All Poems by Kilmo

The Good Fight

Every step can be red,

If we let it,

And that rage will eat us up,

Make us forget,

That people,

Are just people,

A rubics cube,

With no one word answers,

That bullets can ever solve,

As they travel,

On their pain bracketed way,

We’ll forget that,

And who we are,

As we gnash our teeth,

At the unfairness of it all,

Like we’ve suddenly found,

The tooth fairy doesn’t exist,

Why should the haves have?

And the have nots not?

They’ve got fuck all,

It’s unjust,

Not right,

That some should starve,

And graft,

Whilst others sleep on feather beds,

And have cream in their tea,

What a world, ey?

No karma,

No guiding hand,

No moral principal,

That shapes it all,

Beyond the lies we tell each other,

To keep a bleaker truth from damaging our day,

Howl and froth all we want,

And we might even be better for it,

But in the end,

We make our own,


Bad Medicine

I thought,

I was too old for this,

Too jaded and world weary,

And yet when I listen to the radio today,

And hear of Afghan women,

We trained to fight,

Hiding in ditches,

Ripe with sewage,

And the countless thousands,

We showed a glimmer,

Of a different world too,

Now left behind,

As the wolves close in,

I find myself,


To tears.

If Wishes Were Fishes

We want certainty,



The ability to look,

At a man,

Or woman,

And see their nature,

Like a soothsayer,

With a crystal ball,

But blinded by history,

And all those,

Layers of experience,

Like an onion,

Made from scars,

We can’t see,

The truth,

Is a lot,

More complicated,

Than that.

The Wrong Room


They sound good don’t they?

And we just love them,

We must do,

Seeing as we’re always chasing them,

Looking for the grand promise,

The glittering illusion,

We don’t even know we make,

But we do,

Building castles out of hot air,


And aspirations,

We draw them over us,

Like quilts,

A patchwork of fantasy,

We can believe in,

To get us through the day,

And keep us warm at night,

We’re as bad as poets,

Having hope,



And respite,

It’s important,

But if you ask me,

It’s worth a lot of coin,

To know,

We’re only human,

And humans lie.

The Dating Game

Part One

A single mum who’s lost everything,

A worthless bitch,

Pick them up and use them,

Ditch them when you’re done,

Flash the cash,

Spread the load,

She’ll be desperate,

To escape the brat,

They always are,

I make sure of it,

Get the mates in next,

Your aunts,

Your uncles,

And the rest,



See how far you can push it this time,

Pretty soon you’ll have her seeing the light,

Doing the ten step walk,

A mile behind,

And six feet under,

Breath deep,

You know what that smell is?


Part Two

Fucking Men,

Fucking backstabbers,

Least I’ve got the kid,

The rest of them,

All gone now,

I keep his room the way he likes it,

Liked it I suppose,

He paid a visit once,

Got drunk down the pub,

Shouted screamed,

Smashed the place up,

Said he was too good for this shithole anymore,

Too good to see me suffer more like,

Too much of his father in him,

I wish sometimes,

(At night when I’m sure there’s no one to see)

That I hadn’t,

It’s true what they say,

Love’s a bitch.

The Missing Voice

Soft and sweet,

Wrapped in leather,

With eyes you can’t quite see,

And a smile that danced,

To a four four beat,

Under a dark motorway,

You never knew her name,

Her story,

Or what she did,

As the thud of bass,

Drowned your words,

And uncertainty,

Made you hold back,

Afraid of a slap,

Maybe all she did really want,

Was that spliff.


Maybe it’s a question,

Of perspective,

But I think it goes,

Deeper than that,

When a demonstration,

In a neighbourhood,

Destroys cars,



And goods,

The old residents,

Could never afford,

Then we line up,

To cast rocks back,



Terrorists and vandals,

The message they marched for,

Gets lost in the hate,

No one likes seeing,

The pie we want a slice of,


Except for those awkward,

Stupid fucks,

Busy pointing out that,

All that wealth is yours,

Every day it’s taken from you,

Only deepens the hurt,

And people that are hurting,

Have a tendency to bite,

Why do you think it is,

We keep rounding,

On the ones fighting back?

