Dancing with Matches Verse 1

September breeds thick black storm clouds that linger

atop skyscrapers standing on catacombs, screaming

down on that soaked sunless desert, splattered

sprayed and showered in red sludge and cordite.

The dead tree provides no shelter from this pelting,

persistent acid rain of man.

Thunder – tastes of rotting flesh and thorn trees

boomings – marked by gaps of still silence

So loud

It thumps

The chest.

My Nirvana

I love how ants build nests taller than humans build their skyscrapers

I love how creases of pants remind of nature’s constant fluidity

I love how the well worn door knob feels cold, but smooth against my palm

I love the clinking of its latch as it calls out do not enter

I love the stinging icy wind that spins off fan blades in the winter

I love the crackling sound of vinyl as needles bounce Holiday like a printer

I love the way red wine and cigarettes pepper the air like peaceful solitude

I love the spark of reminiscence while adding honey to my tea

I love the networked trees

I love everything

that isn’t me


Sunset Meditation


– best read on browser –


As I witness the most beautiful sunset I have ever experienced

I can’t help but ponder the stilling surreality of this magnificent planet.

The sky is filled with an amazing array of colour –

warm oranges and dark pinks morph into seductive shades of gold.

Streaks of light glow from the same pallet and twist

around mountainous cloud formations

that perfectly compliment the jagged landscapes with which they dance.

I dare not take a photograph

no man-made technology could ever hope

to reproduce something so profound

as this moment

which has arisen in my percept

as if it were gifted to me by my creator

intended to be experienced and never re-lived.

As I take in this incredible sight, I can’t help but contemplate

the seemingly uncanny perfection

of a beautiful life-harbouring planet

floating alone in a cold and desolate solar system.

It dawns on me that we Humans are living in Heaven

and we so often fail to recognise it.

The Welder

(Feedback and constructive criticisms welcomed)

hands of a prisoner on prison bars

A welder, young and yet aged –

skin brown, dry and wrinkled like cracks

in a hardened and arid dirt plain.

His body wrecked, from a mixture

of harsh sun, heat and sweat.

Joints crack as he slowly passes through dim passageways

of a blackened and slipped steel ship,

desperately in search for water,

longing to quench this insatiable, persistent thirst.

He mustn’t take long, for seconds do not pause for the poor.

This is hunger.

Lifeless dull eyes protrude from bony and dry red sockets.

Silver and greasy hair flows from a hardened and flaky scalp –

like a wild horse’s ungroomed grey mane, riddled with flies.

Those same still eyes gaze not far ahead –


passionless –

existing as a tool for navigation and nothing more.


Beauty long ago flew this coop –

the mind of a battered and beaten labourer.

Twelve hours a day he sparks and slaves –

scratching for tarnished pennies –

gruellingly welding smouldering bulkheads in a heat so enveloping.

Smells of torrid metallic smoke singe nostrils and linger like the stench of death.

Bear witness to the unconscionable degradation of mind, body and soul of man.

Where is soul?

A well dressed child with wet ears,

preaches safety and profit as if speaking to a self-aware pet.

Which one sir,

safety or profit?

Slave or Human?

Stare into those lifeless dull eyes, and see no trace

of this welder’s once innocent and inquisitive soul.

Witness, I plead you –

yet another unrecoverable spirit –

victim of an economy so industrious,

produced by a species

so illustrious.

Identity Lost


A spider

beautiful, black, orange and sprawled –

sits at the centre of his well spun prism of steel strong web.

Invincible, like a king.

Consuming anything and everything that enters his selfish trap.


Spray, spray.

He seethes as the pesticide invades his being –

twitching, resisting, this cannot be.

Falling to the ground – broken, withered, bound;

death cries imminent.

Who am I?