The Lost Poem

Stagnant silence drapes the room;

Outside, things are creeping, growing, happening.

A car door slams and cuts through the night.

An ocean of darkness laps against my skin,

trickles behind my eyelids. I open my mouth and swallow it.

This is when it comes to me: that sudden tidal wave of inspiration.

I scrabble for a scrap of paper on the floor –

The desk’s too far, my bed’s too warm.

Even just a pen, and then I’ll scribble on my skin,

anything to keep this ghost from slipping away.

Empty handed, I’ll memorise it this time,

Line for line. I’ll seal it tightly in my mind.

But morning drifts in, and already it’s escaped me,

but not completely.

Possession

We stared into the darkness.

Moonlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting an eerie glow about the place. It was dead silent, with just the occasional gust of wind moaning through the eaves high above us. Somewhere a wooden door creaked on its hinges.

“Here?” Anthony was asking, “Really?”

Kim nodded with a wild grin. She was insane, Kim. Annoying, too. She was one of those girls who had to shriek at everything, and would loudly point out everything embarrassing, like that one spot you’d been hoping nobody noticed. Every so often she would throw a tantrum and cry that she was ugly, or fat, so that everybody would fall over themselves to compliment her. I never understood how my mate Anthony had been able to put up with her for so long. I got sick of her within minutes. But still, here we were.

Experimental Fiction

It’s a restaurant, one of those cheap chains like a Harvester only you’re not allowed to have real things like that, especially if you call them cheap, because you can get sued when your book becomes a bestseller and someone gets jealous and wants a piece of you. It’s the early evening because they have their ridiculously cheap deals then and it always attracts the crazies. Everyone’s just doing normal restaurant things until a lady walks out of the ladies’ room carrying a plate with mashed potato on it. I know what you’re thinking, it was definitely mashed potato, I know mashed potato when I see it. It’s unmistakeable.

Synonymia

I was scrubbing a client’s shiny metal teeth with a scouring pad, when I suddenly went light headed and had to sit down with my head between my knees. With my eyes closed I heard a disembodied voice saying “Greetings, friend!” I opened my eyes and looked up to find myself in a round white room with a high ceiling. Puzzled, I looked to see who had spoken and found I shared the room with a very tall man wearing a long red cape. He gave me a wave and drenched me with a flood of sea water.

“Where did that come from?” I gasped.

The man laughed. “I take it you’re not from around here. You’d better go downstairs and talk to the mayor.” He pointed towards the staircase, which I noticed was covered with soft white feathers.

An old man in a smart white suit sat behind a desk at the bottom of the stairs. He smiled warmly and I found myself sweating as if somebody had just turned the heating up.

“Welcome to Synonymia,” said the man, gesturing for me to go over to him. “What is your business?”

“I am a dentist for robots,” I told him. “I clean their teeth. Sometimes I do basic software installation.”

“Well, that sounds like something we could use around these parts. Our robots are always complaining about swollen gums. I’m going to make you an honorary citizen.”

“But I don’t belong here,” I explained, “I arrived here by accident and I don’t know how to get home!”

“Nonsense! Our fine town is far better than anywhere you could have come from. I promise you, we get millions of visitors each year and they’re always very disappointed to leave. If they knew I’d just offered you citizenship, they’d be green with envy.”

As he said this, a young couple came down the stairs and, on hearing what the mayor was saying, their skin turned the colour of leaves. They looked at each other sadly, shrugged and walked out of the front door. This place was starting to feel strange to me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As that thought crossed my mind, I found both my hands suddenly seemed unable to touch the desk, as if being repelled by a magnetic field.

Seeing my confusion, the mayor chuckled to himself. “Ah, this place will certainly feel different to what you’re used to. Here, everything takes on every possible meaning of itself. Do you see?”

I shook my head. “Not really.” As the words left my lips, my vision suddenly became cloudy and blurry as if I was surrounded by a fog. Suddenly I realised what was happening.

