Tag: Poetry
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Not On Our Street
They’re all for housing…in principle.They’ll clap for nurses,in theory.They’ll nod at the telly when someone says“we need more homes.”But not here.Not on our street.Not where the bins go. They’ll say:It’s not the flats, it’s the traffic.It’s not the families, it’s the parking.It’s not the poor, it’s the planning.It’s not the change, it’s the character. They’ll…
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Inheritance Without a Future
Some days it feels like the countryhas been left in the airing cupboard too long.It’s all starch and mothballs and ruleswritten in handwriting no one under forty can read. Every policy arrives pre‑creased,smelling faintly of “back in my day,”designed for people who bought houseswhen houses still cost the price of a decent sofa. We queue…
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Homeward
We’re all walking each other home,even when we don’t realise it;in the way we hold a doorwithout thinking,or offer a smilethat lands softer than we meant. In the way a stranger’s kindnesscan reroute an entire afternoon,or a friend’s messagearrives at the exact momentyour courage starts to wobble. Most of the timewe don’t see the threads…
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Casual Catastrophes
We scroll past disasterslike they’re mild inconveniences,as if the world were a feedand suffering just another postwe’re too tired to tap. The sky can be burning,the seas rearranging coastlines,and still we flick our thumbs,half‑bored, half‑numb,waiting for somethingthat feels more like contentand less like consequence.
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An Age of Cheap Outrage
Outrage is on sale everywhere,stacked high in the bargain bins,brightly packaged, easy to grab. Understanding sits on the top shelf,unlabelled, unadvertised,requiring a ladder no one bothers to fetch. So we keep choosing the thingthat costs nothing upfrontand everything later.
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The Chair
It started when someone brought a new chairto the kitchen table.Nothing unusual, just a spare seatpulled in from the shed,a little wobbly,one leg shorter than the others.We joked about it.We made do.It was only a chair. But over time, people began sitting differentlywhen they ended up in it;backs straighter,voices tighter,sentences trimmed downto the safe parts.No…
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A Star That Forgot to Burn
Listen;in the beginning, the universe wasn’t made of atoms,it was made of attention.Every star lit because something cared enoughto ignite it.Every planet spun because something whispered,move. Creation is participation.Existence is engagement.The cosmos is a choirand apathy is the one voicethat refuses to sing. Apathy is not silence.It’s a gravitational collapse.It’s a star folding in on…
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New Logos
I’ve added a couple of new logos to the site. Step into the archive of everything I almost said out loud;the scraps, the sparks, the moments that refused to stay still,all stitched together into something that feels a little like truth. And this little mark? It’s just the doorway;the quiet signal that the words are…