Monday, 18 January 2010


Touch me,
I've ached for your touch for so long.
Run your hands down my arms;
The touch of your fingertips feels like balm
To the wound made by our parting.
Oh, God, how I've missed you;
How I've yearned,
All this time
Just to be with you;
To touch you,
To hear your voice.
I love you more than life itself.
More than living; more than being;
More than breath.
I love you with all that I am,
And to be without you is to lose my soul.
So if you go,
As you have to go,
For a day, or a week, or a month;
Then go.
And hurry back, my love.

Friday, 8 January 2010


Pre-caffeine, I wrote these words for you,
Pre-caffeine, I strung together these lines.
If I take the time,
Even pre-caffeine, I can make them rhyme.
Pre-caffeine, I forced my brain to work,
Pre-caffeine, I can't always talk.
But, even pre-caffeine, I can just about write
For you.
Wake up - it's coffee time!

Sunday, 3 January 2010

The Forest

Down the long dusty road
The distant forest waits,
Its dim green light
Drawing me in
To its cool embrace,
Holding me cocooned; safe:
Trees whispering comfort around me,
Somewhere to run;
Somwhere to hide;
Somewhere to be free:
Somewhere to be me.
The heartbeat of the forest
Is the centre of my soul.

Monday, 28 December 2009

Inside Suicide

This is one I started writing back in 2000 and finally finished earlier this year. It's been a long time writing, and this is really me looking back from solid ground at the place I used to be.

Inside Suicide

There is a darkness so empty
That light cannot reach its core.
That's where I stand,
Alone and unwanted,
Unfit to be touched by your hand.

There is a hatred so vicious
That nothing surivives in its grip.
Clenching its fist,
As it crushes my soul,
In disgust that I dare to exist.

There is a pain so consuming
That nothing but pain brings relief.
The cut of the blade,
And the flow of the blood,
Bring the solace from which peace is made.

Sunday, 27 December 2009

A poem a day...

This is an old one from 2006. Inspired by the last gig ever by Breed, and the death of John Peel.

Teenage Dreams

This is our last song,
These are our last words,
This is the last music we will make.
These were our hopes,
These were our goals,
These were our teenage dreams.
But now he is gone,
And our dreams are gone,
And we have nothing left to dream.
Because only he knew
That teenage dreams
Are the best dreams.