Bloggers’ Bliss — See our streetwear come to life

I’m a 27 year old London based student and 2007 Pushcart Prize nominated writer. I’ve been writing professionally since I was 25 and have had some successes getting published in journals.

I have a fondness for the surreal, the vivid and like to tinge the visual elements in my work with honest feeling. I like to experiment with figurative language and delve deep under the surface of what is accepted and what is deemed the ‘norm’

I maintain a myspace page at myspace.com/wordfuck

  • Age: 34
  • Joined: November 2007

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Recently Added

Waltz

Crows did their dervish / whilst we lay in the gutter / watching the hangover / of our broken dreams / perform one last waltz.

Listening To The Elderly At The Retirement Home, …

You can see the tip of each / one pressing against the old / ribcages, a centurion’s plume / making one last stand.

Gales

Gales batter the city / like a child trying / to remove the squeak / from its favourite toy. / Skyscrapers, patients / on a surgeon’…

January Rain

Rain deconstructs itself, / exposing a stash of memory around / its core.

The Terrace

A partially opened / window in the guesthouse / gave me a glimpse / of a hidden terrace / with its orange tree / in one corner producing…

The Fiddler

We used to slip on fox and hare / masks, dancing by the railway / tracks to a man playing the fiddle

Writing The Confessional Poem

Amplified by bone, their audible / whispers kept me awake at night. / Being shrouded in pillow never / helped, the noise of the familiar

The last bar in the Mojave

not noticing the clouds glowing / like lightbulbs with their electricity; / and the entire desert moving / closer, ready to circle like mot…

The Sea

Walking down the street, / I empty my pockets / of the sea I was looking / after for you. Mussels / come tumbling first, / cracking open …

Fade

In the shirtsleeve / of the house, a woman / is becoming a museum

This is what it is and nothing else

Discoball revolves around jilted Coca-Cola bottle

The Interior of Clouds

Someday I’ll write you back, / answering your questions / with rain ink and a lightning / fork nib. The interior plans / of my skull …