Poem In Which

I’ve been away from this blog for a long time and not managed to update it in nearly a year! In that time I’ve not written a lot of poetry but nonetheless managed to have a few bits published, one of which appeared in issue 7 of Poems In Which.

There are a few more exciting things on the way, including my first poem for children and the looming of Bird Book III from the lovely Sidekick Books folks. I’m also thinking about sprucing up this blog, making it more visually appealing, with some illustrations or something. I may even re-locate to a new website, but we’ll have to see.

For now this is really just a little update to say I’m still alive and active and writing, but focusing more on prose writing than poetry these days…


NaPoWriMo Week 2


Unplanned, Angels have been creeping into my NaPoWriMo thread this year, including X-Men’s Archangel (above). Whether or not this continues is unclear, but in the meantime, here are some more pictures of angels.






NaPoWriMo Week 1

It’s the end of the first week of National Poetry Writing Month. Every day for the past 7 days I’ve been writing a poem and posting it here. So far there have been tiny ladies living in u-bends, bewildered football players, forest deities working as doctors, pesky angels and a very ill politician. I’ve had some really good comments, which keeps me encouraged. It’s fun to see what others are writing, too. I’ve been reading loads of new poetry lately and it’s got me completely in the mood to just be free and write whatever I can imagine. Looking forward to the next 23 days!

National Poetry Writing Month

Commencing April 1st will be NaPoWriMo, the aim of which is to write a poem a day for the entire month of April.

Last year I attempted this for the first time, and was quite surprised at its usefulness. If you accept that most of what you write will be raw and ugly, you can use it as a tool to churn out all the old ghosts of ideas that’ve been bothering you for however many weeks/ months/ years. By the time you come to the end of the month you’ll probably think most of what you wrote was rubbish (I found this to be the case), but also that you’ve unearthed the starting points for things that will ultimately become good poems.

It’s not about creating 30 perfect poems, but just about writing, getting things down on paper, kicking into action and putting a temporary end to laziness.

Like last year, I’ll be posting my efforts in the specially designated NaPoWriMo thread at the Poetry Free For All forums. This is where others can comment on your work, and you can comment on the work of others, and it all helps to keep you motivated. I recommend it as a fun experiment!

Gearing up for Coin Opera II



Game: Shadow of the Colossus/ Year: 2006/ Colossus #13/ Name: Phalanx

(Taken from Team Ico Wikia)

Phalanx is the thirteenth colossus.

By far the largest colossus in the game, Phalanx is over twice the length of Hydrus or Dirge. To put Phalanx’s sheer size into perspective, each of its wings are over 60 ft long, with the rear-half of Phalanx’s back matching the width of a four-lane highway.

However, Phalanx is also the most peaceful of all the colossi that Wander fights. It does not try to attack him regardless of what he does. It does not even pay him any mind unless Wander climbs onto its back.



8 Bit Music


A heart, hooked up to dust-caked cartridges
and given reedy, needle-point voice:
a bat symphony squeezed through a pipette
or the spangled cosmos dissolved,
poured steaming from a wintery flask.

Sometimes, it was the infinitesimal
split-prism wizard’s arctic breath
made orchestral, future-desolate;

all plinky-plonky withered things.
How music honeycomb-crunched, creaked
with the stiffened-joints corrosion
of a pancake harpsichord
grinding its blippy waltz within your very palm.

Jill Valentine

You embody more than women
slung booted through survival horror;
you, polygon,
all shaded thighs and jaunty, navy beret,
those limbs the pink and yellow of mini
marshmallows uniformly stacked.
For certain, there is something so edible
in your microcosm,
the way you gleam against the mansion’s muddy
backdrop, all terracotta daubs
rendered as dung; as though your marzipan
skin were the cut and paste from a misplaced
world, a plywood-thin candy.
One glitched turn and your dreamt there-ness winks out.

Who said you needed to be smooth?
Who said cuboid hips are not beautiful?