I am trapped.

In space behind the second hand.

Every time I try to pass between, I either pass ahead

Or drift back behind.




I used to play

To joke

To smile at jokes that someone once made.

I had a dry sense of humour

And I had many friends in the people I met in my day-to-day.


But once my cap and gown were safely packed away

And the next step in life was heading my way

I soon had to face the harsh light of reality

As wages had to be earned,

Egos had to be tolerated

And agendas – both known and unknown –

Pushed me through the plasticine mould that it saw fit for me.


And while I worked away, thinking

With only my aspirations, goals and dreams in minds

My voice was shrinking

My chest was tightening

And time was running out.


But my goal was there

And I knew what I had to do,

Or so I thought

As the days grew longer

And I grew ever critical of the smallest mistake

That no one would notice but me

And maybe my boss.


But my goal was still there, though ever smaller and dragging me on,

As I travelled upstream, seeking that final respite.


I was called into the board room shortly after 12.

I could see the sincerity in their faces,

I was just finishing a project.


As surreal as it was, I just remember exhaling.

I was free to explore at last.

My work, my life I could have it all back

No more toxic environment and endless tasks.


I could breathe. And most importantly, with my head held high.


I was made redundant at the beginning of March and have since worked hard to regain everything that gave colour to my life. I am now fully employed again, in an environment that I can live in. I have my weekends back, I am learning so many new skills and have learnt so many life lessons. This empty time on my blog has been the most important of my life and I hope to rekindle my passion for my writing and my connection with the blogosphere.
Happy Writing!

Death’s Stare

When I look forward

I see the eyes of death pierce down

The narrowing stretch between I and he;

His mouth drooling as the scent of my anxiety

Touches his foul nostrils.


I am paralyzed with the eternal presence of his stare:

Where is the meaning if all we can do is wait?

But as I look down, the skull is not yet in my hands,

And my breath is still firmly in my lungs.


As the intensity grows too infinite,

I turn, using all the reason in my body

And face the fertile past:

My birth, my victories and my losses.

I smile,

As the hearth of my heart

Rekindles once more with the warmth of life.


I know, Death’s stare will never be the same again.

Time to Publish

sense cover jpeg

Fantastic news, although I have been incredibly quiet, it has been with good reason. Within the next ten days I will be putting the final touches to a fabulous short story collection. All the news and updates will be published on this appropriately linked blog above.

The book will be called Sense, and touches on what it is to be human and to live in the technologically advancing society that we do. The blog’s homepage shows off a  pre-released cover, with the University of Essex’s branding who are endorsing the collection.


Time is at Every Turn

It was when I bought a clock

That I kept hearing it tick.

Even when it broke

– by my hand –

Its sound was always

One step ahead of my heartbeat.


Even burying it outside

And playing the loudest music

Never stopped the seasons

Or the rain.


Everywhere I looked

The second hand

Met my every move.


Our voices come together to meet each other’s ears,

This is the culmination of our evolution

Society, biology and technology have

All arrived in the same place:

So we can talk.

The dinner table

– it was time to talk –

to explain.

We have emotions

And somehow we know what they mean.


They are ineffable shapes within us

With no meaning other than something chemical.

And yet, they mean something concrete.

Happiness, sadness, tears and laughter

All mean nothing

Unless you put them in context.

If I am laughing

Am I psychotic, or am I ecstatic?

But this is why we are here

Just us two.

Sitting round this circular table with two

Empty seats.

As we both have emotions,

And we both communicate.

“I am going to ask you questions.”

These are words to both of us,

It is not long before neither of us understand what I am saying

But only what I mean.

We have known each other for twenty one years,

And yet it is only know that we can ever understand.

My words fight your very soul

Your heart

Just as they help you to see.

But they are doing the same for me.

As I put shapeless form of thought

To words, and to your eyes

We can start to see.

I could shout at you

Or scream.

But what could that do but blunt your ear drums

And my voice.

No piercing insight into

Giving ourselves an understanding.

We do not need to patronise ourselves

By pretending volume has effect.


White noise

Distinctly holds

The space between your temples.


You know exactly where you are

And what you are to do,

And yet,

You cannot see.

For the soft distraction

is internal.

It is fatigue.


There is no more that can be done now,

Accept it:

You must rest

And try once more

When your eyes are fresh again.

Virginia Woolf’s ‘To The Lighthouse’



This is the only book of Virginia Woolf’s that I have read, and I really enjoyed it. Her style is called a ‘Stream of Consciousness’, and this is exactly what it is. The narration flows softly from psyche to psyche, and if you’re not careful then you’re carried all the way through the novel.

It is the story of a Victorian holiday home, and the family that inhabits it. What I really admire about Woolf’s writing is the way she can make the characters so disconnected from each other, and yet you can still feel the characters’ frustrations so vividly. It is clear why she has become a household name to so many, and I would happily read more of her style!

My first short film: ‘Beer and Nuts’

This is my first attempt at a short film. I wanted to have a go at directing before I left university as it often is the best time to try your hand at new skills! I know it might not be to everyone’s tastes and there is room for improvement, but that’s what a first attempt is. Enjoy!