Thou Shalt Not

There was a time when duty,

Meant something,

A time when it was great,

And glorious to put yourself,

In front of a speeding bullet,

For God,



And the upper class,

Sacrifice meant something then,

And when ordered to walk into slaughter,

And die bravely,

For the ‘better’ man,

Britain’s loyal citizens did so gladly,

Duty meant something then,

Back when it came with the birthright,

And we hadn’t worked out,

What a waste,

It was.

The Contract

On the soldiers return,
They built him a statue,
A memory surrounded by his spoils,
With the dates of his comrade’s deaths,
Slipping from the plinth,
It stood with the last letters of,
‘We Shall Never Forget’
Carved between its feet,
But after the rain had done its work,
Even its face had disappeared,
And the seasons came,
And went,
Until where it had been,
Was just a blank,
Like it couldn’t get over,
The shock.

Too Early

RIP the 3,744,

They gambled,

The odds were in their favour,

And they lost,

The people who sold them something,

They chose to take,

Will have to live with that,

And I’m glad it’s not me,

That has to pay the price,

On either side of the equation,

For laws that say,

These aren’t our bodies,

To decide what we ingest,

Evidently they’re our nanny’s,

In the state,

I thought my arms and legs were mine,

My head too,

I’m reasonably certain it should be,

And not the governments,

Private corporations,

Or financial institutions,

Unless we’ve given our consent,

Or have we already done that?

There are plenty of other killers,

With body counts,

That rival substance abuse,

What about alcohol?

And tobacco?

To choose a likely pair,

But I think the moral majority,

Enjoys that tickle,

Of outraged fear and anger,

When they hear of all those dodgy products,

Killing teenagers,

While they safely ignore,

One death in thousands,

Is no holocaust.

Cold Feet

Exit was born in Wootton Radley,

In the young conservatives club,

Between the debating chamber,

And the optics,

She was built,

In all her glory,

When radicals,

And human resources,

Bolted on,

The best they had,

Until her ideologies gleamed,

Raw and untested,

Sharp as knives,

Her forecasts and predictions,

Policies and memos,

Could fillet,

A traitor,

At ten yards,

Exit was a killer,

A stone cold,

Bomb on legs.


The disc covered the sun for a week,

And the animals in the forest,

Hid their eyes,

The largest of the carnivores,

Thinking it was winter,

As they stayed where it was warmest,

Convinced it was time to hibernate,

It took the smallest first,

And the things that fell to earth,

Had nothing to do with the lives that had ascended to the stars,

The lizards made it pause,

And for a while it rained scales,

And freezing blood,

Until what had brought the circle across the sun got bored,

Of the experiment,

And moved,

To insects,

For a while the storms creatures,

Had more arms and legs,

Than they needed,

And eyes that reached,

Round the back of their heads,

But it was when it got to the apes,

That the disc and the creatures within it,

Really got down to business.

The Problem With Motors

Nothing but ghosts,

Roam the warehouse now,

Their memories,

Growing seeds,

In the dirt,

Drifting into corners,

Growing through the cracks,

The men knew it,

The war against time,

That runs in circles,

Standing against the cold,

As they watched,

At their fires,

For the daylight to come back,

And stared,

At the forest,

And the lives,

It concealed,

We’re born,

We live,

We die,

There’s nothing waiting,

On the other side.



…peeled back with the edge of a knife sharpened so fine it can cut through time…

Paving slab,

Aggregate and dirt,

…knife sticks edge dulled by ignorance and disability…

The concrete rebar of a towns heart catches like a grid,


…like the skin of an onion lifting…

You smell it first – the centuries old stench of combusted lives filling the nostrils with the rank smell of green things crushed in an old man’s fist,

Clogging eyesight dulled by years,

As it peels back,

And we hit the cinders of a burnt town,

(…you might think of vampires but these fires brought death of different kind…)

Charred ends of wood,

Pilings and buried foundations,


…picked out in the half remembered names of street signs and forgotten squares…

Mud and more mud,

The bedrock sat beneath the accumulated weight of compacted lusts,

Good soil for growing,

(so they say)

Clay and water,

Stored up sunlight,

And time,

We sit upon,



There’s a beat within me,

A red tide,

Of rage,

When I’m tired,

That thumps,

Like a drum,

Until there’s nothing left,

And I can’t find a way,

To calm it.


