Monday, December 7, 2015

Fate/Black Rock

Did you see them
Seals lamenting on wet black rocks
for the state of grace lashed by the wind
the sea and the sky both bruised
and frozen rain about to fall
This is the sound of planets pulling near

You had so nearly forgotten everything
then he lured you back with just one word
and so you stepped back into the grip
feeling it tighten with its laissez faire
naming it as Uranic
so that you could retain a sense of Love

But you were the blood on his hands
an illicit shadow between dusk and dawn
and the seals' cries reach the sky
knowing their hopelessness

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

A Wild Light

Where the wind becomes manifest
ever widening points of stars and circles scatter on the sea
and a lone but happy boat passes out far

The reverie of dusk arrives
akin to floating in a warm pool, to an opiate glide
and the darkness caresses with softness all desires

You will find her
the child of another world living in your heart
peeping through her fingers with a wide uninhibited smile

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Blue Abstract

The morning was clear, with hope
now it sprawls grey
promising only a wait
every now becoming lost

These orifaces of the body

My body was wanted
my breasts desired
my sex ploughed, plunged, pounded, explored, tendered
All has been claimed then left
but never left
for it has always been mine

A body to be known again
by new mouths and hands
and the techniques of seduction
A self to be two selves to be one self
My heart a storeroom for all those beings
who came into my life

I sit on the bed
and draw my legs open
Imagining a birth upon my thighs
It is myself

The day becomes night becomes morning again
Blue dissolves into blue
always a first kiss

Thursday, November 12, 2015

In the Night Garden (2)

Under a new moon
sing your way sing your way
the black carp slide through water
as silk within silk
travellers in the oracular pond
by the southern gate of the garden

Noone else is walking here now
it is I it is I
and the palm trees beckon as I pass
gleeful songs to the night
like children whispering in the dark
chattering away the fears
of bad men and ill fates

I walk to the fountain
see its smile see its smile
a blue sapphire gift
held up to the darkest of pearls
magnificent in its infinite libation
is now

Friday, October 30, 2015

Inspired by the title song The Astounding Eyes of Rita

Please click the link to listen to the music and then continue to read: 

The mist came down oh my love
it dazzled me as you had once
its caress was upon my skin
and I like a blackbird in its hand

A 1000 years has gone by
but I have not died
for I must find you upon this earth
and look into your eyes again

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Holy Trinity

I will drink the mixed water of you
let it magnify my love
as rose quartz under a full moon

Your skin next to mine
and the sea
a holy trinity

Yes, the fear crawls and screams in my blood
why I don't know
something from way back
still in shadow
yet see the Sun burst from my heart
noone can doubt it
it is a golden disc from a God
it is a coin in someone's hand

We were all children
yet time moved us up
and separated paths
that became woods, deserts, oceans
our childhood songs fragmented
across laylines under our feet
fate lines across our palms

Close your eyes
Everything you ask is answered
in that silence
of One

Friday, October 23, 2015


What I will remember
will not be the clever words
nor news items nor world events
but rather when we stood still
listening to one autumn leaf drifting across an empty Marazion road

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

The Cherry

The morning air did not dare to breathe, the trees tried to hide and even the birds kept their songs in on that day, on that day.
The man from the kiosk who always clapped his hands and shouted happily was counting anything he could count, his face turned into his work.
Some people ate breakfast, watching non stop television, aching for live death. Others waited. Waited to die.

And now the jazz piano plays, making you remember, what do you remember, what will you say you saw.

I went to the closed shutters, looked out onto the army tanks, row upon row, as they started to move. Each with a young man atop, like a cherry to the gods, his machine gun aimed.
We knew where they were going, we all knew. And we followed their path, watched and stored what we saw. We said We will not talk about this. We did not say anything.
I heard the sound of tear gas canisters exploding one by one and automatic gun fire scattering opinions yet still there was silence. I saw photographs of burnt bodies sat as charred husks and blood upon blood yet still people said there was nothing to see.

And now the jazz piano plays, making you remember, what do you remember, what will you say you saw.

I saw the tanks return, and those young soldiers were somewhere we could not see them, faces of the underworld forever turned to the dead they had created.
Some people celebrated. Others were quiet. The talking ones were taken away. And they renamed everything to make it clean and right.
But the air saw, and the trees saw, and the birds saw and the wrong stayed alive.

And now the jazz piano plays, making you remember, what do you remember, what will you say you saw.


