Archive for the ‘pieces’ Category


Posted: February 1, 2014 in music, pieces, writing stuff

It’s that time of year again when I attempt to write 14 sets of lyrics in 28 days. I usually fail, I usually get disheartened by the lyrics just sitting there with no music to accompany them, I usually curse my inability to be in any way able to construct actual songs with actual music. But hey….

Anyway. Day 1 and two songs finished – albeit one being a collaboration with my darling other half who in fact did most of the work. I was more acting in a lyrical consult capacity but she is generously giving me collaboration credit. Here’s my solo effort….


We will haunt you in the night
Slip inside the thoughts you keep inside
Deepest dark desires
The secrets of your heart
The feelings that try to tear you apart

Creeping through the shades and shadows
Slipping through the walls of your mind
Sliding past your wards and defences 
Leaving echoes of ourselves behind
The sleepwalkers are with you

Let your waking mind relax
Cede control, sink down into slumber
We are waiting there
Just open up your mind
Let the sleepwalkers see what they can find

Creeping through the shades and shadows
Slipping through the walls of your mind
Sliding past your wards and defences 
Leaving echoes of ourselves behind
The sleepwalkers are with you

In the morning when you wake
You’ll feel strange without a reason why
Footsteps on your grave
a shiver down your spine
The echo the sleepwalkers left behind

Creeping through the shades and shadows
Slipping through the walls of your mind
Sliding past your wards and defences 
Leaving echoes of ourselves behind
The sleepwalkers are with you



Posted: March 17, 2012 in pieces

Your colour is Purple
Not simpering, grandmotherly Lavender
Or bold, outrageous Magenta
You cannot be found
circling any Mulberry bush
that I’ve ever seen
Where did you come from?

I trace your history back
Through the haze of my youth
My enquiring fingers speckled
with eggplant, violet, indigo and plum
As I discovered that wax
was not good to eat

I look for you in my garden
In the heady scent of iris and orchid
Through wild heather-strewn heath
and multi- hued hedgerows
until my head swam from the digitalis
and I collapsed into the thistles
Brought back to my senses

I’ll show you daybreak in Nanjing
If you’ll dance with me in the rain
Let me treat you like the queen you are
until the shinigami finally claim me
I’ll share my days with you
delicately shaded with purple

New writing

Posted: November 14, 2011 in pieces

Take me to the river
Drop me in the water
Let the lapping of the current
Wash my cares away

Lead me through the city
Through mist filled streets
Let the sharp edge of winter
Cut the fear from my skin

Wrap me in the darkness
Cocoon me from the sun
Let silence give me shelter
From the pounding in my head

Hold me through the spasms
Wipe away my tears
Say you’ll still be with me
When I surface once again

Take me from my comforts
Force my soul to feel
Let me drink in the moonlight
And remember what is real

Bring me to the water’s edge
Barefoot and alone
Stripped and pared back to the core
From here let me return


Posted: May 7, 2010 in pieces


I watch you sleep
caught in the storm of your dreams
eyes twitching with each cresting wave
your breathing gusting like the wind

I want to reach for you
pull you from the maelstrom
into my arms, safe in my embrace
but I simply watch and wait

I watch you sleep
brow furrowed with thoughts unknown
your mind on a journey far from home
I wonder where you are

I want to join you
to reach deep into your dream
but it is not my place to intrude
your dream is yours alone

I watch you sleep
breath cool like breeze in summer
I imagine you a gull gliding over calm seas
whilst still waters run deep

I ache to touch you
run my fingers through your hair
caress your skin, watch you wake to me
but instead I watch you sleep

Bechstein’s Bat

Posted: February 19, 2010 in pieces

Bechstein’s Bat

Bechstein’s bat goes out for the evening
In his favourite suit of pale brown and white
It may be said the his dress is unseemly
but he finds the conventional dj so trite

He flits around the woodlands and parklands
and stays away from the bustle of towns
He makes his home in south of old England
and likes to stroll the West Wiltshire Downs

