Resolution

As you probably know, I’m not really one to make a resolution. And don’t get me started on New Year, New You! marketing emails. This poem is more of a promise, really, to myself. Maybe make this your resolution too.

Resolution

My only quest 
for the new year
is to hunt my happy

I will seek out my song
and find the light that reflects 
from the broken dark
I will slay my demons
with a sword of laughter

I will not seek to be more than I am
to please anyone but myself
Instead I will learn to love 
every facet of who I already am

And know that is enough

My resolution this year
is to live fully 
rebelliously joyful

And taste every moment.

A Moment

Is A Moment a piece of flash fiction? Is it a scene in a much longer story? Is it a poem trapped in a cage of prose? I’ve no idea. But sit with me a moment and I’ll tell it to you, and you can decide.


Barefoot, she stands in the snow under the neon orange light of the lamppost, fingerless gloves hanging in tatters to hands that are gnarled by years of toil. She draws on the damp toothpick roll-up ferociously, drawing the thin blue smoke into her lungs as if it can warm her from the inside out.

Continue reading “A Moment”

Be Water

Be water.

Flow around the challenge in your path.

Wear a trail for others to follow,

Or take the path of least resistance.

Be water.

Rise above everything sometimes.

See the world from a higher perspective.

Rain down and bring life,

Or wash things clean to start again.

Be water.

Persist, despite everything.

Wear the mountain down into sand

With gentle, lapping waves.

Be water.

Be still sometimes.

Reflect.

Become deep.

Be water.

If you enjoyed this poem, you may like the poetry in Strange Worlds – Surreal Stories and Tainted Tales. Inspired to write your own poetry? You’ll be needing a pretty notebook, with prompts designed to inspire you.


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If I Were Your Phone Screen

If I were your phone screen
Would you gaze at me
Adoringly
As your fingertips
Softly stroke my face?
Would you share
That secret smile
That you save only for me?
Would you lose
Entire days
Staring into me
Exploring all the depths I contain?
If I were your phone screen
Would you reach for me
When you can’t sleep
Would I be the first thing you turn to
When you wake
Would you fall asleep
With me in your hand?
If I were your phone screen
Would I feel like you are here?


You can read more of my poetry free here, or find some in my books.

If you enjoy my writing and want to throw some change into my tip jar, you can find it here.

Hamster Wheel

Clothes eaten by moths,
Future stolen by toffs,
Hunger is exhausting, it’s true.
But it’s hard to riot,
When your stomach won’t quiet,
And your shoes are held together with glue.

Aching feet, heat or eat,
Surviving is no mean feat
When you’re done before you’ve even begun.
But it’s hard to fight back,
When you can’t afford the sack,
And you’re too tired to even have fun.

“The economy’s bad,
And yeah homelessness is sad,
But there’s nothing that we can do,”
Says the MP who ate,
Indeed cleaned the plate,
Of a £45 breakfast, on you.

They seem to hold power
Because we work every hour
Scraping around for every penny
But it’s time to down tools
Because they treat us like fools
And they are few, and we are many.

They Tried To Bury Us




It started underground
In the dark
A fluttering of awareness
A pulsing heartbeat
A distant drum of war.

It started underground
Waiting out the cold
Gathering its resources
Biding its time
Waiting for its moment.

It started underground
Until conditions were ripe,
Then everything exploded;
The rush for the light
Breaking into the sun
Claiming its ground.

It started in the dark
Now it stands tall,
Unfurls its glorious petals,
A red banner 
In the grey.

Written by Victoria Pearson. Performed by Laurence Bourne

Mid Week Flash 90 – Fairy Gate

I wasnt sure whether to tag this piece as being part of Miranda Kate’s Mid Week Flash or not, given that I’ve used her picture as a prompt for a poem this time, which I think might be against the rules. The general guidelines can be found here if you’d like to join in.

I’ve also used today’s #vss365 prompt from Twitter, which was “spread” -usually I’d post a #vss365 directly to twitter, but this came out considerably longer than tweet length, and I didn’t want to cut it.

The image for this story is Miranda’s mid week flash prompt, and was taken by Kurt Gordon, an Australian photographer who travels a lot and takes a lot of pictures. You can find them on display over on 500px. 

