Two Honour Killings

Posted: 30/08/2013 in Poetry

She asks Him for forgiveness, and knocks it back in one gulp,
eyes closed, teary cheeks, the life inside, dies.
A boy or a girl, she wondered;
“Would it have looked like me? Or him?”
Him. His face lucid in her memory,
as his eyes rolled back when it was all over.
The icky trickle of shame, of horror, of a life created,
and her’s forever, ended.
They blame her — “she made him do it”, they protested. Her own family.
“They can blame me for this”, she says, her tongue enjoying the acid.
Hands on her stomach, right over left, in prayer, she wishes it to die.
She thinks she feels a kick, a beat, a foot, a tingle.
A smile across her face — ‘tis done.
Her grandmother’s rocking chair, she rocks and rocks and rocks and….
smiling at her own reflection in one of the many mirror shards resting, waiting.
Gently in her right palm, she holds it, admiring her reflection,
before returning her hand to her stomach, with the shard — a penetration she has chosen,
on her own terms her life is ended.


We apologize for the delay

Posted: 16/07/2013 in Poetry

I gave my Iphone a name, listening to it play back the tracks that take me back to years gone by.

I sigh as the platform reads “Train delays” but Iphone is alive, one song at a time, some with beats and some that rhyme.

A crowd come down the stairs and they too stare, letting out a tut as two more minutes escape, joining me in the wait to get home from another day in the rat race.

Iphone chooses the wrong song that reminds me of a time I had urged to die. Years gone by where I fought back the cries but still they came, trickling down from my eyes and unmasking my disguise.

More people shift along waiting for HM Central line but nowhere in sight. Anxious faces exemplifying their plight of two more minutes wasted.

Muffled microphone interrupts Iphone – we all stare up looking for the sound, abound by words we expect to reflect our desires to retire to our homes alone.

“We apologize for the delay” I hear him say “but there has been a suicide on the tracks, third one today.”

“Tut” one spits, “Tut” another chimes. “Tut” another decides, “Tut” now a relentless tide. I look and see faces, but no features, voices, distinctions.

“Tut” I hear myself chip, “that’s why I need you Iphone” I quip, “to silence the crowd.”

We all read “Train arriving” and Iphone plays back the tracks that take me back to years gone by, when no one helped me through suicide.

Mummy and Daddy

Posted: 03/04/2013 in Poetry

I sit outside the garden, mummy and daddy pushing up daises.

I remember the day they left – “a quick death” I heard uncle tell auntie.

I still don’t understand why auntie wepty wept for mummy and daddy – “they are up above in the clouds eating toffee apples and candy” uncle told me.

I miss them sometimes, like last week when uncle stroked me. “Grown up, now” he said, which made me happy. “Our secret” as he washed away the icky trickle.

I remember mummy’s hugs and daddy’s kisses, so much of them I miss.

But more good news from uncle – he promised to send me to them next week when auntie is away.

“More adult games” he said, “Then I’ll send you on your way.”

See you soon Mummy. See you soon Daddy.

One Billion Rising

Posted: 14/02/2013 in Poetry

Go on. Hit that woman. Your woman. You’re the man. A real man. Show her your might.

Clean strike across her flesh. She’ll never steer wrong again. Never get out of your sight.

Watch her cry. Remain unmoved. “You deserve it,” you yell, “I’m stopping you from burning in Hell.”

Carpet absorbs her drops. She hates him. And hates him. And hates him. “I’m sorry,” she hears herself tell.

“You made me do it.” She nods. He sobs. She holds him. Yes, you’re the man.

He slumbers. She watches. Nods to herself. Blade in his ribs. Beautiful red. Not long now. Whispers in his ear: “I’m the man.”

The play is badly cast

Posted: 13/02/2013 in Poetry

Are their smiles genuine, fresh, or recycled?
A masterful performance in a never ending play of love. The audience is bored. So too the actors. But the contract says “until the final curtain call.”

Our leading man is perfection personified. Graceful, Don Juan, can do no wrong.
She exotic, delicate. Helen of Troy plus a few thousand more ships.
But she isn’t acting. Not for a while now and he senses it in every love scene, every romantic exchange, every lie that escapes his cheating lips.

She is Heaven sent, wrong delivery to a man Hell bound.
Wilde in the crowd heckling “The play is badly cast.” Revenge on His mind the Director about to bury Oscar a second time, our cursed hero pipes:
“Forgive him, my Lord, and I, for tis true, I love no one, not her, not I, not even You. I’m off to where I belong, I bid you all adieu.”

Today I want to kill.

To murder, steal, and cheat,

to be the neanderthal,

eat human brains with Ugolino’s blood spit glee.


Today I want to end someone’s world,

watch them gasp as I take their breath away,

for them to look in my eyes and realise……

tis not so difficult to die.


Today I will kill the most undeserving person I can find.

Someone sweet, kind, perhaps even innocent.

Someone who had it all to look forward to, but taken away in an instant.


Today I will indulge the locked up man who kills in my dreams.

Today, you will see him too.

Red and white petals cradled in one hand,

fold up chair clutched in the other.

No time for scenery, he ignores the hillside’s greenery.


Walking alone that Christmas day to see his beloved,

like he does on her birthday,

their anniversary,

and every day since her time had come.


“Merry Christmas, sweetie,” he says to the stone.

Loving Wife and Mother

watering the flowers with his salt as he places them on the earth for it too,

like her,

to devour.


Mumbled teary words of “I miss you,” escape before catching a ride with the wind across nature’s plain,

“I’m sorry they aren’t here,

that you bled for their right to breathe,

that they patiently wait for me to leave.”


Cupping his hands in prayer he mutters the same words on Christmas like every other:

“I pray not for your soul,

but that I join it soon.”