Still

Sad footprints in the snow.
Leading us into the unknown.
The tiredness clings to our faces, having wasted such time.
Scratching and clawing our way into nothingness.
Silently they surround me.
Little birds of explanation.
Their vibrant feathers of understanding flutter in the summer sky.
How far had the fall been?
How deep did the chasm in my heart drop?
Never to be filled, yet clinging and yearning for the wanting.
For the void of the material.
Junk in the soul.
A whisper in my ear is not the breath of god.
The hand on my head is not an angelic caress.
It’s the apology I give to myself.
The embrace of my own arms, wrapped in forgiveness.
Head bowed in respect.
A stillness rises in me.
Loud like the winter.
Blooming like the spring of being the god within.
Sacred and defined.

Advertisements

Dawn

To kiss you into the night.
Would be more than I could pray for.
Lost in a world where you are my religion.
The transmigration I envisioned.
Waiting for that flash of crimson slitting the night’s sky.
Instead I made you cry.

Saints (attached)

The blankness of the shadows that pass.
Yet wonders dwell underneath.
Hidden stories that flow like lava mines.
Emotions running deep.
Eyes that meet on the train.
Skin that breathes all the same.
We are each a spark of light.
Glowing intermittently in the cold expanse of now.
Reduced down as the 20th century folded.
The devils may click their tongues, and hide in caves.
Dipping into those darkness pools.
But we are stronger in the sun.
Renewed and burning with a soul-ar flame.
And I move with purpose with an alleviated heart.
Often reminded of the angels I’m among.

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.

Hurry this nirvana

How long had you been sleeping?
In a pool of your own happiness.
Licking the chops of the beasts that sleep.
How anointed of you, to kiss my sandalwood feet.
To stare into the eyes of god and see nothing.
To see only stars, being born again and again.
Your skin cracks and bleeds rose water.
These eyes that tighten with every word from your lips.
Coughing up daises, pulling the leash you keep the world on.
They’d love to hate you.
Sneaking just a peak at your tolerance.
Dousing everything in oil and honour.
Lighting little fires in the dark pools of their souls.
Divine is defined by your existence.
Regret is stained by your ghost.

Veiled

Maybe it was all too much.
This veil pulls me down.
This earth pushes me up.
Bones as thin as china.
Will as strong as Russia.
What religion should I wear?
Which god was I trying to please?
Watch me as this orthodox trips into sunlight.
Unbuckled and strewn about like papers on a desk.
Write my name on everything you see.
For I shall own it.
My signature, worth a thousand jewels.
But then maybe, I shall fade away.
Fall into the shadow of time like a sphinx in the sand.
Riddling into my demise and my own lunacy.
Special to only but myself.
A fading queen of the ancients.
A housewife dead beneath a carpet.
Speak well of me while you eat my bread.
Drink the milk I give and choke on the thoughts I offer.
And forgot me not.
For I was there at your beginning.
And will silently watch you dissolve.
A woman. A soul.
Veiled and precious.
Swirling poison in my mouth.

Gospel of no-one

51f9FACh1hL

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

Nobodykn74.jpg

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.

Out Now – The Gospel of No One

Just a reminder, The Gospel of No One is out now in ebook and paperback forms.

THE GOSPEL OF NO ONE

Be careful of those who open their diamond hands.
Chewing opium smoked souls and offering hearts.
These will be those closest to you.
Forgive them, we know not what we do.
Swimming in the sin of a century.
Crawling once more on the back of time.
A miseducation of things once told.
Scratched on tablets, ground down like baby teeth.
But the skies won’t fall.
And though walls grow tall we strengthen our desire.
To avoid smashing galaxies and fragile pieces of others.
Every time you try to be what they expect, the honey sting;
the disdainful look of Lucifer drops all that is tired.
We become more inspired.
And make way for the inevitable bliss.
In Zion.

1037583_849.jpg

For more info on other titles, click here

A Call to arms

This weekend The Gospel of No one is available for e-book download and paperback purchase (In all territories). I hope you like my new novel, it’s a hybrid work of fiction and poetry based on religious themes and spirituality (and a little bit of horror too, as there always is in life). And as always, if you have any feedback, questions or comments; please let me know by any means.

