with withered fingers

your special performances

were a blackened cage

that left onlookers open-

mouthed outside 

the artful butcher’s 

and among your ribs

were straw promises 

sharply sticking out

that had become masters 

of their own feebleness.

A quick catch up…

This is just an apology for not posting up new poetry in a while, but unfortunately I’ve been going through some heavy mental and emotional problems that had me in and out of hospital for quite some time. But that being said I am back at home and the poetry posting shall continue šŸ’œ


understanding the next day

is to forget the inter-

connectedness of lakes

and bodies nodding forward

beyond daily life

towards a precipice

where in the fear

and uncontrolled chaos 

of not knowing 

we yield our sight

to the muddy waters.

on being willfully lost in personal incredulity

you cannot find yourself

or create a new self,

without first relinquishing 

the current framework

that binds your  prevailing-

understanding, and neatly

nestles a distorted view

of the wonders of reality.

instead, you should flee 

from the comfortabilityĀ 

and sanity that is the 

established order of things,

and run wildly to that place

which is the darkest to you.

it is from that chaos 

that we are reborn.

for better, or for worse.

without sickness or decrepitude

Mary was an expression

Of cultured tradition

And native beauty,


And scarlet-blossom.

She was a daughter 

Rooted beneath a muttering

Birch talking together

With the spirit

Of the undergrowth,

And she made ivory teeth 

Stare menacingly at the strange

Voices that grabbed furiously

For hands and feet,

Only to desecrate 

That which brought them

Sustenance, wild fragrances

And a spiritual peace

only the restless appreciated.

a barista tale: part 1

Early hours of the morning were particularly cold that time of year, the tips of my fingers felt as though they were on the verge of falling off;
they protruded precariously through the ends of the (less than adequate) gloves, a couple of homeless gentleman had set fire to a bin in a vain attempt to fight off the cold
The frost had arrived on schedule and painted the streets with a wonderful thin layer of white,
Making everything it touched glisten under the street lights,
… I walked over to the espresso machine
“Make that a double espresso macchiato,” A voice spoke from behind.
I had noticed from the reflection in the machine, that the voice belonged to a slim set man
Whose attire and posture seemed to be at immediate odds with each other,
fine threads and garments adorned his flesh, however
His body had sunk into itself from across the coffee bar; as if the chair were somehow exerting a force of its own
pushing his head and feet closer together
“Rough night sir?” I asked
Wondering what nature of affliction was at work… intrigue impressed upon my mind
it was rare to have clients this late; well especially round this part of town
I continued to observe the man through the reflection, never turning to face him
He shifted uneasily in his seat, not a word
But a sigh escaped him, I was never a prying man you see
However in this particular instance I suppose curiosity had gotten the better of me,
expecting no reply though
I approached in a timely fashion, placing the drink before him
He stirred suddenly, looking up at me we made eye contact
The gaze consumed me,
Anguish emanating from his soul was so overwhelming , that it appeared to me to be a bottomless void,
never to be filled, Nor completely whole ever again
i could suffer it no longer when, struggling to catch my breath I stepped backwards
“Excuse me for being so forward sir, but pray do tell
What manner of evil has befallen you?”
His eyes fell down to his coffee that was now warming his hands,
It is no evil my friend, but rather of my own doing
My own accord.”
I watched again as his soul seemed to sink deeper within him,
“Your own doing sir? Well, whatever do you mean?”
“Do you know what an epiphany is?” He replied coldly
“I’ll tell you, it’s a moment of sudden and great revelation or realization.”
I was too afraid to ask what discovery, or revelation could cause such untold misery
I didn’t have to
“I am a man who has everything the world would associate with success and happiness,
I am a husband to the most amazing wife, father to four beautiful children
And today for the first time in my forty years of life on this planet,
I saw something that destroyed me…”
He paused momentarily, looked me over as if checking whether or not it was safe
to expose his soul once more
“I saw that, although I thought I had always done what i perceived as the right thing
been a good person so to speak
I had never truly loved anyone, in the entirety of my existence
I have not truly loved anyone, for I realized
My love was always conditional, I had to be brutally honest with myself
Analyse my relationships, assess the limits and boundaries I had set
I found that my love was shallow, it came only with conditions
I will love you, but only if you do what I deem is appropriate
If you maintain a certain standard, behave a particular way
But soon as you cross the proverbial line, I shall love you no more!
This was the cornerstone of my folly,
Conditional love is that of emotional and social manipulation, nothing more; nothing less
I knew then, that unconditional love was the only true form of love
It also dawned on me that perhaps the cause of my inability to fully love, was in fact
because I myself, was never truly loved …”

meaningless within a year

our walls were thin

beyond the lower hanging fruit

where veins silhouetted

on the backside

of a leaf

becoming visible,

and our malice

and our bitterness

tore the bricks

from their homes,

and the silk

between our thoughts

was the only canal

separating our vices

from our passion

for a fresh start.