He felt part of something then,

And sometimes when the cashier,

Gave him a wink,

He felt his heart jump in his chest,

He’d stopped going to his clubs,

And the flutters,

He made down the bookies,

Had lost their appeal,

After he’d spluffed enough,

To make him fall,

Behind with the debts,

That hit his mat every week,

So Nige enjoyed shopping around,

Bargain hunting he called it,

The cord cost five ninety nine,

A snip at twenty per cent off,

And the stool ten bucks,

The whole set up,

Can’t have come to much more,

Than what he’d spent on his TV,

The booze was an extra,

And worth every penny,

Thought Nige to himself,

As he slipped the noose,

Round his neck,

Family value they called it,

Thought Nige,

As the cord,

Snapped tight,

Around his neck.

House of Cards

So much easier to hide,

Behind Ma’am’s face,

Clutch her apron strings,

And flash her crown,

You’re doing the right thing,

It just comes with a price,

They do say,

Money talks,

Does anyone else feel,

A bad taste in their mouth,

When they use it to avoid,

The risk?

Lives are messy,

Too messy most of the time,

And it’s easier,

To keep them at the other end,

Of a pole,

With pennies attached,

So, yeah, I don’t like myself,

For keeping my gob shut sometimes,

For thinking that waving tokens,

Absolves me from it all,

And I feel weak,

Like I should have done more.


Funny how pain,

Hides on the inside,

Like if you stick a nail,

Through your finger,

It’ll hurt,

But you won’t know,

How much,

Till you’ve done it,

It’s like the old saying,

If a tree falls in a forest,

Does it make a noise?

Maybe if you’re there,

To catch it,

It does,

Except that it’s you,

Doing the screaming,

So carry on darling,

Fill your lungs with shit,

It’s your right to do so,

Your body to fuck up,

And as the tar mounts,

In your pretty lungs,

You can spark another,

And wait,

Because they’ll cut your throat out,

Amputate your tits,


You could end up,

Speaking through a tube,

And I’m no Nazi,

Fuck knows,

It’s probably coming to me too,

What pisses me off,

Although I can’t be arsed,

To explain it half the time,

Is that cancer stick you’re smoking,

Does nothing,

What feeble,

Little buzz,

Comes from that pointless drug?

Call that a fair trade off?

Your life,

All those good times,

You never had,

Because you stuck,

A B and H in your gob?

How many years,

Did that cost?


I watched a girl’s fingers,

Ticker tack.

On iron railings,

The other day,

And thought of islands,

Like jelly fish,

In the sea,

While the smell,

Of her hair,

Lingered on the breeze

So soft,

Like pale skin,

Stepping across,

A forecourt.

Night Time Swimming

Can you imagine,




Through each pool in your head,

You swim a little farther

A little further,

It’s like peeling back,

The skin of an onion,

Or a body,

And finding,

The silence



There must be a bottom,

Although I haven’t,

Found it yet,

The final pond,

The last pool,

In which,

To sink,

Maybe the end,

Is death,

The place we’re not supposed to go,

At least,

Not yet,

Where we travel so far,

And dive so deep,

We don’t come back.

Dear Katie

What happens if you get a word wrong?

Do a thousand teenagers,

Top themselves,

If you have a cold?

Does it keep you awake at night,

Worrying that the brand,

Of coffee you drink,

Could influence millions?

What is it with people,

That they hang,

On every word,

You say?

You’re a face on TV,

A celebrity,


Not an answer,

So how did it happen,

The transformation,

From human,

Was it slow?

Did it hurt?

