Fickle Energy – a poem

Energy for the usual niceties

Is gone, swallowed by forces

Which act in shadow, synapse

Town where the inhibition

Of reuptake is the law of

This land.


Small motions, quiet expressions

Take the place of normal conversation

Swapped out for discordant moments

Instead of the jittery, stop/start

Flow characterising most of this




Impeccable Exhaustion – a poem

The tale of tiredness has levels

To be told thereby its height;

When gone is the will to interact

With others of our kind, made blind.


Impeccable lies the ache of dead suns

Under the skin, behind the eyes,

Hot and cold alternating wires

Driven into reality and dysphoria.


That unreality of things rises strong

Connections take long ages to make

When low lie the energy levels

That prior ran hot, hyper, wayward.


Down have fallen the chips, down,

Down, down like the dying leaves

Of again come Autumn, drying out

Before that drizzle soaks it all.


Sodden clothes and dog damp skin

Smelling tangy, tainted, rising

In steam tendrils like octopi

From the beds of tired and aching



“Come Outside” – a poem

“Come outside, come outsiiiide”,

She calls to me through the window,

A soft and lilting whisper gliding over

Leaves and grass, beckoning.


A simple and comely voice calling

For me to answer, yet she knows

There be a small chance only

Of me opening my door, terrified.


“Let me in.” she calls now, instead

For a change, “Let me innnnnnnn.”,

When the first gets no answer

Bar a leaf shake like jelly tremble.


Now I see that this is no woman,

No she but an IT clamouring

For my soul, peace, sense

Of self and virtue, dire.


“Come outside, come outsiiiide.”

IT calls, my tired mind hearing

All and knowing none of those

Words spoken without a tongue.



Vitality – a poem

Vitality of this order strikes

Oddly as if a sword struck strange

By a hammer warped from forces cosmic

Cold and caustic; bright grows all.


Nerves sing in super high pitch

Whines to tell me of more waiting

Than I can process, duress strong

To press upon what faculties are left.


Forces exogenous build up inside

Till tight becomes the drum of mind

Engorged with sensations of sordidness

Whence unduly filled is the brain.


Shadow of Time – a poem

Through the shadow of time rises

A whisper heard by those with ears

Fit to perceive the subtleties loud

In a land where such an utterance may

Summon the demons to whom gods bow.


Lightning creatures from other worlds

Here throng, yet they know not all

That should be, nor the barest glimpse

Of that which the deadly whispers summon,

Drawing them from darkling blood dawns.