All my poems published so far.

Childhood’s End

(published in Solstice 1)


I was 7 and a half

When I lost my



I had many friends

My closest was called Peter.


Your actions turned him

Against me, my family

My religion.


Home became a prison

School a place of fear.


You who embraced anger

Stoked the fires of Hatred

Used violence to give yourself a voice.


I was 7 and a half

your deaths stole my childhood

My home, my friends.


Only now at 35 can I look back

And realize that was the beginning

Of all my later emotional problems.


I still bear the emotional scars wounds that run deep.

I no longer hate you for what you took from me.

And yet, I Still Wake In The Dark Afraid

Because of you.



Quicken muse

(originally published in The Poets Place anthology)


Quicken muse, your words

Can spark an amber fire:

Defender of the past

Vanguard of futures

Enemy of the present.


Quicken, muse your words

Portray these foetid qualities in

Tumble down civilisation

Harbinger of change, whisperer

Of possibilities?


Quicken muse, your words

An island, a door.

The Poet Oracle,

Prophet, doomsayer.


Quicken, muse your words,

Open new worlds,

Share these burdens

Deliver hope, wisdom?




(Originally published in Speech Therapy ezine)


Sheltered field of pleasant green

The susurrus of distant wind,


Nature gossips

Protests at intrusion,


Between windswept trees,

Belfast, metallic fossils, David and Goliath,


Painthall Studios: the vistas

testaments to urbanised myth


This is my quiet place,

A step away from the world.

Apart and yet a part.



Social Decay

 (originally used by Papergirl Belfast)

Steel capped icebergs’ pierce the sky.

In artificial towers

Rapunzels refused to let down their hair,

Satisfied to watch the tired and hungry

Like ants scrabble for scraps.


Sharp eyed ‘suits’ stand at bullet proof windows.

In climate controlled towers,

A hand forms an O shape

Crocodile smilers imagine crushing every bug

Before returning to solitaire and innumerable

Facebook updates.


Smoke like a jealous lover hoards the city

Smothers the masses in her choking grasp

Industrial furnaces churn out mass produced

Tomorrow’s perfect flawed commodities

Shelf life limited


The seagulls fight over scraps

Countries and business

Scrabble and bicker over dwindled resources

Unsullied beauty

The prima donna runs from the stage her

Makeup ruined.


It is always four degrees colder under the

artificial steel valleys

Cold caress of monumental man

They erode nature’s purpose

Millennia replaced by minutes

Business and cities hold a diseased

Desperate need

To leave a legacy


Lines of tired and weary

Tramp towards the factory gates

Shackled to endless drudgery

Unnoticed the fisher king flies away

His place of beauty overcome with dross


The music box winds down

The ballerina stoops

Gathers her flowers accepts the crowds ululations

Masked youths rebel before a burning bus

In their towers untouched

The great smile and crow

Let them eat cake

The next three were featured in Bone Orchard Poetry

 The Time Machine

It begins almost motherly,
a return to the warmth of the womb,
a central point on the journey to oblivion,
time travel is a lie an uncaring trick of time.
Slowly through rheumatic eyes the present,
fades away, sound, cold, future,
all these are frozen,
waiting release..
The first signs of possibility,
appear bubbles in the stream,
each a window, a doorway,
into the past,
Here a child did not fall out of bed,
their sudden awakening saving the lives
of those dwelling within.
The Time Machine is a lie.
Rather than showing the past,
each portal leads to a distortion,
a prison for the unwary,
Here he went to university;

sought his dream as an artist,

there is a tightness now,
sudden desire to breathe,
The Time Machine will not allow it.
The traveller realizes,
the trap they are caught in,
Focused so tightly on the
journey they did not notice the;
failing strength in limbs,
there is an urgency now,
a burning now time seeks,
to consume them.
A sound, a voice, a mothers distant
cry, the present has almost faded to black,
Hairy thews pluck the traveller from,
the machine breathe life back into;
fragile body too weak for time travel,
too weak to be left unsupervised,
in the local pool the boy opens his
eyes and cries.                  `
The Wilding Path
I see the hidden spheres which over lap our own,
not all of the time but there are moments,
of crystal clarity/
                         in the rain/
                                                 a sudden ray of sun.
There are places where the doors are open ,
the tiniest whisper of a forgotten past,
previously/ I stood near one,
The whispering wood to many this overgrown,
tree choked with vines is a part of nature,
I have seen beneath the veil/  to a stone wall
An old mill my hands traced the stone work,
in the deepest shadows where man isn’t welcome,
The silence was deafening/
                                                 I opened my mind to,
Vistas past.
 A hard working miller busy grinding
corn as children played in the waterhole,
women busy drying clothes laughing at their antics.
I stepped back into the warmth of the day
the chill seeping from my bones,
I look down and see the waterhole now filled with –
sediment natures cruel touch has scoured it away
slowly overgrown as the angry waters surged past,
I walked onwards reflecting/
                                                I played here as a child.
My path crumbles before me/
 seemingly the ground smashed by an angry god
huge rents make it difficult
to cross.
I came to a tributary a place where I once waited for seven hours.
 lost as a child frightened tears and snot smeared my face in the dark/
I waded across the stream passed the lying rocks.
Skipping across bleached stones the bones of mountains past,
I slowly approach the coldest of places,
The chill settling in I can feel your uncaring gaze/
                                    feminine form/
trapped in the stones which  formed  a perfect  circle around you.
            eyes meet/
                                    I was but  a child then/
                                                                                    you pointed the way back
for a price.
A single/
                                    a promise/
                                                            to return
Did my mind play tricks?
did you really  move to
wood  rubbing  against  wood/
                                                the cackling of a hag?
the ivy flowed like a/
mane of unkempt hair down your back.
A single ray of sunlight breaks the silence/
                                                            Bird song/
                                                                        like children’s laughter
soared out the moment passed,
I see you for what you are a tree twisted by a quirk of fate,
to a child’s eye/
                        a feminine form/
                                                languidly stretched towards the sky
pleading, placating.
I turn and walk away from the cackling tree,
I hear a peal of feminine laughter and run home
away from that accursed tree.
Dark’s Parasite
Your dark birth has long been prophesied,
My dark parasite needed yet twisted
Far  beyond your original purpose.
You have shared this flesh since infancy,
Your dark touch has left its mark,
Ravaged my body stained my soul.
Sadly your parasitic presence is
Needed, serves a primary function,
A function carried out grudgingly.
That touch a constant reminder,
Flares, the rage cripples,
Draws blood, steals breath.
Entropy approaches our parting
Inevitable I wait for that day:
Torn, your functionality important.
A caged beast you punish:
Your host lashes out blindly,
Rage and pain all consuming.
I am consumed, clutch
Just below the ribcage,
Your prison,
God but there are days
I find myself asking,
Why life’s parasite? Why birth?




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