Tuesday, 28 February 2017

Writers Block ongoing

I currently have three unfinished, half written books. I can't seem to get on with any of them. I'm at a loss where they go, what happens next. If I can't tell stories, I go a little crazy. I feel like I turn into a shadow of myself, a misty, insubstantial, moody phantom.

I can't write, I can't think straight. I have being stuck here, unable to get where I need to be.
I will never forgive the destruction of my pond. Nobody appreciated what that spot meant to me, to my writing. I'm yet to find anywhere that inspired me the same way.

Yourself Poem

You're sitting on the windowsill,
rain on the other side
around 2009
Ink spilt everywhere, on those thin bedsheets
crumpled paper-the only carpet
I call out but you don't hear me over the music
southern comfort warming the cold walls
I reach out but my hand's stopped by Time
I see you, in your tracksuit
I hammer on the wall- you don't turn to see me
but I can feel it all
so desperate, so alone-waiting for someone
I want so badly to tell you,
I scream and scream your name
Time's taken this chance away
only a memory remains-
the fragments left behind
are fading between the lines
You keep staring out that window
waiting, waiting, waiting
Sitting in that tracksuit-which you don't wear anymore
I try so hard to tell you,
It's yourself, who you need to look for.

A voice hits the back of my head
while I'm sitting on the window
someone is coming for me,
to take me home
I scribble every thought, write down my all
The rain comes splattering down,
another day off school
I hear a hammering on the wall
just the pipes I suppose
Dreaming of a runaway line
someone to take me away
Just a few more years
not long to go
I'll just keep on waiting,
everything will be fine, when you find me.

Average Joe

Teachers gave us dreams
fed us ideas, falsehoods
about adulthood
expectations, preconceptions
none of it achievable for the average Joe.
Council estates, the unemployment line
working for pittance, to avoid the shame
Head held high, when the sirens come around
this is our lot, we'll stand our ground
Media slating the youth out there
Fuck you, what do you know?
Why would you care?

when you were young poem

It doesn't make sense
nothing at all
the way we all- seem to fall
when the building blocks they taught us to build
come tumbling down,
all around- it's just a mess

No matter what
some things, are just
the way you never thought they'd be
once when you were young
never again, will you be so conned
those building blocks can't build a home
and nothings the same as the way you thought
back when you were young.

Saturday, 25 February 2017

Just venting as usual

I don't know what's wrong with me, I can't write my book, I can't sketch. I am literally at a loss.
I'm just not myself anymore, this whole thing is not me.
Not this place, not this job, not any of it.

I don't know what I am expecting to happen, but I know it hasn't happened yet.

A few years ago I was certain about so many things, I was prepared to be patient because I knew I was heading somewhere. Now...well so much has changed and now I'm not sure of anything anymore.

Not sure of my career, not my relationship, not sure of my life. When did everything give me a headache? When did I become impossible to please? None of this is good enough because I am not where I want to be, I'm not doing what I want to do, this is not who I am.

I thought this would all turn out one way, and it hasn't. I thought this arrangement would be much different to how it is. I'm actually thinking more and more about just getting the hell out of here and hightailing it away. I haven't thought about running anyway from anything for a long time, the fact I now have one imaginary hand on the door is just proof that I am not 100% in this.

If I could rewind time back a few years, I couldn't really say what I would do differently, maybe I'd just tell myself to have more confidence and take the risk to do what I want. Maybe it would have worked out. I didn't have any responsibilities to worry about back then...I really wish I could give myself that advice. -always thinking about that time machine.

Technology poem

No milkman to collect a recycled glass bottle,
No freshly baked bread, from the bakers counter
a supermarket bought out his stock of flour,
and now the butcher struggles on, closed for most of the week
those buy one get one free's...good quality can't compete.
Nobody serves me, when I want to buy something,
and no arguing for directions, or getting lost together
an automatic voice, now tells us left or right.
Friends don't see each other,
but their phones don't stop bleeping
You 'like' everything about me, but don't remember my name
I hate everything about you, but online -we're best mates
The ticket officer at the train station, is awfully quiet these days
his uniform is a grey box, his voice a bleeping noise
The Receptionist at the doctors, is never there anymore
I press a screen to 'check myself in'
no need for honest jobs anymore,
when a machine is just as good.
Can't keep up with the technology
when it feels like we're losing humanity
machinery taking our roles, changing lives
keep on extending that unemployment line
I back into a corner, reaching for a previous time
but even this, in all my despair will go straight online.
How else do we connect now? Will our children know any better?
when our brains have shut down, and we depend on a computer.

