Month: November 2015

A dish best served hot

I offered you my heart on a plate
Hot, heavy…heaving
Sizzling full of passion
Yet you refused

It was too much for you
Too rich
Too raw

You just didn’t have the stomach

But with time passing you feel the urge
to re-evaluate
Crave the flesh of desire
Ponder your transformed taste buds
Regret not sinking your teeth into the unknown

So I offer you my heart
Tepid, tired…temperamental
Congealed in place

I wince as you lift the knife

The Unspoken

Ginni bites!

We sit – in silence

It stands between us like a wall of ice,

muffling our low clicking sounds.

It has always been there

That soft, sultry notion of nothingness

It has always been curled around us

watching us go about our days.

Yet it was never visible before,

This silence which squeezes itself into our world

It was never so clear, to the eye,

to the ear.

Never before had it announced it’s presence

so loud.

And now as I breathe in our life

I hear the silence.

It pursues me with bells,

Lights a beacon under my chair,

Forms an exclamation mark in my mind.

I am deafened by the lack of sound.

Yet opening my throat to speak

only produces a soft click …. click

and so is the music of our subsistence.

But turning, I see your smile

glowing in satisfaction.

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Seaman’s Ditty

Sea chantey of eight pieces

A flagon full of rum

Twenty-four old pirates

Huddled in a slum

Yet when the dawn was breaking

And sails began to sing

They raised the Jolly Roger

And plundered everything

To be a real writer

A real writer bleeds onto the page.

That’s what they said.

A real writer forces jagged fingernails into their chest and tears out their bloody heart still beating so the page can be splattered in crimson glory. To take that ugly bleeding heart and smear it across the pristine sheet until words are formed from the blotting patches of blood. Swirling in the mind of the fevered artist and covered thick with their lifeblood.. their entire soul .

Only when you have given yourself over to the desire, to the need, to the pain can you fully understand the expectations of one so wretched. Hoping that one day these smears and blotches will mean something. Wishing that one day someone will come along with eyes filled with wonder, lift the piece and exclaim in awe. To gush at the richness of the imagery, gasp at the raw emotion on show and most of all understand how hard it is for one so private to allow a heart out of its cage, enough to scar a notepad with such force.

Only then shall I feel like a writer.

For My Love

In the secret depths of despair
That’s where you’ll find my love

To wade past the coy lily pads
Knee deep in petals of pinks and lilac
Pushing aside creepers of lust
Avoiding the fluttering kisses of wings
That alight your skin
Sending tingles of promise
Of romance
Of lies

For you to swim
in the deep waters of my soul
Ignoring the skittering surface
Brushing away the algae
Diving down
Head first
Under the thick azure waters
To grasp at the kelp
On the floors of my heart

When you are strong enough
To part the jagged coral
Slip your fingers into the crevice
Of my blemished shell
And prise open the lips
To get to the pearl,
unbeknownst of its purity
Feeling your oxygen drain from your throat
Burning to reach the jewel
Which you only hope exists

Only when you can breath within despair
Will you know me, my love.

NaNoWriMo – The Unearthing of Memory

So I thought that I might take a different challenge for this month and jump on the NaNoWriMo band wagon. I’m not sure that I will have the time spare to keep up to date with the amount of word needed but I guess even if I do half the amount then it’s good practice for freeing up some creativity.

Obviously the NaNoWriMo is not about the polished article so the writing is not edited but I thought it would be nice to pin up a start to see if anyone wanted to have a read through and let me know what you think of it as a start.



The Unearthing of Memory


The shovel chimed out a warning as it hit something hard and metallic in the dirt. Katrina stopped digging and held up the torch for a better view, moving the beam slightly until she caught a glimpse of something shiny. Crouching closer to the ground as she realised there was indeed a small silver corner poking out from the damp soil. She felt her heart pause as she reached out to touch the metal, see if she could feel the engravings hoping that her search had finally come to an end.

