Email pings.


“Watch this.”

Dark things.

Dark well.

Dark girl.

Welcome to hell.

Your new world.

Video ends.

Phone rings.

“Seven days,” voice sings

“Sorry, am already dead, Samara.”

“Curse you, Kayako.”

Ghost wins.

Runs rings round cursed kid.



Some roughly-9-year-old poem

[Is that heading hyphenated correctly?]

[I just dug this out of an old writing folder. Believe it dates back to April 2009, so I was 18 and angsty. And apparently loved dropping the g at the end of ‘ing’ words.]

Tear me apart
I’ll love til it kills me
You’re out of control
But the journey it thrills me

Waitin for you waitin for two but I’m one
out on my own, all alone why don’t you come
Could it be something wrong you got held up
Text that comes thru ‘Where are you?’ ‘I just forgot’

Hate it tonight but wait for the high

Give me that look and I’m comin over
Feel such a rush as we’re movin closer
beyond you and I this world counts for nothin
And when you’re mine my life could be somethin

Give it your all but watch for the fall


Victory [Get a postcard from me!]

[I’m just experimenting to see what I can get away with writing here…

Comment with the other piece on this blog that this is a rewriting of, and I’ll send you a postcard. Cos why not]


The rising sun ironic,

Illuminating death.

A battle bathed in sunlight,

Our hero lives with nothing left.
All around him friends lay still,

Ne’er to breathe again.

Battered bodies lined the hill

Broken brothers met their end.


He gathers their possessions,

The trinkets for the wives back home,

Who scream as he approaches

His presence news – he walks alone.


Now night-time sees him screaming,

As he lies awake in bed.

For friends he lost and men he killed,

Swim endlessly around his head.


A tortured soul, a plague of mind,

Glance to the shadows – what to find?

Losing faith and losing time,

The reaper creeping close behind.


An emptiness that swallowed all,

Crept slowly through his veins.

Bleak futile obsolescence,

That would drive a man insane

And losing incandescence, life:

The oft-extinguished flame.


[We’ll work out a way for me to subtly get your address don’t worry]


‘A nice problem to have’
‘A selection headache’
Pure fancy at this stage
too soon
to know
and yet
we can’t
but imagine

Each one
comes to us
in mind, where we’re free
to choose, and swap, for:
no harm can come
no hurt wrought
from idle musings
on so many people
we could or could not


[just found this in my drafts.—it’s a few years old, and definitely not about anyone]

Out of Darkness

in times of strife–

no, lives of strife,

where every single thing goes wrong

we keep our heads up,

look to the sky

just to see the storm circling back around.

when words can do nothing

and yet words can mean everything,

so at least we have something to cling to

until the lifeboat arrives.

inscribed upon our hearts and souls

carved by endless repetition

a billion lives before us felt,

“all days come to an end

but all dark nights pass too.”

every morning, there is a morning–

a new day dawning.

we’ve made it here

and we’ll make it here again.

hold on.



[I started this (i.e. wrote the two bold lines) in December 2016, I think inspired by the beautiful lyrics of Alter Bridge’s song I Know It Hurts (loud guitar warning, totally worth it)]


Unspeaking but in sync

Entwined across a room they sit

Understanding bonds them, stronger than words express

The artist and the muse, each one to the other

Together they are lost

Lost in each other, in themselves

Lost from this world

All they have is pure

Each loves, and it matters not who

Only, completely, that they do

House of Hope [twin poem discussion post!]

[My friend wrote a poem. Then I rewrote it, changing every word but keeping the meaning and the precise 100 word total. I won’t say which is which just now, because I’m not certain I can remember. Maybe half of you reading (yes you, not not you) should scroll down and read the second one first. Anyway, thoughts? Which do you prefer? Does it even matter? Can we just appreciate both. Answers on a postcard (gosh, that would be romantic).]


House of Hope #1

Bowing, bending beams and walls

‘Tread softly’ I repeat,

‘Take care’, broken bricks and mottled mortar

Sharp silhouettes and angles fill the gloom

Leering out, reaching up

Beyond the boundaries of candlelight;

Passageways take shape


The soft hum that signals slow collapse,

Pierced with urgent screeching,

Timber snaps and starts the descent,

Gradual, but gathering, past every path,

Each side taken, each challenge faced

Even challenges I couldn’t face.




Building blocks, cracked with age,

Shape undecided, indeterminate, growing and decaying.

A hollow whisper whistles round dead end corners

For each one that got away

The blueprint for my past


House of Hope #2

Great groaning husk of building

Proceed slowly,

Carefully, rotten wood and blackened timber

Strange angles and shadows in the darkness

Looming forwards, extending upwards

Further than light’s glow can show;

Corridors unfurling


Gentle murmur of slow decay,

Broken occasionally by a more destructive leap,

A beam breaks and begins its fall,

Its slow, sonorous fall, down all the passageways of your life,

The choices made, the bridges crossed,

The bridges you turned away from.


They fall.


The wood creaks under the pressure of time,

The structure changing, shifting, morphing, parts falling.

An empty wind blows through the broken house

The unredeemable moments

Architecture of your life