Paradigm Waveform – a poem


Distorted, the waveform is mutated

Along its lines of force and movement

To blend into a seeming coherent whole

That stands as it is without comparison,

A world of itself, jumps made smooth.


The infinite skies know much more

Than they mayst ever tell, those lines

Driving, denote an uneven world within

The carefully contained cells sizeable

That make up the synergy, the all.


Worlds collide inside this strange frame

Where ride the finite storms of self,

Infinity multiplied beyond mere thought,

Hydrogen electrified and so compressed,

The swirls and spikes battle for supremacy;



p.s. – apologies for the lack of clarity on the picture, it was all done on the bus going home so I had to make do with what I had to hand

Nervestorm pt2 of 2 – a poem series


When the pouring tides have shrunk

From foaming cataracts to tiny storms,

The roar dulled, stemmed to a minor flow,

Branches now representative of truth.


Pulse, bright, sick sun flaring at

Miniature ends, epicentre and receiver

All very far away, sensation everywhere

Receptive scattershot sprayed.


Realisation of our inadequacies as beings

Of humanity weighs heavy, the epic crush

Like unto the aeons all facing down,

Combined pressure gravitic lancing, points

Per square inch, pixelised, loaded, fully

Formed and divided.

To Burn One’s Armour – a poem



What lives is winding, wending elsewhere,

The black cruelty of starless tsunamis

Swishing, slushing, pouring in tides
Tyrannical for no substance, weight,
Wild only in imagining, forever wispy.
To wake when the stars burn out, pseudo-
Alive as the nebulae preceding proto-stars
Simply exist, in perpetua, dying to give birth,
Those old suits of heat blackened armour burning
To give some approximation of warmth, to soothe.
A cenotaph worthy of lives slipped through
Cracks in systems smoulders in the dark, tied
To entropic forces undying when even aeons
Have aspired to their true ends, perforce timing
Victims to take with them, with eyes forever blank.
Vulnerable, the body shakes without its shell,
So many discarded yet not enough, death knells
Struck in air thicker than butane, explosive
Tendencies leading to vile thoughts on those old
Suits of armour, suitable to fit bold pyrotechnics.