We Are All GoingThomas Edison's last words were:
It's very beautiful over there.
And Mr Barrie said: I can't sleep
Before he dreamed his way to Neverland.
And seventy-four years later,
When it was Mr Jobs' time to go
He said Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow
Before he left this world.
Let's go and see the other side
And touch the clouds with our lost lives.
But maybe there's just plain old darkness,
That's familiar even though it's cold.
Mr Darwin said he was not afraid,
And Ms Austen asked for nothing but it
The revolution that was Mr Marx said:
Last words are for fools who haven't said enough.
And no they didn't, they never said enough.
You may never have known these names
Until my inky sentiments for their last words.
Just another jumble of letters on the list of the dead
Yet there's something wonderful in what they said.
When McKinley was shot
And didn't die for days
His wife screamed: I want to go too.
And he just said: We are all going.
I suppose Mr Edison was righ
Death Will See You NowI'd like a holiday,Death Will See You Now1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A pool in Dubai
Or a weekend in Paris.
But you watch,
Someone will drown
Or choke on a baguette,
And I'll have to do some overtime.
No, I'm not a doctor,
These aren't healing hands,
Quite the opposite.
Do you know when you plan
To kick the bucket?
It's just I'd rather you made
I can pencil you in
At half past nine.
That's not too early for you is it?
No, you can't cancel.
But I assure you
A spring funeral
Is always lovely.
SundayOnly the birds speakSunday1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And a battered aviation radio
Mumbles a reply.
Through a glass door,
To a pretending Wonderland.
Warm stone and bare feet,
Parched grass and puddles,
Somewhere a hosepipe leaks.
A very English summer.
It doesn't feel like
The fifth worst city in the world.
Not on these mornings,
A School for the FutureTrace the carved names,A School for the Future1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And peeling doors.
The scent of dust,
Long lacquered wood,
And cheap perfume.
This was your world.
It was tired,
And getting on a bit,
Anonymity was just a word,
And you were safe,
Thinking it would never end.
It's gone now, what was yours.
Dug up and rethought,
Shiny and new.
They've ripped it all away,
The stage and the walls.
But please remember,
It was just brick, tile and mortar,
Its heart still beats,
Dusty, yet glorious
And forever yours.
LateBeing late was something that she had never been any good at. For twenty-seven punctual years she had made the point to be ten minutes early to wherever she had to be. But everyone has to be late at least once in their lives, and she was ten minutes late, which for her meant that she was twenty minutes late, and perhaps to those that are somehow always ten minutes late she was right on time or maybe even a little early.Late1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
She flashed her ticket at the bleary eyed man-who-looked-at-train-tickets-but-she-didn't-know-what-that-was-called and was impressed by the lack of humanity in a place where humanity thrives. There were no husbands waiting to meet their wives off of a platform, and there were no children screaming for sweets whilst their mothers sighed, and there was no babble of noise that hid stupid questions, and 'Sorry-did-I-step-on-your-foots?' which she also thought was a stupid question. There was only her,
WoundWe are a blade and a bullet,Wound2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And we hurt in different ways.
Let's agree to disagree,
On my flaws, and on yours.
On occasion we were a storm
And more often than not
We rained on our parades.
But then we drowned in the dust,
In the ashes of quick remarks
And shades of misunderstanding.
I do not apologise, and nor should you,
For I am me and you are you
I wish you the very best,
And hope you remember me,
In the days of new black
And silly midnight secrets.
Diamonds Don't BreakHe is the shard of an old life,Diamonds Don't Break1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And the edge of where broken,
Cuts the heart when held.
She is the dust of an old laughter,
And she glints and glitters
And gets into your eyes.
You did not drop them
Nor make them shatter,
Only accepted their goodbyes.
They are just mirrors in the distance,
Reflecting back a girl who broke away
Yet did not break.
On their glass you did not paint the cracks,
Only saw them and made your own.
Silence did not splinter them,
Now you’re just a girl they used to know.
Murder.Conversation can kill you.Murder.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Name it what you will.
Idle chatter is merely another dagger,
To my daydreamer heart.
Maintain the manners,
Laugh in the right places,
Keep your mouth shut,
Yet not too much.
Don't dare to make it bearable.
Refrain from saying what you think.
Don't roll your eyes.
That would be rude, you know.
But then of course you do,
Otherwise you wouldn't agree with me,
Sit and listen
To the yammer of weddings, supermarkets
And reality television.
Just don't let them know,
You'd rather be someplace else
And that they're killing you,
Tale 2: Worlds in the AtticHe was very old by now. His long, white hair, uncut for fifteen years, was loosely spread all over the back of his coat. His shoulders were brought forward by age, his fingers weren't as deft as they had been. If there was one thing he was very happy for, it was that when he had started, he had used the higher shelves first. It meant he didn't have to climb steep, uncertain ladders all the time now.Tale 2: Worlds in the Attic3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
There were hundreds, thousands of jars and bottles and little tin boxes neatly stacked on the shelves, hung from the ceiling by thin chains or ropes, some small and precious glass containers brought together by ropes hanging from the ceiling like clusters of grapes or braided into garlic-like strands.
The man had wanted to be a writer, or a sculptor, or a painter, or some other sort of artist that could show all the worlds that lived inside people. A long time ago, he had understood the fact that he had no talent. It didn't affect him now. He was content to be nothing else but a keeper of w