Archives for category: poetry

Here go I
Frogmarched into a fiftieth year.

Painfully aware
Of time
Slipping like sand
Through open fingers.

Painfully aware
That I am still alone,
Half done,
A thin, soft voice
In a loud cacophony.

Painfully aware
Of all that has
Passed me by,
While I slept
And crept
And wept
Through the years
Of my vitality.

Painfully aware
That hopes of love
And warmth
And deepest kisses
Are lost,
Muddied and torn:
The heavy costs
Of compromise.

Painfully aware
That others of my ilk
Never came so far.

Painfully aware
Of the depths
Of my fragility.

In the beginning, we were Important.

God made a whole Universe, just for us.

He spent a few days at it, then we arrived.

Us, the pinnacle of his creation.


He told us not to fuck around

And not to fuck with Him

Do that, and we could live forever,

Because we were Important.


Life was simple with God.

Somewhat shit,

And somewhat short,

But uncomplicated.

Anyway, Important people shouldn’t ask questions.


Then a Polish priest asked a question.

What if?

What if we were not Centre of the Universe,

But off a bit, to the side?

Ever since, that’s been the story.

More questions,  more sidelining.

Turns out we’re not that Important after all.


This made a lot of people Very Angry.

But what about Creation?

And what about the Rules?

And Life after Death?

And what about God?

Good questions,

From people not supposed to ask them.


So here we are, not Important,

Life’s not so simple anymore

But better,

And full of hope.

We’re important to each other

And that’s what counts.



Dear God,

You truly are the Worst Idea Ever.


Because of You, millions have gone to war.

Millions have died. because of You.

People torture In Your Name.

They inflict cruelty and suffering In Your Name.

And You know the worst thing?

These killers, these torturers, they sleep peacefully at night

Because of You.


You give us False Hope.

When it works out, you steal the success for Yourself.

When it doesn’t, we shoulder all the blame.

Instead of responding to Injustice,

You say, “It’ll be better in the next life”.

Or even worse, You say we will Burn Forever.

That’s a nice touch, God.


Because of You, whole groups of people

Come in second place,

Or third place, or forever last.

You don’t much like difference, do you God?

But money, power and privilege? Ah. That’s different.

Now I know your holy people say otherwise

But we all know how it works out.


So do us all a favour.

We can get by just fine without You.

We can sort out our own problems.

We can talk. We can compromise.

We can understand.

We can dream.

By listening to ourselves, and less to You,

We’ve made things better.

We’ve brought light to dark places.

And comfort for crying eyes.


You know what?

We can take it From Here.


So do us all a favour, God.

And begone.

You were never a Great Idea in the first place.

Quiet now.
A spider’s web lies broken.
Behind this gossamer mask
A poisonous bite awaits.

Flickers of moisture.
The spit of a wretched cat
Gnawing a wound
She will not let heal.

Those first wet gusts.
The baying of a tethered dog
Wishing to be free,
Her teeth chewing bone.

Screaming with rage
The banshee is now unleashed.
Blow follows blow follows blow,
She seeks my weakness for herself.

Now drunk with vengeance
The tiger rises up
All claws and jaws and hatred,
All fury and bile and lashing venom,
With grim delight,
The threads of my being.

I will hide from this storm
For it will not last
And she will not listen.

Quiet now.
The tiger has retreated.
The spider mends her web.
For silent are the drops
Of poison anew.

It’s not the incidents,
Or the anger,
Or the shock,
Or the scorn.
None of that.

It’s the colour that comes with it.

Staying awhile,
Painting itself over everything.
A filter for the senses,
Exploding like a demented rainbow
During nighttime rest.

Our Toastmasters club ran a poetry and prose evening tonight and for the first time ever, I recited some of my poems in public. I got a particularly good reception to my poem He lies there still. We had about 12 contributors tonight. A few guests spoke, including two visitors who have never been to a Toastmasters meeting before. One guest even told us that she wanted to join the club through the medium of poetry!

For me, the comment of the night was “I couldn’t write poetry. Poetry is far too profound. Nobody should ever underestimate the depths of my shallowness”.

The club has been thriving this year. We have signed up our 7th new member (more than the previous 3 years combined) and all our meetings have been varied and interesting. We made a key decision last year to move to a new venue. We moved from the formal surroundings of the local hotel to the more intimate setting of a pub and this has played a part in making the club more accessible to ordinary people.

I’m really enjoying it this year. Compared to this time last year, it’s like a different world.

Every so often, I get sufficiently inspired to write a poem, so I’ve collected the ones I have written in the last few years and I’m putting them here. I’ll add more over the coming months if I can.

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