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Yeoman of Dreams

Still awake, he spent the morning dreaming,
Over-indulging in a world of his own making,
He wandered too far from the shore,
The paths twisted beneath him,
Until he no longer knew the way home.

He was found drowned,
Washed up on the shores of the dreaming sea,
In the waking world he disappeared,
And nobody noticed his absence,
For he was never fully there,
His existence was semi-transparent,
He kept one foot in the present,
And the other firmly in the dream realm.


Fruitful was the Yeoman this cultivator of vast dreamlands,
He sought solace through imagination,
and found comfort in the world of dreams,
A rider of two storms, but ultimately
He became the master of none.

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Venomous Intrusive and Irrational

The night is warm and silent, breezeless trees stand still as corpses,
Intrusive venomous thoughts begin to enter through old wounds,
Convulsions of memory shake themselves into a distorted reality,
The familiar unwanted feeling begins to ripple itself up the spine,
Discomforts’ creeping fingers create a buzz at the back of the neck,
The skin begins to crawl, numb at first, before the unreachable itch,
It feels like a thousand tiny spiders suddenly marching across the skin,
The edges of vision begin to dull and darken into shadowy haze,
Uneasy hands begin to reach for the nearest item of solid comfort,
But it’s too late, we have arrived, the rational mind has left the building,
Now, there is only panic.

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Under a Red Ribbon: A Dream Sequence

In a small grey, empty room with no windows, a spotlight illuminates,

A wooden chair, where a thin man in a white suit sits patiently,

Grey haired and spectacled, his eyes are open and alert,

His feet are comfortable, and his hands rest gently on each knee,

A red ribbon hangs down above his head, gently moving in unseen breeze,

A white cat enters, performs one rotation of the man then exits,

Unmoved, he closes his eyes, and listens to the sound of ocean waves,

The room slowly fills with swirling cool water.

Then all light goes out.

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Are we ghosts?

Ghosts whisper on the evening wind,

They are the blurred faces of distant times,

Their energy spent, locked in hollow places,

Existing, not knowing that their time has passed,

Sometimes doors are locked that shouldn’t be,

There are times when we move unnoticed,

Moments when we’re not acknowledged,

Have we passed from the memory of others?

How can we be sure that we’re not a ghost?

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Lost at Sea

My heart feels lost at sea,
Adrift, I am directionless,
Home feels like a distant memory,
I long for solid ground underfoot,
I’m on an ocean vast and featureless,
I hear the sound of distant ships,
Focus seems impossible,
My head swims with thought,
Waterlogged and weary, I drift on,
I fight fatigue as night falls again,
I see no lights on the horizon,
No welcoming lanterns on the beach,
How long must I fight this current?
The night is cold and dark,
Not a spec of light shows,
Until the dawn of a new day,
Tears and ocean water are as one,
I drift on, keeping my head above water,
Until the day my heart makes landfall.

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Empty Kingdom

Do you hear that calling, in the midnight hour,

Can you hear the lonesome crying, of bitter tears so sour,

Far away from this place, kept by the unseen,

The restless King of hearts, awaits his absent Queen,

Her throne is cold without her, and his heart the same,

Nobody understands, their constant toil and pain,

They mask themselves to outside eyes, to hide their suffering,

These are the days of the healing Queen, and her broken King.

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Quiet at the water’s edge, The

The final rays of sunlight fall,

Golden and fading as they crawl
Across the shoreline’s stony ledge.

At the water’s edge, shadows unfold,

There lies a body,
Prone and cold.

Washed upon the rocks from who knows where,
Abandoned with malice,
Discarded without care.

Pale white skin
And glazed blue eyes,

Stare lifelessly upward
Into the darkening skies.

Silent beneath the dying glow
Of the setting sun,

Known to no one,
Claimed by none.

Christened Jane today,

Her surname:
Doe.

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The Rude

I sit upon my own doom-laden eve,

Nothing seems solid, nothing is usual,

Everyone seems disinterested, or ignorant,

Zero communication breeds hostility,

An anger builds due to anxiety,

It takes nothing to acknowledge, lift your game,

A lesson is learned, those who should matter don’t,

Expect a comparative reply, lesson result = fuck you!

All the tech in the world cannot fix the fucking rude.

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Keep of Hollowness, The

There is a hollowness deep inside,
A place where I retreat
Whenever I need to hide.

There, nothing can reach me.
Nothing can wound me.
It is a safe and silent place
That no one else can see.

Something stirs behind my eyes.
Another version of me
Slips on a familiar disguise.

While I remain curled within
My hollow refuge,

The other me takes my place.
He wears my face.
He has little interest
In what others have to say.
He feels nothing
For what they wish to convey.

He is my protector,
My shield against the storm,
Guarding the wounded self within
While old fractures slowly mend.

Until something changes,
And this hollow space is filled,
There will be no warmth,
No comfort,
No embrace.
His words are insincere.
His actions are mechanical.
He is a wall,
Raised between myself
And a world grown far too chaotic.

Yet someday,
Colour will return to my eyes.
The other me will fade
As the turmoil subsides.
And I will stand once more,
Present and unguarded,
With no need to hide
Within the Keep of Hollowness
That I have built inside..