As the gradual realisation,

Of the fix you’re in,

Took hold,

You’re owned,

They’ll never let you go,

Now they think they know you,

And they’ll punish you if you miss behave,

Maybe I’m being negative,

I’m sure it’s a lot of fun,

And it’s too late now ey,

Now the fate of millions is in your hands,

I think I like you anyway,

And sometimes,

I wonder who you really are,

Who any of these faces on my screen are,

But the question is,

If I was there,

Could you tell me,

If I asked?

The Murderer

Another teen given a reason to live,

That the world can’t provide,

Certainties are attractive like that,

When it feels like lives don’t matter,

But the truth is,

They do,

Although maybe not in the way you thought,

There is no master plan,

No divine god,

And those people you blew up on the train?

They’re just people,

Not evil or perfect,

But people,

Like any we lose,

You killed a mother of two,

(Who drank too much on Saturday’s,

It’s true,)

But it’s Ok,

God’s on your side,

You wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t said so,

Would you?

The blast killed an unemployed labourer as well,

He’d had a rough day,

And missed his earlier train,

In a row over tickets and the price,

But that’s Ok,

God’s on your side,

As well as everyone else’s,

And on and on,

The hundred and one,



Stupid people,

Whose lives you end,

Because you think you’ve got a divine right,

A fighter in a holy war,

I bet that makes you feel special,

Why don’t you fight a tougher battle,

And realise we all have something in common,

Love, kindness, respect,

Pick one because you’ll find it applies,

No matter what our personal beliefs,

I’d like to tear it all down too,

Start again,

You know,

Build afresh,

How glorious would that be?

But if you can’t create,

Don’t destroy,

How much harder is it to repair damage,

To grow something new,

Than kill?

Anyone can knock holes in something,

I suspect your god,

Would have something to say about that,

When you ruin what he’s made.

Crow Ghosts

I won’t stare across the prairie much longer,

Or see the grass wave as the wind stirs it,

It changed long ago,

Became tiles and tar,

Chimney’s and stacks,

The sinews of a prey,

The white man caught,

With his wagons,

When the sun goes down,

Sometimes the people don’t draw their curtains,

And little slices of yellow,

Cut through the night,

I can see in,

Watch the lives unwind,

At the end of the day,

As incomprehensible as aliens,

I’m glad we moved,

My grandpa saw it coming,

It’s busy round here come summer though,

The tourists like to gawp,

I give them voices,

As I watch them in return,

Let them speak,

With other tongues,

More often I stare,

In incomprehension,

When I was young,

This was tundra,

And all that roamed on it were us,

And the Buffalo,

Now it’s SUV’s,

And thieves.


Which one of us is the parasite,

Earth or infant?

The two legged monkeys,

Crawling across its fields,

That build car parks,

And power stations,

Until the sky turns black?

Or what gave birth to us?

It can’t be Earth,

She’s been around too long for that,


Without her we’d be nothing,

So if we’re the parasite,

Can you blame her,

For wanting to get rid of us,

Start again,

Sending a tsunami,

The size of mountains,

To scrub herself clean.

The Elephant Man

Six of one and half a dozen,

Of the other,

Act like freak,



And people stare,

They mutter,

They point,

They do it on the sly,

Like poking a stick,

At a wounded bear,

It’s not their fault,

That you’re putting on a show,

They’re bored and human,

And you’re trapped,

In a prison in your head,

They’ll help you,

Stay there if you like,

Wind you up,

Feed the beast,

Rise above it mate,

Think yourself free,

No one will listen,

No one will believe,

They’ll just give you that look,

The one that means they’ve seen it all before,

From the comfort of their lives,

A wife,


A home to go to,

When the day’s done,

I don’t want to give advice,

So I’ll pass some on,

The best,

Help I ever got,

Was: ‘Can you think,

Outside the,


Red Indian radio

Wyot couldn’t stop the words,

He sat in class,

And spouted them all day,

From the back,

As you do,

All the better to launch them,

At the teacher’s head,


And snigger,

And play,

Stupid games,

But at night,

He was free,

To drop the act,

Lose the pretense,

And scrawl the things,

That scorched across his eyelids,

When he slept,

Paint technicolored dreams,

Like doorways,

To other worlds,

On the city’s rooftops,

Up there,

In the moonlight,

There was no one,

To impress,

But himself,

And the rush,

As he dodged,

Security guards,

And cameras,

In his effort,

To get his message,


A Royal’s Gift

The pyramids should have been built of people,

They’d have watered the desert then,

Each tomb bleeding out through the sand,

Until it blooms red.

