Broken Roses – Video

Here I am reading from my latest poetry collection, Broken Roses. It’s a more darker collection than After the Rain or my other writings. It deals with death, solitude, loneliness, suicide, darkness, aphantasia, insomnia, love and memories.

Thanks for watching.

5 Star Review and flip.

I’ve had a lovely review from Betty for my latest poetry book, Pregnant with Death.

Thanks chockymuch, Betty 🙂


And flip. The reason I’m quiet on here at the moment is because my laptop has died and I don’t like to use this WordPress app on my phone too often. It’s just so finicky to operate.

The laptop has had a good life (about 12 years old) and has seen me through some experiences, helped me publish six books and we’ve made many friends through WordPress over the years.

So hip hip hooray to you my friend and farewell.

Hopefully it won’t be too long before I find a replacement but these things can take time as there’s so many out there nowadays!

Thanks again, Betty!

Open house


Light and love live on
side by side with dust and death.
Nature’s open house


Today is my WordPress 8th year anniversary!

Thanks for joining me, staying for the ride and keeping me on track. 😀



What is it but a drowned rat
in the mouth of a strangled cat

What is it but a broken vase
holding the deaths of life’s stars

How can it be
this, poetry

How can it sing
this impossible thing

Words have no meaning
until they’re written
and even then
they, like a rose
wither and die
to kiss
you and I
with death’s stagnant breath
to poetize
our meaning


of soul
whose elegant
vibrations of air
reach in
to touch

I breathe
your cruelty
to find
a desire for her touch
vibrating within
my empty soul.

of the rose

Memories of the rose.
I wonder
what those petals
as they fall,
what they remember
of her secrets
and how much of her
remains fragrant
within those soft petals
as they kiss the soil.

The lack of it

They appeared
in those days
as a feeling

and finished
I felt them.

I knew when a poem
was coming through
because of the pain

my head would be bursting
for days on end
and then a poem
worked better than pills.

Sometimes, thankfully
I’d get a weird gut feeling
and I knew
I felt
and I wrote.

Now I’m on different pills
so my blood isn’t boiling
my head isn’t bursting
and my gut isn’t feeling
so often

but neither is the poetry

(except for this 3am sleepless drivel!)