Radicalised revenge by a daughter

Radicalized revenge by a daughter

Not yet seen her teens but taught the lessons

brutal force thrust home, again and again

and again until her pawed thighs could

read the words, open wide, with eyes shut tight,

ostracised by gang rape, demeaned for

escaping sex slave, brothers beheaded,

her time had come, to strap thirteen

candles [church size], to the studded vest

beneath her flowing birthday dress

and walk, amongst market stalls,

homing, locked in on the Kasbah bazaar

stealth mode, seeking men in  sarong’s

sucking on  hookah’s beneath canopy shade

hiding from the burnt orange sun that spotlights

her progress, silky sari,  strolling,  under the

same sun from which they hide,

thoughts ripen on her pomegranate

sperm seeds, close to bursting,

to pepper dash and  snog the face of

each and every one, their own blow

job to kingdom come, her work done,

their brute force, penetrating thrust

leaves them now as body parts in the

blood-soaked dust, and tomorrow

will be the same stage

different actors, same play,

happy birthday,

we pray.

Morning Light


Morning light
Crows shimmer east to the high solstice, flapping out of the green up into the bright,
Soaring up, up into the light and beside the hedgerow, dance purple poppies
Stretching, searching, sucking light down sun-yellow connectors, hard-wired
to cable green stems earthed to ground.
Bindweed creeps and crawls entwining its very being into the tapestry, innocent white, smiling at the light strangling across borders like the shadow of the Khan dynasty conquering new lands.
Mother slowly uncurls her bended buckled frame, white light tangles with her silver hair and bounces off her gaunt paste-pale, pigeon grey.
She breathes the light of day in shallow puffs, and stares into the light but not enlightened.
The wait is long for the fading light, the comfort blanket sits beneath darkness,
A cwtch with the holy trinity brings the light which can’t be scratched like an irritation,
Her mind runs deeper into the distance, skipping over the setting sun,
Decades jostle jovially, nudging laughter out as a hollow bout of coughs between her ribs,
Playing boxsets before her light is snuffed and in darkness,
turns a kaleidoscope of memories where light burns eternal
But first, she must swallow the enlightenment which is stuck in her throat like a mocking Roman thorn.
Just go for it!

Just go for it!

Huge thanks to everyone that recently bought a copy of ‘forever shine.’ Always a great surprise to get a royalty cheque just like an early Christmas present.

If you are suffering writers’ block, just go for it! You’ll never know until you are published.

Big thanks to Helen and Rowena @SilverWood Books

If you need any help with your writing or just need to have a chat, give them a call at SilverWoodBooks.

If you haven’t got your own copy, still time before ‘shine too’ is published.

Again, many thanks to everyone that bought a copy, it doesn’t work without you!