Tempest

For Ave­line de Rais Rubinshteyn she is stand­ing in thrall to the tempest she has noth­ing to lose but her hide she knows all the tricks and she’s seen all the hicks and she’s secretly crying inside her skin is a rock­ing horse palimpsest she has...
Minstrels and Mischief

Minstrels and Mischief

This hyper­text poem star­ted out as an exper­i­ment to show my stu­dents you could make com­pel­ling con­tent without know­ing a lot of HTML. And then I got a little obsessed! It’s a story of a fire dancer and a mask-maker and...

London 7/7

these pared down, har­rowed days con­jured from flame and fervour spread thin like a cry drawn from parched lips; like an ache refracted. in our cities, bodies drift like sparks in con­flag­ra­tions — ash-light; empty rhet­oric falls gnarled as tinder. what...

Winter

Ah winter, your vaul­ted roofs are sandstone And your halls are chill. Your cor­ridors echo with a lone brown oak leaf and the south wind. On the steps, a philo­sopher dreams civilization, Smoke curl­ing around his fantas­ies. Winter, You are...

Crimped

For my Grandmother She is old and crimped like a pinched-off string Yes­ter­day was filled with memor­ies of buttercups She made dolls of moun­tain devils when they were babes Tomor­row, a glass of sherry on her own, in her room Yes­ter­day was...