Bleeding (trigger warning: self harm)

A new poem (or several) I just came up with, a rough cut, well that’s usually where I finish them anyway. I’ve been training for a transition into a social care role, that’s what the last part is about. It is a long late night composition so it may be a bit all over.


One time I bled,
It was wet and red.
It came from the top of my foot
When I kicked off a tiny piece of glass.
They checked in an X-ray whether it had gone inside,
It hadn’t, but you can still see the scar.

Another time I bled,
From the back of my head
It smothered my blonde hair
A deep shade of red
Now my hair’s long been a mane of light brown
But when I part it, I can still feel the scar.

Many times I bled,
From cuts on my wrists
It flowed impressively when I made a fist
It stung, but inside I hurt more.

Now I have scars, but I cover them with a watch and wristbands
And experience has given me worthwhile uses for my hands.
Time has healed me and relieved me of the sufferer’s throne
I know that the pain
Is not mine to face alone
I have been helped to my feet by a guiding hand
And now I’m helping others who need
My assistance to stand
And the pain inside has been replaced with a feeling so warm
I feel like I’ve found my destiny’s form.


Christmas Spirit(s)

Christmas Spirit(s)


Christmas is a joyous day,

After an excited sleepless night

With a fir tree at the centrepiece,

Wrapped in blinking fairy lights.

It’s an old religious festival,

Regifted to all faiths,

Celebrated all across the land,

From the wealthy to the waifs.

It’s fun for all the family,

With all  our ways of sharing love,

Shaking hands with Grandad with a snowball in your glove!

It’s a time to let your rivals in,

To forgive and to forget,

To prepare a brand new calendar,

That’s clean of all regret.

Deep down in there you must remember,

The times you cherished in December.

Make room for another, you can always find a place,

Show some Christmas spirit in your heart and on your face,

Whatever you give, whatever you get,

Whatever you think you know,

There’s something to be said for everyone gathering around a show.

Now pass around your memories,

Your Ghosts of Christmas past,

When the Sherry’s polished off,

It’s those that are going to last.

Return to the W

Well, it’s been a long time since the last time, I’ve been intending to get back, but as a writer and former student I’m prone to procrastination. Just a short post to get back online and make some ‘election promises’. If I tell you what’s in mind I’m more likely to do it.
A little late but one of my favourite comedians passed away a few weeks ago. I’m sure if you knew who he was you’ll know already, but I have some thoughts about Rik Mayall- coming up in a few days.

On starting reviews

I love a lot of things in pop culture, I’m probably too open-minded (or nice) to really review things, I’m usually too busy enjoying something to critique it, I appreciate the work that goes into them and my memory is.. Let’s say bad. Nevertheless I do sometimes feel like showing my appreciation for things, so here’s a place for me to start. If you want to comment on these pieces, please give  constructive criticism at the worst and be respectful to the artists of the works I’m discussing. So, reviews starting shortly.

First up will be Steptoe and Son: the play.


Hi again, it’s Sunday, it’s pretty warm and I want to make a new post, but I don’t have any movie premieres to attend or anything exciting, so, I’ve got a choice between the girl with the dragon tattoo on DVD or the 2000 ish version of goodbye mr chips on TV. I decided to go with the latter, as I’ve seen some of it before so it doesn’t require my full concentration, so it’s on the TV at my side as I type. Supervenes, that’s a good word, gotta make a note of that! So, as to why I chose the above word for a title, it’s how I’m feeling lately lacking in air and energy. Probably because I spent much of the last week feeling low and not doing much, I have depressive spells like that sometimes.