Tag Archives: poems


allows violence we
don’t trust girls.
exist and get released to the public, it’s

a camera is presenting
ways to justify our interest in
whoever is committing these atrocities
even with that kind of truth.
Even in the face of truth.

a title bestowed by
flamboyant outfits, yells
she’s had a change of heart
she said to come
and make a lot of money

Ask her about violence and it’s complicated.
However, it is times like this when I’m
faced with my opinion I
need help. Violence is childhood.
That’s something that was done overnight.
It’s sad because she’s a victim, but he’s
a victim too.

selective focus photography of black rotary phone


There are lines in my skin,
A wavering  taunt;
But I’ve grown old a thousand times
And I will die a thousand times more

I’ve been married twice,
Had children, not all with names,
Some I don’t even recall.
But I shall marry again, perhaps even twice,
And children; a thousand more.

Sometimes I die,
In a room, in a bed
Or on the floor.
But no need to scream
‘Is she  dead’?
For I will die a thousand
Times more.

This poem is about looking into the future; how we go over events in our heads that haven’t yet happened or may never happen. If we live moments enough in our mind, can they eventual seem real or at least strikingly familiar? I’ve particularly thought of this with regards to getting older and life’s impending death. (You can always trust me for an optimistic spark to your daily reading!)
Also, by thinking and imagining the less fortunate futures, do we tamper with our present?



Tonight I met the poet and author Simon Armitage.

The verb to meet, I should say, has been used rather loosely here. I’m sure nervously asking for an autograph with a side order of small talk doesn’t come under the dictionary’s definition of ‘to meet’. Nevertheless, after this acquaintance and consequential fluster, my friend and I (as well as an audience of people) spent an evening listening to a man, who, in my opinion, reigns high among the poets who walk the Earth.

I realise that ‘becoming inspired’ is a clichéd requirement when going to poetry readings and such, but that’s how I feel. I’m inspired to write poetry not to change the world but to write simply to write. To find meaning and novelty in even the dullest of things, even in ‘kicking mushrooms’.

‘If you try to write a poem about the meaning of life you’ll end up writing about a brick wall. However, if you write a poem about a brick wall it’s more likely that you’ll write about the meaning of life’.

What I found most amusing was his minor mocking of how schools teach us to analyse a poet’s use of ‘form’. He explained how he had half-heartedly adapted a poem about water to visually appear like a tide (i.e. the lines went in and out) in order to satisfy this artificial checklist of critical analysis. Awww.



Until this evening it had never been so accurate to compare me to one of Justin Bieber’s ‘fan girls’!


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