Katrina awoke from her vodka fuelled haze in the morning, furry tongued and fuzzy eyed. Wiry hair sprouted from her head like an ebony nest emerging from a stormy night. Her dreams clinging to her thoughts like reeds in the wind of a desecrated field once full of hope and now forgotten. Reaching over to grab the glass from the dresser she viewed the bubbles created from the heat inside the clear liquid yet continued to drink it or at least try. Throwing her neck forward and letting out a loud hacking cough she realised that the glass was not water like she had thought. She just managed to slam down the glass whilst attempting to compose herself and stop her throat burning. She really didn’t remember pouring that last vodka. Torn between the need for a drink and the effort it would take to reach the tap instead she slumped back into her bed and pulled up the covers, sleep would stave off the need for a little while longer.

It was hours later before her eyes drifted open and she found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and knew that still would have to force herself to move. Swinging her legs off the side of the bed she almost solidified into form, dragging her body across the floor as though her arms were made of lead. By the time she had shuffled to the sink and realised there were no clean glasses left she had almost given up. Allowing the tap to run for a few seconds before she tested the temperature with her fingers and swung her head under the cold water. Lips gulping from the stream like a wild animal in the heat lapping up water from a drainpipe. When she had finished she cupped her palms together and filled them with liquid refreshment before catapulting it towards her face.


She shook her head realising that a headache had started to settle in as her body tried to compensation for the alcohol finally leaving her. Her mind racing and showing glimpses of the previous night’s highlights, or rather low lights and the memories she could recall were hazy at best.

Looking around the room for clues to jog her memory she noted the crumpled red dress on the floor next to a black and red chequered stiletto and a messy blonde wig. She smiled as the thought came back to her of the fancy dress party from last night.

It had been seven o clock by the time she had got home from the office and worked her way through the traffic on the underground. She remembered checking the time as she tumbled through the door, hot and sticky from the rushing and wanting to clean off the grim of the tubes. She loved living in London yet travelling on the underground always made her feel dirty somehow, all those people squashed up inside a metal box, it just wasn’t natural.
Kicking off her sensible court shoes and peeling off her beige suit she walked towards the shower as she undressed, flinging the clothes at the chair in the corner of the room. Once inside the bathroom she reached across to turn the shower on, jumping back from the first cold blast of water and standing back as it warmed up. She remembered noting to herself at the time that she should really get the landlord to take a look at that but he made her so uneasy that she hated to have him inside the flat whilst she was alone.

After a quick shower she felt refreshed enough to start getting ready for the party and she was so looking forward to it. Smoothing her fingertips over the invitation she almost squealed in her excitement. She had really been lucky enough to get an invite to the Baldrick mansion and the gold embossed words in her hand confirmed this. Every year she would hear gossip from others in her office block as they boasted of their night in the wondrous exclusive parties thrown by Nigel Baldrick, self made millionaire who wasn’t afraid to show it. Well this year she was all set to surprise those higher ranking bitches in the office as she turned up with an invite after an accidental meeting in the elevator.
The party was always themed and this year it has been villains so Katrina had immediately seized the opportunity to wear her favourite pair of stilettos from the new hot designer Clarissa Ingleton. She had spent a whole weeks wages on the shoes and it wasn’t often she had cause to wear them, but the party meant she could design a whole Harley Quinn outfit around them.

Looking in the mirror as she applied the finishing touches to her outfit: adjusting the blonde pigtails and pressing a red and black leather mask to her cheekbones she felt ready…ready to show that she, Katrina Scarlett was good enough to mix with the beautiful people of London.

After stepping out onto the pavement from her doorway it wasn’t long before she was able to hail a black cab and arrive in style to the party (or at least no having to catch a tube). As she arrived at the mansion she held her breath as she realised just how big and intimidating the building really was. She had always know where Baldrick’s place was yet she had never been to that side of town, had never had need to and now she was feeling slightly scared at turning up alone. Kicking herself for turning down Mark’s offer of a lift and a partner to enter with she teetered out of the cab and onto the red velvet carpet that been placed she assumed especially for the occasion. Looking up she realised that she was still a way from the front door and the carpet spilling out from the door and over the steps were making her feel even more nervous.

‘You can do this Katrina’ She whispered encouragingly to herself as she tightly clenched her clutch bag and strode forward.