Lest we forget
Rabaa massacre 14th August 2013

Thursday, September 3, 2015


I saw his name. And for the briefest of moments it tugged my being open – and filled it with an oasis, flowers and never ending sky. I saw smiles, felt the curve of my own mouth tilt upwards with happiness, felt a feeling of rightness – the kind that made me want to stay like that forever, in a perfect bliss. I remembered how an embrace felt like, as water upon a dying soul, as a promise, as a prayer. I inhaled the sacredness of union, the heat of lovers, the want, the flesh, the bite. I looked into the most beautiful eyes and thought there could be no untruth possible. The late afternoon sun lulled me, the night drank me in, the ancient land sang her songs and danced her magic deep. I saw his name and remembered, then I closed the book again.

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Birth of the Free Writers Centre Website - June 16th 2015

Boom! Boom! Boom!  
The Free Writers Centre website is now ready to view!!!

You can now buy courses online and follow the study materials via written exercises, audio and some video - also chat with other students via a forum and receive assessment from me for assignments.

There is also a blog, Twitter, Youtube (and soon a Facebook page), a menu of Writing Holidays and the Members Area of the website will soon open offering online writing surgeries, chats, online literary salons and much more! 

Check it out! Big it up! Share it!

And you can view it with this song for the launch moment :)
And the launch day also happened to be a New Moon and Bloomsday

Cool cats or what! ♥

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Trees at Midnight

Let's look at the trees at midnight
and remember who we are
let us try
outline our bodies upon those huge trunks
and wonder at the stars being so far from this ground

Who are we
in this spin of a world
this senseless rotation
what did Venus whisper at the moment of our birth
how were the trees then

Let's retrace our nameless selves
finger to finger
a dance of being
Beings of wonder
dancing with Love

Sunday, May 17, 2015

The Unsaid

The woman appeared from the dark street
as old as the night, clad in black
'I have nothing, doctor,' she said

My heart stopped as I dropped through time and space

'I will give you my bones, as much as they can sustain you. Here is my blood so that it gives you new life. I will tear my soul's path to place it in your direction. That which is mine can be yours.'

All this I did not say
I walked by silent
The pleas of the countless
the anguish of the living
the impossibilities of the poor

Sunday, March 29, 2015

The Weight of Absence

They came floating upward
until they met the water's break
floating up to the seductive blackness
up to the lonely stars

My heart broke as I watched them
remembering each one
the weight of promises now trailing behind them
like seaweed from the deep
their faces once alive with kisses, pleas, remonstrations
now pale, passive, content
their arms that once reached out or swung by their sides as they walked away
now quietly level with their spent hips

And I in my circle of one
And I in my circle of one

Saturday, February 21, 2015

The Now

I have known too many, too many with pain and the inability to bear it, a screeching into the black night, a tearing out of heart.
He took it.
Then the glass sculpture began to be made
exquisite arches of that clear, cold material
smoothed and treasured for its beauty
but without a pulse.

Ha! She laughs. Throws her head back so her throat fills with the rage of all that she ridicules. This is her way to strum the nightmares, take the images and reduce them.


There are too many, too many who ache, who look with exhausted eyes, go through those everyday nothings, those daily pretends. How many people does it take to make something real?

Don't write to me now. Don't come to the door now. Don't say my name. I lost my name.

                                Cut.                         Cut.                          Cut.

In the night she dissolves
and the waters of her birth reclaim her
their wild marines showing the expanse of life

as this is the wound of my generation

my hands are showing a new way
Fate lines

Friday, January 23, 2015

The Lion

'April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.'

But it is not April and it was uncountable red winter flowers that burst their hearts and spilled their blood onto that awoken land
they ran with hope and fearlessness
and even the trees swayed to look at them in that winter called an Arab Spring

And in that moment
there was a wild celebration
and a revival of pride
of young men, of women not as sisters or girls or mothers but as themselves, of all that could happen, of film stars, of bellydancers, of belle epoque, of shaabi music, of the candyfloss seller and the homeless

four years have gone
four splintered gates
of uncertainty
a grief for the young men, of women not as sisters or girls or mothers but as themselves, of all that could happen, of film stars, of bellydancers, of belle epoque, of shaabi music, of the candyfloss seller and the homeless

Revenge came with retribution
and the old hands took it like they were always going to take it
and a photograph of a lion found dead by the trash in Malhalla says everything

*First line taken from The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot