Sex

Who told you how to do it right?
The love makes you whole as it takes control.
Dipping fingers into seventh heaven.
That goes in there?
That goes with that?
Just close your eyes, and we’ll all look the same.
A naked Jesus. A naked soul.
You say, not to stop it now.
Sliding into another night.
Finding more truth the deeper you go.
Wondering if the others will be touching themselves.
Those other voices.
Watching and unstoppable.
A sigh, is a cry in a prayer that is finding its way.
Just say you’ll stay.
Here.

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An inner choir sings

You do not find it in the brush strokes of the saintly.
The willowing wisps of utterances in cold hallowed rooms.
Light a candle, and see me.
Peel back the bits of Christ to find me.
Swimming in the shallow cells of you.
Awash, in the DNA of God.

Indignities of war

Now the music sounds better without you.
The sound of rust and avoidance.
A pin of change, held in thy hand.
Explosions in their eyes, are merely the dying stars of hope.
As they drop bombs on everything you see.
All that once glittered was sold.
Packaged and peeled like your skin on the cross.
And we taste the regret each day.
And we forget each pain and stay,
locked in world of static.
Explaining each miracle away.
It once felt like home.
Until the sands rose and the waters melted.
And we looked once more in the back of our skulls.
Picking away at you on the roof of our mouths.
The tourniquets we place over the lands tear.
The crumble and crack of reason.
The pain is the only thing we’re happy to hear.
As we martyr those who walk your walk.
And silence those, with that familiar talk.
Of love.

Gospel of no-one

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Your own personal bible, offering a glimpse into worlds you will never normally see. Words struck down, not by God, but by those souls who visited St. Sebastian’s church and who dissected their own sacred hearts for you.

Hidden under the base of a statue of Mother Mary, the current pastor of St. Sebastian’s church discovers a small tightly bound book, the contents of which explain the demise of the previous Father, Father Nikolas and the confessions of those who frequented the church throughout his time there. A journey through pain, doubt and forgiveness; the book opens the eyes and hearts and asks everyone for their own confessions.

‘The Gospel of no one’ is a hybrid novel mixing fiction and poetry, orbiting religious imagery and spirituality. Hope, mixed with the horror of being only human.

Just a reminder that The Gospel of no-one is out now in eBook and Paperback. If you’ve purchased it already, thank you; but don’t forget to review and tell a disciple. Comments or questions; please sound off below. Enjoy. For more books, check out the books section

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Intimate horror

At the door there comes a rapping.
On hallowed ground you hear a tapping.
The pumpkin trail that led them there.
To trick or treat, and scream and scare.
Hobgoblins and witches together in groups.
Angels and a devils, leading the troops.
To smile and laugh at the seasonal tricks.
Grabbing candy and lollipop for furious licks.
So do not wonder what Jesus would do.
Or Mohammed, Buddhist or secular Jews.
For of this season we can take much notice.
Of sharing light or the sacred lotus.
For though they take, of that we give.
It’s Halloween that’s all inclusive.

Jesus jam (Satan’s saliva)

That Octopus, that alligator.
On heaven’s brow, god’s travelator.
Tipping the scales, licking honey.
Bring all of us such milk and money.
Sipping on sweet lemonade.
Cherry wine and razor blades.
Who’s in danger?
Who’s in hell?
Count those cell phones with tortoise shells.
This computer says we’re many things.
In need of love, and diamond rings.
Error. Escape, with all the wrong friends.
Beatnik bars and downward trends.
Smile if you think we’re happy.
Laugh if you think it’s trending.
Gatorade, work alarms. Good times never ending.
Pack your life now in a suitcase.
Sadness in sardonic typeface.
Wash away those bruises with beer.
Turpentine and celebrity gear.
A neon fog to dull the senses.
Lowered expectations and all defenses.

A linguistic form that can meaningfully be spoken in isolation

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Just a quick announcement to say that my books are now available in good old fashioned paperback form. No longer must your be chained to your phone or kindle to be whisked away to some wonderful, and sometimes frightening, worlds.

To grab them and get them into your idle hands, please click here.
If you’re unsure of what lies beneath the pages, then visit the books section to read a bit more. If you have any questions or comments, i’d love to hear from you (connect). Or, if you have read any of my work, then please feel free to leave a review on amazon, as i’m sure you’re aware, it’s pretty useful.

Thank you, and to those who have bought any of my works in the past; I hope you enjoyed them and I appreciate your interest. I don’t take any of this for granted. There’s more coming very soon, so watch this space.