Smog over Birmingham

Smog over Birmingham
You can see it from up here
We sit on the edge of the city
we're not Americans.
This is the original- not just a second hand name
we lie amongst the dead workers,
the factories now mostly closed
we built this land up from the ground
and stained the blue sky permanently grey
here in this city, where we built a life
here in this city, we worked to the bone
to give you, our ancestors, a working class home.

Wet Weekend Poem

It rains all the time,
and we sit in our white walled houses
staring out at the grey.
We put broken umbrellas to rest like the dead
we're used to washing lines getting wet
naked trees line the landscape
and the kettle boils- for the seventh time
We sip our steaming mugs counting the hours go by
Kids restless underfoot- Can't play outside
Once it stops, will take days before the ground dries out
skies will rain again before then.
So we sit in our central heated homes,
Nothing new you know,
dreaming of a sandy beach
a sun that takes forever to set
Warmth, light- far out of reach
Too scared to move away, too poor to even save
so we just pretend
whilst we sit inside, another wet Weekend

Wednesday, 22 February 2017


I dyed my hair red again,
it didn't change anything
I guess I didn't really think it would
but worth a try I say.
I'm counting again, like you know I do
September is so far away
We have the Summer to get through
before we run or stay.

Cracks in the Paint Poem

Tremors under the surface
cracks in the paint
white walls are flaking,
It's not too late
You went running once before
said it was to lose weight
you never came home
where have you gone Grace?
The wind howls up here
like a murdered soul out in the night
across the muddy way
where no one sets the plant pot right
where no children play.

Friday, 17 February 2017

Grace poem


Did I not forward you my new address?
Did I leave without a word?
Because for months you've not found me out?
I wonder if you know where I am.
In this life, surrounded by such uncertainty
like a cancer, waiting dormant
never sure if it is me.
I write to you, like my oldest friend
wait for you to lead me back
where we came from, no not there.
Where we were going,
which we too often forget.
We were going somewhere Grace,
you and I, we mapped out a course
in a street light sky
When did everything start to feel so hard
shouldn't we have been there now?
Have we really come this far?
I've not forgotten you, though it seems that way
this life I have, it's taken me away
but I'm still here, on the windowsill
Fifteen years old, waiting still.

Reality Poem

The Fault in our natures,
a drawer full of dreams,
plans and expectations they build in our Teens
for what reason -all these lies
do they now try to hide
we've been conned and led astray
by the untruth of youth
and the reality of age.

Unable to pretend for long
the fa├žade will soon dissolve
ripples in a river, lost to the current
of everlasting certainty,
for here in this moment
we accept responsibility -this is our own fault.

Once Again. Poem

And once again, here we are
on the edge of something ordinary and sad
sentimental and therefore ignored
just hormones, just the way it is
Once again, we carry on
Another nights sleep.

Once again, same old
get used to it they say,
if they say anything at all.
No road map printed for this
Only a one way ticket,
cash it in the whole way or walk back
I'll start walking I think.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Valentines poem for Amy-friend

There's love that's stronger than a Clintons card
Memories better than over-prices.
On Valentines I prefer to remember
Our Friendship for a lifetime.
One day when we're married
to two old rich guys- with a private plane
and plotting the death of our spouses
We'll look back at these days...
because even though we move apart
We stay in each others hearts
When Valentines is at an end
there's no love, like the love between best friends.

Wednesday, 8 February 2017

Grown up poem

I haven't really written anything in months
Can't seem to open the file or
look too long at this screen
I miss the pond- I miss my wall,
though it's been quite a while
since I lost those things.
I wonder what Clent looks like right now-
daffodils probably.
So often up there before
and now I can't remember the walk.
I miss nineteen, lost as I am
caught up in grown up thoughts
Somewhere along the line
life turned us around
and being all grown up isn't all that fun
everything important just fades to the background.

Sunday, 5 February 2017

Into the Mist poem

Into the mist
here I go again
Walking blindly onwards
Why don't these street lamps light the way?
Did they ever before?
I thought they did-
once when a shooting star
was my motorway wish.
I look from my window
but the night is absolute
The M5 feels miles away now
Forgotten by Junction two
but once there was a child
who we've left in the past
who wished for this
and is now wishing it back.

Saturday, 4 February 2017

Home Alone poem

Turn off the lights
there's no one home
lock all the doors
no one will know
keep closed away
that's well enough
and no one will knock
or know you're alone