Fairy Gate

Behind the fields,

Deep in the woods,

Beyond the paths we know,

There is a pair of twisted trees

Where nothing seems to grow.

Continue reading “Mid Week Flash 90 – Fairy Gate”

Don’t Bring Me Flowers

Don’t bring me flowers
That fill my life with sweet perfume,
And cheer my heart with colour,
And bring a smile to my lips,
But wither and wilt
And die away in days
Reminding me that all things pass,
Even the most perfect rose
Will one day fade.
No don’t bring me flowers my love,
Bring me seeds,
Bring me bulbs.
Give me future flowers,
That keep returning every year,
Bringing my memories with them.
Don’t bring me flowers.
Bring me seeds my love,
And stay with me,
To watch them grow.

Remembrance

It is a small act
Just once a year
A pause
Slight hush
In the hubbub of life.
One hundred and twenty seconds
Of silent reflection
Such a small thing
In exchange
For such a sacrifice
Just silence
For the lives lost
And the loves lost
And the limbs lost
It seems a nothing
To simply do nothing
But in our busy world
And busy lives
One hundred and twenty seconds
Of respect
And remembrance
Seems a lot
So we pat ourselves on the back
For our two minute silence
And we look on
While men who still
Give orders to
Send other people’s sons
To pointless wars
Nod piously
And mouth the now meaningless
Never again
With seemingly straight faces.
And we swear solemnly
We shall we remember them.
Then we return to our busyness
There’s Christmas coming, after all.
Our paper flowers crumple
And fade
And blow away,
Forgotten,
Until next year.

More Fond Of Rain

You said you would be my sunshine
But I have always been more fond of rain.

Summer’s light is too harsh
Too bright
It exposes you.

I much prefer
The soft grey dawn light
Of overcast skies
Refreshing, life giving water
Raining from above
Like blessings.

The sun can only warm
Until it burns
Leaving red pain
An unpleasant reminder
That will not fade
Long after the warmth has gone.

Rain can be a refreshing mist
On a fevered brow
Cooling and calming
like a mother’s hand

Or it can be fierce
Lashing down on skin
Small sharp pains
Like a lover’s words
In a heated argument.

Rain cleanses the world
Makes everything new
Awakens soft scents of nature
That summertime has crushed

Rain revives, gives new life
Washing cares away.

Rain rages,
It hammers, It roars,
Then calms, And quiets
Like a beast.

While thunder thuds it’s beat
And lightning takes centre stage
It is rain that gives melody to the storm.

The sun is easy to love
And everyone adores her
It’s much more of a task
To see the beauty
In the many shades of rain
To love all her quirks
The good, the bad,
The darkness she brings.

You keep your sticky summer sun
It’s few moments of scorching beauty
I have always been more fond of rain,
Of dancing in the storm,
Walking bare headed in the downpour.

You huddle under your umbrella,
I will raise my face to the skies
And be blessed with rainbows.

Inside your mind

First scribbled in my last notebook on January 11 2014

Inside your Mind

I want to wear your mind for a day,
walk the world your different way.
I want to feel sounds with your skin,
to taste the colours and the noise ,
and the chaos all around,
feel it knotting and winding inside,
and overtaking all.
Feel my tongue tie to my mouth,
and my language dwindle,
and finally understand the answer,
that you cannot give or cannot know
or cannot birth with words.

I want to feel the rain as shards of glass,
when it falls upon your face,
know the utter pain of soft grass
on your bare, exposed feet.
Experience the utter security and rightness
of a silky label on an old vest.

I want to feel the unfettered joy,
when the world clicks and the cloud parts
and, for a forever moment, all is well
and calm and ordered
and simple and it works
and you fly.

I want to go to that place you go,
when it is all too much here
but your body has to stay,
when you sink into colour
and fade out of sound.

What it is like in that place
that only you can go,
only you will ever know?
Is it better than here
in your other world?
Is it safe and kind and all silky labels?
or is it just colour and nothingness?

I want to know if you want to see
what it is like to be me,
how all that is impossible to you
is at my feet with ease,
if you envy it or hope for it
or are indifferent to it,
or if it is just another thought
your soul shrinks from.

I wonder because I want to understand
to be you for a day
to get you
to know what the weather is like
inside your mind
so I can make that smile happen
again and again and again.