Decidedly Disconnected

No one is coming for you today.

Switch all communications to

‘dropping off the face of the earth’.

Today, for as long as you like,

fall languid through

the vacuum of language.

Decidedly disconnected.

Where the word void tells you:

No one is coming for you today.


You chose to fall far from the crowd

and snipped cerebral chords

holding many minds together.

Now they sing

in a foreign tongue

and out of rhythm:

No one is coming for you today.


Today, for as long as you like,

fall lonely through

all language connected,

(now consciously corrected)

where, on earth they waited

for you to choose

to come for them today.



D.D. had a way of saying nothing
even matters with
a deadening smile.


it tried to pry its teeth out by the rotting
spongy mouldy gums
to see if it cried.


the blood and pus that followed only served
to make the joke seem
oh so funny we could die.


the flow of comic bloody props had halted
but the laughter it would
carry through the night.


the jester starts again the next day
until there comes a time when
it itself can die.


but time forgot to follow little D.D.
is the punchline
rotting from the inside.


tried and failed and missing death but falls –
applause – the funny man
who always seems to smile.

Jack’s Hill (there was no Jill)

There is a boy climbing the hill
who the teachers seek to kill
or sedate with a little pill
to end all his progress.

As they shot his legs he stumbled
and to the bottom he then tumbled,
but his courage never crumbled
to start the climb again.

He knows the hill is infinite
and that his climbing shoes don’t fit –
But I’ve heard from him, in spite of it:
‘I’ll walk on bloody feet!’

If I could create a title for this, it would be sorta ironic

That time you begin to write

and you can’t quite capture that


Feeling frustrated, working back

in your mind through connections


‘That just doesn’t make sense’

that you came to think of


That time you begin to write

and you can’t quite capture that feeling!



[written in November 2012]

Untitled and Sonnetesque

What is meant by the subtle inaction

and the feigned, determined inaction

of the beast? Touch greedy and mouth puckered,

prowling the night. Watching the night herd.


Flickers of weakness attract the feast,

then glances of coyness ignite the tease.

All the while hidden from victim

grows that beastly grin.


How he makes conditions exact

and lets you believe you chose the act

to fumble about that dim-lit den,

time and time again.


So from the beast to all I warn:

‘Keep clear of my night or fall for a charm

that respects no taste, just feeds on it –

for every one of you make me spit!’


[written in July 2012]

What Colour Are You? [Live Reading @ Grand Central Bar, Derry]


Myself reading my piece ‘What Colour Are You?’ live at the Grand Central Bar in Derry, Northern Ireland. Words below.


What colour are you?

Are you red? Are you blue?

The first for your lust,

the second for insight.

You could be vivid.


Do you fancy yourself a purple shade

or the brown and green the earth made?

Upholding spiritual roles of your own

or being that which forever grows.

You could live as the world.


Is it a smoldering  orange within you

or a yellow, illuminating all you deem true?

You’re the comforting warmth.

You’re the beacon for the lost.

You could be our safety.


With all your traits, precious spectrum of self,

you never thought it would be hell

to call him grey. Now, he is cold,

ash and dust. He is the shade of old.

He is the graphite residue of cheap words

and cheapest verse.