Thursday, 23 April 2015

Crosshatch



Follows his shadow
halfway up the stairs,

torchlight wavers
hollows a cave
in whitewash.

A crumple of paper
taped to the wall.

Blue ink threads
the page.
  
A crosshatch of squalls, heavy weather
paints each slo-mo scene into forever.

A rolling smoke of sky,
a confusion of clouds
boil in a silver vapour.

What clear patches there are reveal a path.

The battery gives up the ghost
as the shadow goes on
without him.


Wednesday, 22 April 2015

The Spaghetti Rhinoceros



A plank of wood leans against my bedroom wall like a lesson in mathematics. It’s been there for days. I have to walk around it to get to the sock drawer. I have to remember to walk around it when the lights have been turned out. The plank is like putting the word spaghetti next to rhinoceros: it serves no obvious purpose and I have no idea why it was put there.

Saturday, 18 April 2015

Friday, 17 April 2015

The King's Barrow

Conical, coated in ash sand,
Trenched by generations of feet
Rising through patchworks of bracken
The burnt honey of winter
The glow worm green of summer
Where the snake bright knuckle heads,
Fronds vibrate to a silent song.
These evolutionary pioneers,
Pernicious, carcinogenic
Perform a dusky, blink now and you’ll miss it, miracle.
We, crepuscular tourists who see the shadowy applause
Log locations, save them for future cyber publications
Six feet of analogue pages
Already behind and latterly, above him.
And now, to side-wind to a point
There are no bones under the King’s Barrow.

 

Thursday, 16 April 2015

Insert Key Here

Yellow sugar paper with glued on black cut outs to represent the world’s highest structures: a black earth, black sun and black crescent moon float above the peaks of vaguely recognisable shapes. Meanwhile, the white-tile false ceiling is clustered with so many smoke detectors it’s a wonder the roof doesn’t fall down. The emergency fire alarm boxes are all key operated: smashing the glass doesn’t require any encouragement around here. The black earth continues to float in the yellow sky. Another planet rolls into view. This unnamable orb sports towers and pyramids of its own. The bell goes off like a machine gun: another innocent hour mowed down.  

 

Pages

Morlock Oil

Morlock Oil
A new collection of stories available now . Click on image for details.

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery
New Chapbook Available (email rockinahill@gmail.com for details)

Furrow

Furrow
Bunchgrass Press