Not At All, It's Nothing But It's All

Not at All, It's Nothing But It's All

Published in The King's School Canterbury's 'Poetry and Prose 2016' Publication

I can’t promise you my heart,

For my heart is weak from loves lost,

But I can promise you a part,

A part of my soul hidden in frost.


I can’t promise you my soul,

For my soul is curdled and cold,

But I can promise you the whole,

The whole of my body, warm and bold.


I can’t promise you my body,

For my body is crippled with lust,

But I can promise you no bawdy,

Hollow words make hollow trust.


But even in that I’ve failed, I’ll promise you my life,

For although it’s nothing much, it’s yours, my wife.

Jigsaw Fingers



Waiting with no end

A suspension of time,

Limbo in endearment's web.

Spread eagle

Looking at the ceiling

Then down at my hand

Is it the feeling

Or rather the angle

That makes my hand seem so lonely

No one to hold 

And nothing to feel.

In amongst my fingers

And along the grooves of my skin

What's the sensation that lingers

That yearns for her warmth

What does it look like?

Her hand tied in with mine

A jigsaw of fingers 

Of star-crossed love

Patchy but perfect

And way up above

In her eyes I live

Great holes to fall in

Too dark to see.

In her eyes,

That's where I want to be.

200 Men


Published in The King's School Canterbury's 'Poetry and Prose 2016' Publication

10,000 men, old enemies come again

But this time there are different men


9,000 men, there aren't any fighters

They are farmers, smiths and writers


8,000 men, done in with cavalier's sword

They stood no chance against the horde


7,000 men, clutching open wounds

Their fate sealed and finely tuned


6,000 men, gasps of hollow breath

Lungs full of blood, the incoming death


5,000 men, the flitter of fading light

A final glimmer before they joined the night


4,000 men, all around lifeless bodies

Already between limbs grew the poppies


3,000 men, too late were the doctors

To heal the hearts of kids who won't know their fathers


2,000 men, a victory or slaughter?

At the hands of the men from across the water


1,000 men, Louis one to eighteen

Agincourt a bloody lake, shiny and pristine


0 men, his right to rule

He didn't care that he'd killed them all



Completely clueless and unable to write

It didn't matter that he tried with all his might

His fingers still broken

The white cast oaken

Now university is a long way off in sight

Looks At Me




Falling deeply

As we hold each other in our eyes

The use of her arms is surplus

Enough warmth spreads from those eyes

That my cold heart melts

My stony face turns circus 

with smiles, wide and grinning.

Bubbled in her vision 

Her spotlight, limelight

It's her eyesight

That fixes me,

So unfree.

She glances away 

And the shadows of desertion

Settle over me, like mass aversion 

Instantly cured, by the washing gaze

Of those great bulbs,

Sunlight hits my skin and goosebumps rise

And that lovely haze

Of dizzy emotion

Replaces abandonment 

O hark

What joy,

That she chose to look upon me.

My Love Sleeps


And while she sleeps

Her breath laps onto my cheek

Her mouth is close against it 

Crimson and soft

Hot, heat that warms me.

Cheeks coloured by sleep

A pinkish hue

Spread evenly.

Fluttering eyes 

Perhaps she's dreaming badly 

No frown, she's calm

She dreams gladly.

Crown upon crown 

And above that a halo.



Morning summons me from my dreams

Dreams of pleasure and others of disease

It's in those realms that pain mixes with delight

I beg for flight but I drift to fight


Past lovers resume our fatal attraction

I find myself correcting past actions

That once had purpose and actuality

Regret-heavy, throbbing sanity 


The choice was mine but was it right

To continue quixotic love tonight

Though untrammelled still hindered 

By memory of love freely tendered


So here it is and here is all

My love, my life, my wife, my all

Once ruptured, now healed.

As the sun sets, the night is sealed

  • w-facebook
  • Twitter Clean
  • w-flickr