Sung Harmonies 

In the sprawl of narrowing strata

Engraved paths shoot misty grass blades.

A yawning sun, mellow light

Dappled across the rugged trench carved into dirt.

Dry bed, weeping silently

And invisible to the tuning in the pearls of our ears.

A clamber with melodies whispering,

Bracken sticking to the breeze

In a coarsely sung harmony of

Razors woven into green cloth.

These tombstone rocks

Sliding; descending through a scale,

To a bent and broken tree,

Hollowed with amplified vibrations.

Once struck by lightning and cursed,

Arching with the bow from fingers of light.

Dissonance amidst reluctant sunny breaths.

Frightened and Demoralized

Showered by the selfish legacy, media brainwashes the masses. 

Eyes roll destitute of vision, bereft of independent decision.

Within the hypocrisy of silence, arrogance stains the soil. 

Whispered visions travel with vapours, dismissed as impossible; idealistic; naive;    

‘Misguided, young heart you are nothing but:

The wrong sex, wrong colour, wrong empathiser.’

 Imperial greed still reigns. 

Wretchedness of past despots are worshipped by the boomers. 

Compassion mocked by powerful elite, amplified in print. 

Humanity destructs inevitably, with a manifestation of exhaustion and apathy. 

The self fulfilling prophecy of weakness can be halted

But we must believe in our strength, in our voice, in unity.

“I think there are two ways in which people are controlled. First of all frighten people and secondly, demoralize them.” Tony Benn

The Fall of Incubus 

His love was real; yet abstract,

Romancing a dream of a future,

That he could not live. 

Reality he could not love

And in blackness he leapt with

A decision,

Dragging him to an absoluteness

That he knew

He did not really want to live. 

A Wish List 

Make each other laugh

A bit too loudly,

Eat noodles and create a mess,

Play iPod roulette,

Eat vanilla ice cream

With black bits in,

Walk by the sea

Not next-to-the-sea,

Climb a hill,

Be in the audience,

Watch each other do their job,

Stand listening,

Investigate whether music

Can make the hairs on our arms stand up,

Stagger home from the pub


Put a tent up in the rain,

Weed the garden shouting chit chat,

Help each other put a rucksack on,

Carry out a joint bargaining strategy

For a wooden statue in a Indian market,

Stand speechless in ancient ruins,

Guide each other home,

Read a story out loud,

Digest the weekend papers

From cover to cover in silence,

Watch the night stars

And the dawn from a boat, mud hut

Or bedroom window;


Fleet Old Church

Hit by a storm

Rendered dysfunctional and unsafe

Left alone to face

Ravages of time and seasons.

The Devote worshipper, undeterred


Tempted by your simplified existence

And believed in you.

There you stood

A testament to faith.

A thorn to the fickle masses

Who refuted your existence

And do not truly comprehend.

Yet, the path to you was brambled and wild,

Separating those who had faith,

From those who renounced.


I will never sit there with you.


I arrived

But was