28 Nov 2023 poetry
Once again, you find yourself barefoot,
toes buried in eroded stone, your steps
hesitant, sinking. You stand at the edge
of your island, listening to my breathing,
the crash and retreat, the regular shingle
sigh, the dance of a million small particles
rearranging themselves in new patterns.
The sun is already setting, elongating
your shadow, making me shimmer gold and
jewel tipped. You breathe in my salt air.
13 Nov 2023 poetry
Briefly, over lightly settled night,
tungsten filaments flame out.
Sunk in owl hoots and the scratching
of small claws on terracotta pots,
we feel the planet spin below our feet
so fast there’s no chance for dizziness.
07 Nov 2023 poetry
A flutter of flame consumed leaves
falls onto my crown, drifting embers.
20 Oct 2023 poetry
because there was no danger or threat,
no unwanted developments. There were no murders
because we melted down our knives and guns
to build homes, schools and hospitals for everyone.
War is now an archaic word, like famine
or suffering. Climate change was solved years ago
and every person has enough to eat and drink,
has all the resources and support they need
to thrive. Governments erased borders. Money was always fictional, but now everyone
acknowledges it. Of course, people still die,
but it is never unexpected and always
03 Oct 2023 poetry
Nothing grows here but sea kale
and spite. We walk towards a horizon
that refuses to get any closer,
under the sun’s pixelated glare.
29 Aug 2023 publications
In 2018 I was writing poems and putting erasure poems onto Instagram (much the same as today.) A small press called Selcouth Station approached me and asked if I wanted to make a pamphlet around those erasure poems. After a lot of work, the result was a hybrid pamphlet called Our Voices in the Chaos.
18 Aug 2023 poetry
If you are reading this on a screen
your face glowing cold and blue
your hand reaching out across air,
put down your device. Look around.