Shake Down


The ultimate diet plan,

No need for a bottle,

Or a pill,

No need for exercise bikes,

Conveyor belts,

Or gyms,

It’ll thin you down,

Till only bones are left,

If there’s something after that,

We’re lucky,

Leave home,

Put on fat.

The Dollar Value

Darkies are money in the bank if you ask me,

I went once you know?

Call it a jolly,

Took the missus too,

Although she never left the hotel,

Visited one of the camps,

Hidden away in the trees,

All those hopeful faces,

All begging to get across the water,

Well I’m a helpful man aren’t I?

They’ve got the folding,

I’ve got the need,

Used to be in a different game,

Lot of money in substance abuse,

Lot of death too,

Trafficking’s safer,

Although the risks are just as high,

But they won’t wise up,

Scares the old’s folks,

You see,

They wet themselves in the provinces,

Drugs and wide boys god forbid,

As if a little spliff hurts anybody,

It’s the bullet that does the damage,

Everyone knows it they just don’t like to say,

It’s easier to tow the line,

Drugs are bad kids,

A menace to society,

You keep right on thinking that,

While we rake in the cash,

They’ll put me and my former partners out of business,

If they ever change their minds,

And work out how much money,

Can be made off,


The Accepted Wisdom

Feel the straps tighten,

Click clack,

Round your chest,

Juggle this,

Balance that,

Another day being asked to do too much,

But these,

Oh these,

Are the ones’s the state puts there,

Roll up all you autistics,

Circus freaks,

And misfits,

They’ve a place for you alright,

In the sin bin,

The little box labelled,


We’re not fit for human consumption,

Better stay amongst,

Our own,

We’ll get better there,

Rubbing shoulders,

With each others phobia,

Dining off each other’s fears.

The Big Top

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap,

Starving people grow clap,

Clap wooden hands clap,

Clap on clap,




Don’t care,


Won’t care,

Clap, clap,

Got things to do,

Like Clap,

No *clap* strings attached *clap*,

Clap, clap,

If you listen close,

Clap, clap,

You can hear,



Clap, clapping,

Clap, clap, clap, clap,

Clap, clap, clap,

Clap, clap,

To a,


Species War

Battery hens and leopards,

Cheetahs and moles,

A free range zoo,

With shopping center bars,

Crawling down pavements,

Working their way uphill,

There’s a million steps of evolution,

Hidden in a square mile,

Whose stolen pelts,

Robbed off a clothe horse’s back,

Are zebra’s of foundation,

Their looks shaved off Oriental backs.

Network Babylon

Back to my slab,

The twin to the plastic slap,

Against my cheekbone,

That’s such a mystery,

On my tombstone you can write,

The 21st century caught up,

When I wasn’t looking,

‘It’s devices buried me’

Social media angels,

Dig an antisocial grave,

(Not that I’d be much different without them)

But I wouldn’t be debating ‘Likes’,

We’ve exchanged contact,

For Facebook,

And use emoticons,

For feelings,

Expression comes in yellow now,

With a smiley grin,

And a tear,

On it’s cheek.

A Landlord’s Peace

Run for cover they’re calling armistice,

Do you trust them?

Do I?

When the armistice callers,

Have 200 nukes,

How is it fair,

To give up what you’ve got?

They’ll guarantee peace,

Until it sparkles,

So bright the dust glows,

And only cockroaches,

Are left to fight,

Over the scraps,

Armistice…a word to be careful of.

A Walk in Town

Raw eyes,

Vanished years,

Streets with no memories,

Where there should be some,

That’s the pub where I?

That’s the park where?

That’s where so and so met?

I could go on,

People say they’ve got problems,

And I know they do,

But try it,

With a dollop of,

Mental health,

Sickness sucks.

