Sometimes, it is better to forget,

sometimes, we are forced

to disregard what we were once led to believe,

that there are rivers

that do not run to the sea, that swamp hell

with the detritus of promises none kept,

and broken dreams,

flushed away, through the toilet of our cities;

as the air thins quicker than the forest

we forgot, a life-time ago.



Hit the Wall

I wonder if I will make a profit,

if I cash in my dreams, aching

to dash it all to the ashes and leave,

like I could get out of life – alive.

I thrive, out of breath, never

scared of, but always scared to –





(For Brenda Read-Brown)

Note: The final two lines are from a poem called ‘Flagship’ from Brenda’s book; ‘Arbitrary Edges’. You can buy Brenda’s brilliant collection here:



I was only two poems in

before I had to stop

and write something,

moved by a line

that defined the truth,

so many pretend to ignore.

Smitten by something

you had written

in my youth, proof

that love cares not for age,

a page of your thoughts,

penned almost perfectly before

you could possibly know

they would echo


And I knew you knew me,

and I burned, my heart,

tearing at the seems,

‘and I learned that aching feet

are the realities of dreams.’



My tobacco tin is ten years old,

and doesn’t hold my smokes

like it used to do.

We’ve been married ten years

and you still laugh at my jokes,

my love. My love, I love you.

A decade down the line,

we’ve had our ups and our downs,

more smiles then frowns,

for, though we’ve had more knocks

than most couples who cope,

we held on to hope.

We held on to one another,

braved the storm

and formed a bond

that none can break.

I still see you in my dreams,

you are still the first thought

when I wake, and I don’t care

about the clichés, they work (like us)

because they’re true, my love. My love,

I am so in love with you.



Happy tenth anniversary to my beloved wife, Sian.  Luckiest girl alive?  Certainly the most tolerant!  I love you, my biscuits x




Old houses, abandoned playgrounds,

that live on in my memory,

derelict dreams, your smile –

forever haunting me.

The ghosts of kisses echo

in my sensibility,

forgetting the phantoms,

an impossibility.

Favourite places leave traces,

faces, barely recalled,

but able to enchant

and keep me enthralled,

the dens where we

played ‘let’s pretend’

and you stole your first

kiss from me;

where you went and how you died,

still a mystery.