Feeling lonely now
Just me here
a billion blades of grass all singing my name.

Still wondering how
Just me here
a million rays of autumn are lighting my thoughts.

Stood beneath this bough
Just me here
a thousand leaves of trees all rustling in my ears.

Fields await the plough
Just me here
a hundred birds of the woodland are hiding from my eyes.

Clouds gather on the brow
Just me here
a small herd of Roe deer all startled at my surprise.

Still smiling now
Just me here
this crowded planet so oblivious to my presence.



Seagulls are such thugs,
barging in like a white crowd
of neanderthal football hooligans.

Sabotaging the ducks hopes
and terrorizing little terns
in the pursuit of bread crusts.

Landing on the executive class
Mercedes roofs, scratching paintwork
and leaving telltale calling cards.

Maybe we should shoot them
cull the arrogant abusive pests?
Or… start with gambling bankers instead?


Surging mosh pit melee
ferocious rhythm ripping
foaming white sweat flies
rebellious undertow
deep silted thought slides
relentless beat pounding
lips taste salt stained air
ceaseless movement catches
risk seeking rock faces
Submerging captured minds.

Scarlet – (Shan’s poem)

Liberated spirit spritzer
ice sharp intellect splashes
faces wide awake

Razor wire words
slice inattentive minds
surgical incision deftly

performed, smile cracks
plastic establishment fact
rebellion heart revels

Swift darting artist
lioness in prowess
nurturing precious youth

Tackling head first
flying scarlet dragon
claiming heritage owned

Steam punk temptress
siren singing westerly
dreaming mountain mist.

Through the glass (Quirina’s poem)

She views the world
a different way

lifting my fingertips
touching unseen stars

treasuring little things
her aura glittering

embracing procrastination
prizing life’s tangents

sharing purple nebula
surfing Saturn’s rings

fascination in equations
exploring creation codes

climbing high esteem
practice hands steady

holding the black holes
beyond this event horizon

delicate as the rose
smiling strength shows.


She is dining in the library, alone
as she has so many times.

From her alcove window seat
she surveys the garden in glorious

bloom wistfully watching the swallows
carving the air gracefully.

She has lived here all her life as her
parents did before her, always waiting

quietly she weaves her day dreams
to catch her virile young admirer.

Glancing back she sees the towering shelves
of unread books, dust gathering undisturbed.

Her work is rarely complete. She places aside
her lace threads as she rises from her silken chair.

Stretching out her slender legs she sighs,
her glossy black hair so rarely admired

glinting in the light, as she turns back to
take her first bite. The cobweb quivers.


(Featured in – 2nd Edition – September 2011)


Like a creeping blanket of mist it submerges,
suffocating willpower without warning.
Why does he follow in relentless silence?

Like the angel of death she flies in, gripping hold
feather light on shoulders, taunting whispers.
Why does she always come breathing poison?

Like cast iron permafrost it fractures mind,
destroying tender shoots, crushing its path.
Why was there no warning, to turn the light on?


(Featured in – 2nd Edition – September 2011)