Meat for the Masses

Blood flows,

To the sea,

Why pull it uphill?

Blood where we come from,

Blood where we were born,

The short answer is this:

Let’s start it,


The Domination Game

As thin as the cardboard,

It’s made of,

Like a top hat,


Behind your eyes,

People don’t come,

With scissors attached,

They don’t have a dotted line,

And golden pens,

For fingers,

Work, graft,


We’re all at it,

You’re spitting at yourself.

Whose Culture Is It?

I saw some letters the other day,

Gaunt and meager,

In a crabbed hand,

Holding on to the ragged ends of a culture,

That’s become a foreign land,

It’s tale of sadness and want,

Whose enemies eyes slant,

On the other side,

Of wrong,

The same as you and me,

You pass them on the street,

Aliens in a land whose rules aren’t theirs,

Where cardamon not chips is the dish,

It’s rice they juggle,

Not fish,

It must be scary,

To feel so besieged

By smiles,

That sacrificed so much,

To not show teeth,

So is that fear on the wall,

Not anger?

Beneath your sweat and hatred my friend,

You stink of it,

Scrawling racist lyrics on walls that will never win,

You’re the last gasps of a vanished myth,

Sepia-tinted bullshit,

An island,

As foreign as the jubilee,

To many,

It’s sad we forget the sacrifices made,

By Brittania’s missing children,

The ones you don’t find on the cenotaph,

A white man’s war fought by black and brown too,

Who died in the mud for us,

My friend,

You don’t speak for me,

I suspect others have said this better,

But, I want it off my back,


First World Problems

The King of Burgers,

Tepid, hot,

You got it,

Fresh from the plastic sack,

Scrape those gherkins off the top,

That’s your greens,

The meat’s,

(Did I say meat?)

Main course,

Remember to save some for the pups,

God knows why,

They’ll be dead in a month,

But we’re our own RSPCA,

Remember it’s the roller coaster of life,

Up, down,

And all over the place,

At least we know how hungry we are.

Dream Zero

Behind death,

In a corner between the stars,

Is her grin,

I can smell her lips,

And taste her tears,

And wonder at how they ever came to be,

The flicker of an eye hides her name,

If I knew it,

And the secrets it contained.

Mr Clean


You’re shrinking now,

Thinned like wax from a flame,

With a fading citrus grin,

But thank-you,

I smell so nice,

And I’m sure town appreciates it,

‘Knock ‘em dead’

Had a different meaning before I met you,

Ladies swooned,

You could see the whites of their eyes,

Now they sing a different tune,

As I stride by,

In fact my only worry now,

Is your leaving me,


And smelly,

In my bath.

The Dating Game

Part One

A single mum who’s lost everything,

A worthless bitch,

Pick them up and use them,

Ditch them when you’re done,

Flash the cash,

Spread the load,

She’ll be desperate,

To escape the brat,

They always are,

I make sure of it,

Get the mates in next,

Your aunts,

Your uncles,

And the rest,



See how far you can push it this time,

Pretty soon you’ll have her seeing the light,

Doing the ten step walk,

A mile behind,

And six feet under,

Breath deep,

You know what that smell is?


Part Two

Fucking Men,

Fucking backstabbers,

Least I’ve got the kid,

The rest of them,

All gone now,

I keep his room the way he likes it,

Liked it I suppose,

He paid a visit one,

Got drunk down the pub,

Shouted screamed,

Smashed the place up,

Said he was too good for this shithole anymore,

Too good to see me suffer more like,

Too much of his father in him,

I wish sometimes,

(At night when I’m sure there’s no one to see)

That I hadn’t,

It’s true what they say,

Love’s a bitch.


Our Harris,

Reigning down like the eye of hell,

On bodies like pipettes,

Drained of moisture,

Blotting paper figures,

Who sweat Rorchach futures,

In the smoke,

Like monks at prayer,

Our Harris,

You’re mile high engines,

Dance puppets,

Like a god,

Why the sweat?