However….This is my ninth book released, and please forgive the following rally cry:

Reviews, comments and feedback are the life savers of the authors world, as i’m sure you are all aware. For those who have read, downloaded or purchased any of my previous titles, please can I ask you to sound off in reviewing them at Amazon or Goodreads (The links should take you to my author pages). Even if it’s just a… cough cough (5) star selection/click on the options it would be really helpful getting my work out there and for more eyes to devour them.

And please be honest, if you didn’t like anything; let me know as it’s all creative critique. Of course, if it’s just name calling…then that’s just mean.

And in the world of reciprocity, my last poetry will be given away free for download this weekend (again, all territories). I’m very proud of this book and would like those who have not purchased it yet; to read, enjoy and share. Click the cover below for the link:

Echoes cover


Just an added reminder. I do not write for the dollars and cents. With donations to Room to read, this work is more of a passion than profit. Room to read promotes children’s literacy and gender equality in Asia and Africa. If you would like to get involved, or donate, or share a link to tell others; please visit their site by clicking the image below. Thank you.

Room to Read Logo (1)

The ecstasy of anyone

Kiss me when the world is watching.
Take me when the night time comes.
Explore me until something shocking.
Rattles in your bones and hums.
Taking you to seventh heaven.
Letting Allah kiss you on the mouth.
Praise me once, or six or seven,
times until our heads go south.
For in my lap you’ll find the answer.
In my mind you’ll find the key.
Your fingers will become a master.
In unlocking this mystery.
But this is more than cheap gymnastics.
There is more than sweet ecstasy.
For my heart is linked to your tantric,
ways of love which I cannot flee.
You have my heart, my precious treasure.
You have my soul, my body and mind.
So with it all, I offer such pleasure.
A union, till the end of time.

O-A+

You don’t need this religion. Your face screams a new fear.
With Maybelline eyes that tear.
A cut so deep that it stings my own heart.
As this city crumbles; the cathedrals fall apart.
Let the dust settle on the sweat that is sticky.
Close your eyes, and think of me. Let me take you over.
As memories begin to thin your blood.
And my broken lips kiss you sweetly.

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

DSC_0018-01.jpeg

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.

words-35

Prophet

Stepping into the church after so many years made him hesitant at first. He lingered in the doorway like an uninvited guest, hovering on the threshold. Some tourists excused themselves in broken English as they brushed passed him, entering the cool relief of the stone sanctuary away from the blistering hot sunshine outside. Holding his breath, he stepped inside; glancing quickly high up to the ceiling as if looking for God.

The church was quiet, despite the added tourists who had passed him and who were now inspecting one of the older tomb covers towards the rear of the nave. He turned in the other direction and made his own way towards the collection of remembrance candles which twinkled out from a small alcove. Despite the sunshine which streamed in through the stained glass windows, the small candles held their own air of magic and brilliance. Tiny twinkling eyes danced together in their own little rhythms. They were why he was here today, the only reason he would ever step inside a church.

He noticed the small donations box propped up next to the candles, the unlit ones lumped together in a small metal box like a collection of teeth.

‘20p per candle’

The sign suggested, though whether this was indeed a suggestive price or intended one he wasn’t sure, either way it didn’t matter. He dropped the £2 coin into the metal coffin and was saddened to hear its solitary ring out from below. Clearly not many people needed remembering today. He picked up a candle from the box and then turned suddenly to the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Good afternoon.”

The old man said, smiling at him as he came towards the stand where the candles were. He wore a trench coat that did not suit the day’s weather, and he carried a hat in his hand as which he held down at his side. He was dressed for November, not the glorious spring Elysium that covered the world outside the door.

“Afternoon.” He replied in return, smiling at him, though annoyed he would have to share his moment with someone else now.

“Lovely day isn’t it?”

The old man had stopped a few feet from him, and seemed eager to engage in a conversation. Though annoyed somewhat, he had no intention of being rude and instead smiled and replied to him.

“It is indeed, a little too warm for me though.”

“This little church provides a nice little oasis from the outside world I find.” The old man said.

