Penny For Your Thoughts!

My first book, Penny for Your Thoughts is officially available to buy now! I’ve been working with my editor for five months now on a debut collection of poetry that has been four years in the writing process.
I’m really, super proud of this, and never thought any of my work would see the light of day, so to get an editor from a recognised poetry publisher who aided me in the self publishing process to see something in it really means a lot.
Some of you will like it, some of you will read it and go what the hell is this?! But, any support would be greatly appreciated.
But yeah, the secret is out!!

Penny For Your Thoughts is available internationally in paperback form now and e-book pre-order at:

Boomerang

To whomever
Is reading this.
Let it be known
That I understand
Completely
That I
Abuse the word
Love.

I love
Binge watching TV
Heartache
Rosé wine
Busy days at work
Cold Coffee
Scalding hot baths
My dog
Rainy, miserable days
My family
Early dog walks
My friends
Not being able to sleep
Clocking out of work
Bad rosé wine
Singing when driving
The colour green
Broccoli
And Sprouts at Christmas.

I’m a lover
Of lots of things.
I love and love again.
I abuse the word love,
Throw it around
Like a boomerang
In the hope
That one day,
It will come back.

Dream Catchers

My eyes are cobwebs.
They catch the dust
And the morning dew.
For a few, they’re just fine.
Fine strands of fine green.

But your eyes. Damn.
Your eyes are dream catchers.
Every colour, every texture,
Every possibility radiates from them.
But dark beads are woven within.

Dark beads from broken nights
Of broken sleep, worrying
About your broken life with him.
Let me take your darkness
And thread it into my web.

I’d be honoured to carry your darkness,
Because he doesn’t deserve residence
In your eyes, heart or mind.
Your eyes are dream catchers, and I
Can only hope one night, to get caught.

Clumsy Love

The only reason
I let you
Lie on top of me
Was to see
My outline
Printed perfectly
On your skin
When you were
Finished.

But, when you
Peeled yourself
Off of me;
My edges,
My corners,
My ink
Was smudged.

It Takes a Village

Whenever I feel the familiar feeling
Of a panic attack
Grabbing its rope and pick-axe
To climb up my throat at night,
I know what to do.

I grab a pen and begin drawing
Small, unique smiley faces.
Usually on my thigh. Black ink.
I then give them all a
Name and occupation.

George the paper boy
Was late on his morning rounds.
Which made Mrs. Richards,
The one with a lavender rinse at number ninety-two
Have a mouth like an upside down crescent moon.

We have John and James, the local electricians
Beaming, capital D’s on their lunch break.
They both had the sausage and egg sandwiches.
Served by Stacy, who five hours into her shift
Had zzz’s trailing from her mouth.

Tanya and Charlie were introducing
Their new puppy Lola, a dachshund
To Tanya’s auntie Christine.
But none of them could find
Christine’s son Toby.

Toby was around the back of the knee.
Scared. Blue ink.
All of the faces, and stories, and rush
Affected Toby and his default speed
In a way he couldn’t verbalise. So he ran.

He ran somewhere quiet, out of sight.
And when he was behind the knee,
Toby took out a pen. Black ink.
And began to draw
Small, unique, smiley faces.

Teetotal

Your red wine lips
Intoxicate me
With every kiss.

Your blushes and depth
I swirled and savoured.
Sent me silly, dizzy.

I drank you dry.
A selfish binge
Sent you running.

It’s been four months
And I still long for
The touch of your favourite merlot.

Porridge and Tea

I think I would
Still love you
Even if you
Burned my porridge
And forgot
To put two sugars
In my morning coffee
Before a ten hour shift.

American Horror Story

In October 2015, Hotel,
The fifth instalment
In the American Horror Story
Television anthology aired.

In Hotel’s first episode
A man is brutally raped
And left to die.
A lonely bystander watches.

Ten minutes after the episode
#LadyGagaAHS, #AHSHotel
And #YASSSHOTEL
Were all trending worldwide.

As of September, 2015
776 people were murdered
By U. S. Police.
745 were men.

In Ferguson,
Mike Brown was brutally shot
And left to die.
A lonely officer watched.

Ten minutes after his death,
The twitter birds were
Less forthcoming in tweeting.
An eventual #Ferguson surfaced.

Darren Wilson watched the blood
Seep from an eighteen year old boy
Like it was season premiere night
Of his favourite television show.

Would his death had
A faster impact if
Lady Gaga or Jessica Lange
Wielded a bloody axe around their heads?

Would #MikeBrown, #SandraBland
#BlackLivesMatter
See the light of day again
If governed by U.S. officers?

Murder House,
Asylum, Coven,
Freak Show,
Hotel.

I like American Horror Story
But 776 episodes of
American Horror Story: Police Station
Is too much, for anyone.

Scripture

I ran
My tongue
From the
Nape of
Your neck
To the
Base of
Your tail-bone.

Every bone
That your
Spine presented
To me
Was a
Rosary bead.

And my
Tongue, now
Mid-pilgrimage
Carries blasphemous,
Sinful, positively
Unholy thoughts
Of you
And I
Together.

Dormant

My dear,
Do not let your dainty-ness
Be used against you.

As if your feminine hands
Could not rip this
Creeps throat from his neck.

Do not let an open door
Turn into a self-signed invite
To slap your arse as you walk past.

Break the fuckers arm.
Then his nose.
Then his ego.

Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s dormant.
Hiding behind a mask
Of twenty-first century entitlement.

My dear,
You are neither dead, nor dormant.
Your dainty hands can open your own damn doors.