And shabby frustration,

As you die,

They’re your bombs,

Our Harris: what did you do?

Walking Peripherals


I felt so small once,

And I still do,

Like sand under the wheel of God’s eye,

Although I don’t believe in him,

Still the gaps in life hurt,

For all they mean nothing,

Like a record filled with grooves,

Better left unsaid,

Relax, let your guard down,

You’re faster that way,

The only war left to win,

Is getting over yourself.


   The Quartz Watch

It’s quiet on the frontier,

In the still cold heart of night,

Where the void has lost its stars,

Like feathers ripped from ice,

Fire has burnt across the skies,

Given birth,

And died,

On the cusp of a wave,

But the obelisk still stands,

Black memory to the march,

Of wheeling nebulae,

And the bitter beat of life,

The battles,

Hidden in its maps,


And lost.



Where are you going?

With your head in the clouds,

Dreaming of heaven,

Stop a while and talk,

Are you trying to catch a star?

Did you get your fingers burnt?

Poor you,

Don’t you think it’s time to live a little?

Take a chance,

And we’ll see what happens,

Or maybe not,

Maybe it will sizzle,

Like love so often does,

Drowned in snow,

And fists,

And rainy days,

But I have magic,

In every hidden fingertip,

I’ll make you burn,

For a  lifetime,

Let your  shoulders down,

Little man,

Don’t squander what you’ve left,

Whilst you play stubborn games with life,

The world’s for love and laughter,

Open your eyes,

Before it’s too late,

Times like quicksilver,

Wait too long and you’ll have mercury.


There are contours of knowledge,

A net that stretches across the earth,

That punches walls into rubble,

And lights sparks in the dust.


Hard to smile sometimes,

Harder than you think,

Like a gift that can be broken

Or stretched so thin,

It snaps,

Lost it did you?

I did too,

Couldn’t find it,

No matter how hard I looked,

Maybe somewhere in the past,

Or slipped between,

The gaps and tomorrow,

I forgot,

I forget,

Only it was cold,

Like you never want to know,

It comes back.

You can support my work by following the link below:



links to writing by him

The Cartesian Theatre

every audience is an audience of one

Gunnar De Winter

Biologist * philosopher * storyteller

A. P. Howell

Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror

Jordan Taylor

World Fantasy Award-nominated author of short fiction

Aliya Whiteley

Writing novels, short stories and articles. Usually strange ones.


Plattform für Kunst und Kultur


To wander means to move with no preset route. To wonder means to think, to question, to ponder.

Brandon Crilly - Writer / Teacher / Human

The madcap ramblings of an Ottawa creator

Eunoia Review

beautiful thinking


A place where you can be human.

Native Heritage Project

Documenting the Ancestors

Exquisite Corpse

Speculative fiction writer Tracie McBride talks writing. And book reviews. And dogs. And kids. And any other random thing that she feels like.

Bristol Skeptics Society

Promoting Rationalism and Critical Thinking

Slattery Publishing

Established 2021

Pandamonium Publishing House

Publishing Made Simple.

Wyldblood Press

science fiction and fantasy

Fevers of the Mind

Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests

Rosie Oliver

Progressive Science Fiction Author


A street art photo blog


In Pursuit of Mystery and Folklore - Fiction With Imagination and a Zing

The Sirens Song

Sirens Call Publications: A Horror & Dark Fiction Publisher

Writing Despite Computers and Programmes

Writing writing and more writing

The Inkling

Have you ever been told that you think too much? Lucky you if you have, but don't worry if you haven't, you can still read The Inkling. At The Inkling you can look forward to weekly installments of our serial "The Inklings", weekly solutions to your problems by The Spark, finding out how one lucky person went at our monthly challenge and feature articles every two months

Blind Corner Literary Magazine

A home for speculative fiction

Mugilan Raju

Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time

The Chamber Magazine

Contemporary Dark Fiction and Poetry

Piazza della Carina

Geopolitics and Foreign Policy ... english and italian


Short, lighthearted interviews with amazing artists from all around the globe!

Pointless Overthinking

Understanding ourselves and the world we live in.

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