“I do see,” I blurted, and just like that my eyesight was restored. “So, what you’re saying is, if I was to...” but I couldn’t think of an example.

My attempt at a villanelle (they're really hard!)

As the final tree begins to die,
We gather round to mourn and pray
Beneath the dreary concrete sky.

Security guards with guns stand by
The barbed wire fence all night and day
As the final tree begins to die.

We can’t reach through, though some still try.
Their arms bleed black as they pull away
Beneath the dreary concrete sky.

Memories of forests growing high
are faded dreams, real as hope today
As the final tree begins to die.

Wide-eyed children still question why,
But we shake our heads, ashamed to say
Beneath the dreary concrete sky.

Above us, birds no longer fly.
Above us, the moon and stars shine grey
As the final tree begins to die
Beneath the dreary concrete sky.

Sonnet to a Supermarket Employee

Oh Asda man, I see you every time
I go to do my supermarket shop.
Sometimes you’re serving in the checkout line,
Or else you’re in the toilets with a mop.
You always greet me smiling at the door,
And help me with my trolley’s wonky wheel.
You find my missing items in the store
And I wish that I could tell you how I feel.
I watch you stacking jars of peanut butter,
Arranging shelves of buy-one-get-one-free.
Your strong physique , it makes my heart a-flutter,
But sadly I’m a Tesco employee...

And so my love for you I must keep hidden,
Because mixing with the rival is forbidden.

Soup

“Excuse me waiter, look at my soup.

There’s something moving in here.

Please turn that ominous music off,

It’s starting to fill me with fear.

A dark shape beneath the surface,

Swimming laps around my spoon.

I demand to see your manager

If this isn’t dealt with soon.

It just dived up from the surface

And lunged for my Kung Pao Beef!

Quick, get the coastguard on the phone,

Did you see the size of those teeth?!

I’d heard this was quite a delicacy,

A dish of exceptional class –

But what a disgrace! I’ve half a mind

To set Gordon Ramsay on your arse!

So please fetch my coat, I am leaving!

Your chef must be insane

To serve such a dangerous dish, I’ll never

Be ordering this again.

Fin

Pastoral

I’ve decided to visit the country today,

Expecting some beautiful sights on the way.

But the stench of manure spreads far and wide,

From a barn with a million chickens inside.

I walk past the farm, and the farmer says, ‘Son!

Get off of my land!’, and he’s loading his gun.

Another one’s tending to crops in the field,

Crushing the rabbits with his tractor wheels.

I cut across a cow field, and just my luck,

I step in a turd and my welly gets stuck.

I keep on walking down the lane,

With only one boot, and it’s starting to rain.

I pass a fat woman in jodhpurs and chaps

Riding a horse that’s about to collapse.

She shoots me a glare and says “Filthy tramps,

They should put the lot of you into camps.”

“And I bet you’re one of those immigrants too.

Oh, why won’t the government deal with you?

No matter,” she said, “I’ve got foxes to kill.”

Then she spat in my face and rode over the hill.

After that unprovoked attack,

I decided to leave – and never went back.

The countryside is a sorry disgrace.

If I’m ever in charge, I’ll destroy the place.

Ghosts

At the time we all believed

we’d be doing this forever.

Fifty years from now, still running

screaming in the darkness, shining

torches in each other’s eyes.

We lit a fire in the ruins

of an old watchtower, spooked

each other with urban legends

(like Charlie, who hanged himself,

and still swings tethered from the rafters

on the darkest nights

– but not tonight)

and trespassed in the empty church

with the werewolf mural,

and ran, stumbling, terrified

(but always laughing) when the wind

or an angry ghost – we never could agree

on which – slammed the wooden door

with a crash that split the night in two.

Strange to think that somewhere

we lost all that. Strange to think

that somewhere, we’re all hunting ghosts

of our own, reaching clumsily into the dark,

forgetting how it feels to laugh and scream

the way we did together on that night.