I thought I'd write up the process in case it's useful for anyone else.

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Always That Chimeric Skyline

Streets now sliced streaks of
shimmering turquoise, scarlet and
funeral grey blurs, suggestions of
doors, signs and windows barely
registering. How long, running for a
lifetime? No wheezes, no stitches, no
sweat. Pavement treadmills, that
red car ahead suspended in
motion. I need to catch up. Why? No
time for questions. Legs now
pistons, push my hazy memory of a
body forever forward as the city
loops over again towards the
vanishing point, never reached —

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Creativity lessons from Dungeons and Dragons

For the last few years, I've been playing Dungeons and Dragons as a Dungeon Master. This is the person who creates the world and encounters for the players to explore. Every session is fun and I enjoy inventing increasingly strange situations for the party to react to.

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A Ritual

I have been unable to describe the shape
of my body. Birds sing laments, mourning
for our forgotten winter in a language
only they know, nonsense to me. The sky
is a sermon printed on cheap paper,
orange markers bleeding through the page.
My garden whispers like a fading dream
as thoughts transmute to smoke,
wisp and separate and float. Recently

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All Posts