The Girl Upon The Stairs

After a fairly long hiatus, it seems my muse has slowly started to return. I hope you like this one.

Every day she passed me by,
The girl upon the stairs;
I wished to know her secret name,
And where she went to play her games,
I never caught her eye.

Soft her tread and smooth her step,
The girl upon the stairs;
As if a shadow passing by,
Whispered silk with gentle sigh,
Her memory I kept.

Scent of summer followed on,
The girl upon the stairs;
As if a window open wide,
Had conjured here the world outside,
Lingered when she had gone.

More than all I wish to know,
The girl upon the stairs;
There’s nought by her within my mind,
But only on the stairs I find,
This girl that I love so.

A Room At The Top

There’s a room in a house
You shared with a girl,
A window that showed the
Dark streets;
It sat at the top of
A three storied stair,
A pillow that always
Smelled sweet.

The first night I stayed there
You offered me wine,
You told me I would not
Drive home;
We shared a hot evening
A night under stars,
Such moves I had never
Been shown.

The drive the next morning
That took me away,
A route to be etched in
My mind;
This journey I’d follow
Again and again,
To room where our bodies

This house in the city
The room at the top,
Forever I just longed
To be;
A climb to the top of
The three storied stairs,
The whole world then made sense
To me.

Once More

I am really not sure about this one. The whole ‘Once more…’ repeating motif. I read it and it seems to work, but I’m not the best judge of this stuff. Anyway… I hope you like it. Thank you for reading.

Once more down dark and twisting roads,
Once more among the black,
Once more into the nightly fray,
Once more no looking back;

Once more my safety in my hands,
Once more a fear of death,
Once more the swiftly beating heart,
Once more a lack of breath;

Once more the light retreats from me,
Once more the darkness grows,
Once more my voice screams in the night,
Once more no other knows;

Once more my nightmares come for me,
Once more my terror wins,
Once more so lost inside the night,
Once more my fear has wings;

Once more the never ending sleep,
Once more a world in mind,
Once more I fear to never wake,
Once more forever blind;

Once more I wake in early hour,
Once more I’m left to be,
But soon the night returns again,
Once more to torture me.


Yes, it has been a while since my last post. And for that, I sincerely apologise. My latest one here is a dark and moody one, but it’s original at least.

The future’s dark and black and mean,
Coloured by the things I’ve seen,
And in its cruel and vicious way,
Will taint my nights and blight my day.
Choices made filled with regret,
Consequences not seen yet,
Hope, it fades and loses will,
And eyes with tears are swimming still.
Where is the light to bring a smile,
And walk beside me all the while?
Diminished now in gath’ring gloom,
As all about me now is doom.


I have been struggling of late with inspiration, lots of ideas, nothing concrete. Someone I follow on twitter suggested I try the Whimword flash fiction site. So, this post is for the prompt word ‘Cave’. I hope you like it.

Turn thy face and hide thy eyes,
Be as a creature in a cave;

Take thy self from out the light,
For night in darkness all will save;

Keep thy self in bleak remove,
In silence stay as in a cave;

Fear will hold within thy breast,
Replacing that which made thee brave;

Live thy life in dark retreat,
Be long alone within thy cave;

Words now heard within my mind,
Enforced by pain she cruelly gave.

London Machine

This small piece came to me this morning, as I had to travel into London for my job. I hope you like it.

Emerging from the crush of the London underground, squeezed through the exit like toothpaste from a tube. The scattergun dispersal of my fellow commuters, out into the morning sun and morning traffic.
Travellers removed from their self-imposed bubble whilst on a tube carriage, to once again engage with the world. Coffees to buy, buses to find, offices to get to.
But just for a moment, to pause in a quiet doorway and really see my surroundings. When the sun shines and the chrome glows, London can be beautiful.
Watching the cyclists as they gather at a red light, the snarling couriers, hipster office workers. Their daily roulette of battling the cars and lorries in the name of avoiding public transport.
The pretty women with their summer outfits, headphones providing their own chosen soundtrack as they hurry to their workplaces.
For a moment, the genuine feeling of being part of an unknowably large machine, the beat of commerce and finance at it’s heart, the individual people as blood cells, flowing through it’s streets as veins.
It is a love / hate relationship. The idea, the image, the idealised thought of this great city, missed when not seen and experienced for a long time, calls to me as an oft’ recalled favourite place. The urge to once more walk among it’s lanes and streets gets stronger with each passing week. But then, upon arriving above ground from another grubby and dirty journey among the tunnels, bumped and barged and banged around by the inconsiderate… The ringing though, “Oh why do I bother?”
But then, I am a Londoner, in heart and in mind. My accent speaks of the Thames, the west end, the great parks and bridges. How can I not feel part of this great machine, when stood in the morning sun, feet planted firmly on the streets of London?

Never Again

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything and for that I apologise. My muse had taken another extended leave of absence, but she’s graced me with a fleeting visit this evening. I hope you like this one, and I will try and not leave it so long next time.

A drop of dark blood on the pillow again;
What secrets are kept and hidden
Behind the doors of the castles
Of men?

A bruise on the skin on her body again;
The colour of ink with yellow
Surround that stings as she straightens
And bends.

The hate in the words that are shouted again;
Such poison is heard and violence
Revealed when all that she wants is
A friend.

The snap of a bone as it echoes again;
A shocking report that shatters
The peace and once more to doctors
She’s sent.

He’ll not raise his hand to her ever again;
His body now laid out pinned with
A blade; she’ll never be beaten


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