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Flicking the pages

All my works are free to download today. Click here and follow the white rabbit…and choose a new friend.

And those who have already shacked up with them, please feel free to leave some reviews on Amazon to let others know what you think. Much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy.

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As it’s nice to get something for nothing; it’s nicer sometimes to give back. Give a little get a little and all. I like to support Room to read which helps support literacy and education around the world. I’m sure they would appreciate some contributions/time/love.
Thank you.

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Sacred heart

You say it’s all in my head.
But I know you’re breaking free, lifting out of this.
The silencing of souls.
An end must always have a start.
But I’m calling out for your help.
With every spread of your wing, the feathers ripped into me.
I turned your heart to stone, when I should have covered it in gold.
The sacred treasure you gave to me.
The walls were thin, and it fell to easy
I stepped on it with my muddy shoes, squeezing out the oxygen and love.
Now I’m in the court of the karma kings, waiting for the sentence.
Waiting to be shown which way to go.
The thief who stole all at the beginning, hungry for the love.
Becoming the custodian of your sacred heart.
Only to wind up with empty hands and lonely tears.
Benedetto sia il cuore più affettuoso.
Ci riportano alla bella partenza.

Meet the maker

Grandma died at a quarter to three.
Right before her cake and tea.
She’d gone to church and prayed like the rest.
Hoped for peace, and always tried her best.
To be like Jesus and love each other.
She even prayed harder for her sick older brother.
Yet it was she God took, that lazy Sunday.
At number 40, in her living room doorway.
Collapsed on the floor, her hands to her chest.
Stricken in pain, nearing the final rest.
For it seemed God had for her a different plan.
Then tea and cake, and the weatherman.
And what is more, it pains me to say.
That Grandma was not even in her twilight days.
For poor Grand Ma Ma was only 70.
And had gone the bathroom to spend a penny.
Yet down she was struck, tripping over her pug.
Smashed her head on the door like a hand to a bug.
It was a silly demise and lacked any dignity.
As she’d glared at the dog before meeting her destiny.
No moments of poise or thoughts of her brother.
Her last action on earth was to exclaim ‘’Mother fucker!’’

Crushed chalk to diamond dust

They did not see, our crucifixion wasn’t televised.
The day you broke down, and held my hand.
Swimming in chalk, dusting it off our clothes.
Feeling so low and desperate.
The soft surrender of hopelessness.
But we did not die, we did not fade into white.
A burst of control and all the things they’ll never know.
Our resurrection, in colour and flesh and bone.
Just a matter of time now until they paint our picture.
Hang it on the wall where the wolves devour other hearts.
Stronger, from here on out.

Lexicon and lightning storms

Play those words like cards, split from the stacked deck.
Forever in your favour.
I’m tripping, and sticking to the toffee words on your tongue.
You led me here, with poisoned breadcrumbs and the promise of perfection.
Your mouth looks so tempting, as clean as an oven.
I tried to be all for you, without crucifying who I was.
Your spear of our destiny digs in deeper, seeing what’s left inside.
Blood and broken dreams frozen in tears.
Spill me, fill me. No longer thrilling me with thoughts of tomorrow.
The dark clouds roll in and I see your quickening quarrel gather speed.
I put up my umbrella towards the oncoming deluge, fixing the weather vane to my heart.
Swirling in the confusion, the hurricane of you anger.
I let go and drown in the onslaught of your hypocrisy.
Battered against your will, struck by your electric storm.
Drifting in the debris of you and me.

Complex reference points

Please don’t talk, it makes me think.
My head shudders as your eyes roll.
It makes me hide the knifes, and text books. My homework on discovering you.
You bite my hands and pretend you’re a tiger. Chasing your tail.
You used to burn so bright.
That dream is diminishing.
You listen to the devils in your ear. They tell you what you want to hear.
Here comes an opportunity. Can’t you see, this is all I need?
It all comes undone. Unbutton that tongue, and be my truth tonight.
These words begin to carry me away, you never did ask me to stay.
Tiny towers compare to you, as my eyes set on mountains that command.
What dream did you want to destroy today?
I see it in your eyes, as I put on my armour and prepare for the next wave.
Your Joan of Arc, your Jesus Christ. Your Martin Luther, your holy ghost?
You never listen carefully, distrusting my reptilian blood. Count the crazy.
So I let you sleep. Laying you down on the battlefield, your martyred pose. Your own stations of the cross. You seem happy.
I finally found a way to make you smile.