Bechstein’s bat is cultural wee fellow
though he rarely frequents the opera or plays
He prefers to keep to historical hollows
and can often be thought to be absent for days

He likes the chatter of babbling streams
that trickle on by the place that he dwells
He rests by the shoreline and ponders his dreams
and listens to the distant tolling of bells

Bechstein’s bat has a small close knit family
His wife is pale with reddish-brown hair
His son can be found at Woodpecker’s Nursery
For his life as an adult, he has to prepare

Bechstein’s bat goes out for the evening
In his favourite suit of pale brown and white
It may be said the his dress is unseemly
but he finds the conventional dj so trite

Drawn to the River*

Posted: December 5, 2009 in pieces

Drawn to the River*

Smoke curls it’s tongue and licks at the sky
as the daylight grey bleeds into the dawn
and the wreckage from the avalanche tugs at my heels
as I make my way down to the river again

Feverish current swirls black as a crow
the world bleached out into monochrome haze
I taste my own blood as it pounds through my veins
whilst the inky dark water caresses my skin

At the edge of my senses, it pulls at my mind
a vocalised thought I can feel more than hear
the sound of you calling me, taking my hand
coaxing me back to you, holding me close

The bank of the river kisses my toes
a love affair suspended till next time she calls
I pick my way back through the rubble and dust
and find myself waking safe and warm in your arms

*working title

Between the Nettles and the Laurel

Posted: December 5, 2009 in pieces

Between the Nettles and the Laurel

Between the nettles and the laurel I will wait for you.

As the pale sky bleeds into dusk making shadows and silhouettes of the world until all I can see is the penumbrous outlines of buildings in the distance, the red of the sky and the deep green of the leaves before my eyes.

I am camouflaged here amongst the dense foliage, in my green jumper left over from the grunge rock days of my youth. A faded acrylic, torn at both cuff and hem, still smelling of cheap cigarettes and vodka after all these years. It is my security blanket, a constant from my past to my present, reminding me of who I was and where I’ve been. An evolution from the heady exuberance and optimism of youth to the person I am now. Someone I never thought I’d be.

I am hidden here, set back from the street, protected by a web of stem and leaf as early October rain starts to fall. I am unnoticed by the home-time commuters hurrying past me to their sanctuaries, barricading their doors against the cold and the dark with lamps and heat and well-cooked meals. I don’t exist to them. I am a nonentity, the only suspicion of my presence being a faint rustle in the leaves on the rare occasions I move. A noise immediately dismissed by those who register it as early evening autumnal breeze.

I am quiet here as the chill of the night starts to permeate my boots and settle in my toes. I shift position, my muscles cramping in the small space I allow myself to take up. The movement is nothing more than a stronger gust of wind through the undergrowth. Not enough to disturb the passers-by but enough to startle a blackbird who glares at me in disgust with his beady eye. An eye rimmed with orange and luminescent against black feathers and fast approaching darkness. I glare back, defiant, for this is my place, our place, nestled amongst the laurel and nettles. Not the most hospitable of places but that was part of our intention. A place no one else would want and not many would even notice, a place entirely of our own.

I peer out from the undergrowth, through the leaves and beyond the shadowy buildings to the first stars blinking into visibility, tiny pinpricks in the darkening sky. I allow my eyes to lose their focus, the faint constellations blurring and becoming indistinct as I recall another time and place, away from the sharp night air and the bitter smell of the earth. My muscles relax, the tension ebbing away as memories form in my mind. A smile plays across my lips even as tears prick the backs of my eyes.

I remember the last time we spoke, the way the afternoon sunlight caught the red in your hair setting it aflame like a beacon, a beacon calling me to you. I remember the catch in your voice and the coldness of your hand as your skin touched mine. We talked for hours without ever saying anything at all, using small talk as a defence against that which we were too afraid to say until the moment we parted. You kissed me softly, your lips slightly warmer than your hands, and spoke with passion for the first time that day. ‘Wait for me,’ you whispered in my ear as we embraced, ‘between the laurel and the nettles, wait for me.’

So here I am and here I’ll stay. Between the nettles and the laurel I’ll wait for you.