scribblesandsnaps

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I'm not ok, but I'm ok with that.

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No axe required

“these are not my words” you saidbut they are the ones that you chosean intention born in your knowing of the place where the crack in my soul bled its woundyou began to bathe my broken shore-line by line with a gentle calling me to a place i did not know as home until then how my heart burst itself open to hear this softest of lullabies to the unseen mehow have i lived so long without this…

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second sight

Today the Desperado’s are sounding a call for the poetic Super HeroYikes!!! I am headlong into this moment and a stream of consciousness is tugging at my sleeve. Let’s go it say. Let’s go. bazooka joe bubble-gummed me a super powerback in the 70’s when poetry was for old fuckersx-ray-speccing me a laser eyed future gift of sightthat the sidhe would be laughing now if they knew i had not gotten…

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blinded by the light

Give me your eye she said, it will be better for you in the long run. Can’t you just blister my finger? I asked. She smirked all deadly-like and then dropped her silken robes to the floor. Transfixed does not even cover it. Hook, line and sinker might though.I see you know your mythology, she said in a voice that curled my toes. So you must also know the rules when encountering The Goddess. This…

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s(permutations

Open Link Weekend at the Desperates and I am for once able to be here and writing. This piece has been knocking on the door a while now and this morning it emerged. I did not mean to open up my veinsand bleed this mess into my offspringthinking i had some choice in it allUp to five hundred million spermin a single ejaculation looking to findtheir way to an egg in a deep fortressI was a water…

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extended sentence

This week the Desperate Poets are called to bring tales of the unexpected by Fireblossom. Her call must be answered.Here is an unexpected Birthday greeting.Each line is an American Sentence. a nest of snakes for you as a bouquet to plant in your cracked disgusta garland of weeds for the barren wasteland you dare call a hearta string of fuck-me-nots to remind you of what will never happenall…

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stuck

This morning at Desperate Poets there is a call to Summer’s endings. Funny how a poem comes into being. Here I was sat at my desk thinking I can’t write to this prompt when the image of a stick of rock on the floor of a seaside town popped into my head. The rest of that story is below. There’s a stick of rock on the floorstuck fast without a hint of ironyeven the seagulls have given up on…

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blue and black

A second submission to the ‘Footsteps of our Feathers’ prompt at Desperate Poets. we are distant according to the measure of the crowbut close perhaps in the longing for that not to be soand this ache in my chest brings you into this placetraveller through time in an eternal moment of nowwhat is it here with me that is so disarmingly familiar?a reflection of what I might look like on a good…

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awen

We are called to drink a deep draught of the mead of poetic birth over at Desperate Poets this fine morning. An inspiring prompt from Brendan, titled, “In the footsteps of our Feathers.” From bone and clawfrom dying breathfrom tree root and wingand from eye of crowfrom mystic crystal dewdropfrom river’s lilted moving songfrom ocean’s cavernous wailthe stillness of the lochwombing the deep…

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Lonely Town

Lonely Town is the title of the prompt today over at Desperate Poets and the title of my poem for submission. Why reinvent the wheel? there is only one herein this upsidey townthere is only one herewith his upsidey frownand each single nothing is only just hiswrapped up in the feather of a missed lover’s kissthe drains sing a tinkle-song heartbreak in fallwashing all of the worldsswilling deluge…

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it was You

Desperate Poets are wondering about Tipping Points So innocuous as to be almost absurd that school run on that sunny day when You thought that driving the kids was a real option because You were running out of timeIf only You had known how truethat really wasTurns out that the five quids worth of petrol You pulled from the forecourt at that particular timeon that particular daywas the Tipping…

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scud

I am home from a damp but wonderful festival…my brain is still soggy. Here is a wee limerick for the Desperates. There once was a fella called BlairElected with flourish and flairHe set about changingdid truth re-arrangingpretending the weapons were there

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There is a prompt afoot at Desperate Poets. O my Spurs: Desperate Elegies. Have a wander over that way and indulge yourself in some of the finest poetry this side of the veil.It has pulled a poem from me that could be about any one of the women in my lineage or those I grew up with who hail from the same place and have since passed.My maternal Grandmother, Lizzie, is pictured below far right, on…

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The Water of Life

There is a call to Desperate Desires this fine morning by our guest prompter Shay aka Fireblossom aka Coal Black, over at my favourite poetic corner of the web. It was that shock of golden ambered glory,standing her out in the monochrome light.Cigarette smoke curling about her mouth,her lips licked in a deadly anticipatory grin.She had clearly been down this road before,a sultry siren, web…

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in the genes of us

Our sister poet, Sky Blue Sherry, has offered a beautiful prompt, Indigenous Voices, over at the desperate poets….it has many a layer to it but this particular part spoke to me. ….finding comfort in the beauty around us, whether it is as vast as the sky or as small as a dew-covered spider-web, on a cornstalk by the back fence in the early morning. It must have been walking with me as i visited…

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Black is black

Desperate Noir The coffee was blackbar the spoon swirled lightreflecting the one blinkingflourescent in the ceilingdemon flashes of subliminal codei thought that only tea cupscould leaf divinationso i sipped the fates and waitedit was that time in the neithernot day not night borderlandsi had convinced myselflong before the cafe door jingledopen that i was losing my gripreality having slipped…

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paul scribes

i entered the world of cyber space poetics in 2012some believe it was the end of the world as we knew itgone the moleskin notepad and the scribbling thereinnow a white screen and graphical user interface whichis displayed by a ROM chip on the computer motherboardMotherin all the years since, i have typed in poetry and others haveread and typed their comments and observations in replyit feels to…