He nodded in agreement.

“Yes it does. Sorry, did you need to get to the candles too?” he asked him, motioning out of the way to where the candles lay.

“No, thank you. Please carry on. I didn’t mean to disturb you too much.”

“No trouble. I was just lighting a candle for my mother. It’s her birthday today.”

“I see. I shall leave you to it then. Though I should say, we never truly know what is coming our way, and must always prepare for the worst; but hope for the best.” He said.

He looked at him a moment, unsure of what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just being philosophical. Please, I shall leave you in peace. Enjoy your day.” The old man said, and he suddenly turned and walked away, his loud jacket echoing off the small stone walls as he departed down the church.

How odd, he thought. He watched him go, then turned back to the candles that lay before him. Only a few were still burning brightly, the others dying out and completing their mission and sending the prayers into the sky. He held the small candle by the base and stuck the wick into a bright burning flame. The wick inhaled quickly, bursting into life. He placed it away from the others on the rack, letting it glow in its own lonely beauty. He thought of his mother, who had died a year ago. He watched as the wax dribbled down the side and remembered her quiet tears when she’d heard she was going to die. The cancer that had lain within her which had accelerated with an ungodly speed, to prove salvation impossible. His mother, his rock; gone practically overnight.

He closed his eyes and prayed for her, thinking how devoted to god she was and knowing if anyone were to be in heaven, it would be her.

The tourists who had entered before him had found their way to where he was now. Their foreign tongues licking at his neck signalled him it was time to leave. He turned and left, making his way towards the door, dropping a pound coin in the donations box near the entrance; but never looking down the aisle towards the alter, or taking in the sad pictures of the saints that peppered the walls.

He pushed the huge doors open, shut since his entrance into the small church on St. Collin’s street, and stood just inside the doorway. Nothing divine was calling him or pulling him back. There was no need to sprinkle himself with holy water or skim the bibles in search for a hymn to ease his soul. He stood in the doorway like a kid on a dock, because it had just that second started to rain.

Thumbing the pages

Books.png

With the release of my new book ‘Impermanence of things’, my other novels are free this weekend on Amazon all around the globe; so feel free to download, and hopefully, enjoy.

tumblr_static_cd9ibg7uhpckcws8s8400ww8o

 

For more info on them, follow the birds.

 

Those who have already acquired the words of wonder, first of all thank you. If you would be so kind to leave a review to guide or warn others, it would be greatly appreciated.

As always, a mention that I support Room to read, which does wonders for children all over this green and blue planet of ours. For more information, please take your eyes over to see what they do.
Most of the profits from my work go towards Room to read, so rest assured any purchase is doing some good for someone else. Thank you.

download

Skirt your soul

Coughing on the brick dust.
Not complaining.
Just re-arranging.
This sanctuary you’ve housed us in.
Licking the light that shines through the stained teared windows.
You cover me in everything.
You wrap me around you like a piece of string.
Feeling the blood pump through these veins.
Skin on skin. Lips to lips.
With an infinity smile you harken me forward.
Out of this church of our hearts.
The fresh mountain air hits my lungs.
Breathing in the butterfly breath of your exhale.
You tomorrow’s sigh.
Hand gripped and stable. Grounded when I was falling apart.
Steadied my soul.
And when I was letting go, you let me fly.
Soar.

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.

covers

 

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.

download

 

 

 

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!’’

Dear silent shadow

My mind is playing silly games. Your turn.
Synchronised with moon tides and memories.
Waiting for the dust to settle, for the world to quieten.
For me to subdue, acquiesce or fold.
These growing pains, leave me breathless and blurry eyed.
Trying to unhook you, to dispel the miser and the misery.
Parading the joyfulness of a child. Spank me into correction.
Treat me like a four year old, chastise in your maturity.
Even kids get story time and chocolates.
Where is my reward for good behaviour?
Peter panning my tinkerbell tendencies.
Where is my previous saviour?
I’m losing my religion, as it drips away in tears shed from you.
I hear you calling, wanting to play again.
Foolish games?
I drift into my sleep, so turn down your loud bittersweet.
Dreaming, so our broken wings can soar. That’s all that’s left.