Rarely does poetry jump from the page. In fact as you’re writing it you might be saying “this is rubbish” THATS OK – as long as you’re feeling something. Lean into it, as long as you can write it, share it, give it meaning. Own it and speak it.

Delivery unknown

A delivery man

Wearing shorts and a white shirt

He’s angry and asking:

“Do you know which floor?”

I say ‘no’ and sit down on a bench peering into my phone screen.

Locking and unlocking it nervously, feeling out of place and worrying that he’ll cause a scene, that I’ll be drawn into somehow.

Angst, frustration, bitterness – it’s all on display and a bit too much.


Play me like a record baby.

Be careful, turn me on.

Scratch me if to have to baby.

Spin me round and wrong.

It’s hard when you’re around, baby

And quiet when you’re gone


I’ll play you like a record baby

With perfect skips and grooves.

I don’t forget the steps baby

And I know, you know the moves

I’ll hold you in my hands baby

Then let the needle go

Play me like a record baby

Working to and fro

The rhythm’s in our hips, baby

So abandon sleeves and slips

Whisper what you want baby

With lyrics, love and lips.


Look to that slice of sky, filled by mountain tops. Tracking our horizon, clouds far as eye can see. Green and white and blue they pop. Attracting you and me.


“Oh something that’s as dropped on the ground”

You know what it isn’t: valuable.

You know what it isn’t: a loved one

You know what it isn’t: the answer to our problems

“Better pick it up”

The body

Give me a hand, so I might shake it. Lend me your ears, so I might bend them. Nod for ‘yes’, and shake for ‘no’, lose it for ‘maybe’.

What is a brain, without a heart?

What is a heart without a brain?

Don’t be silly, hearts don’t think!

What a bloody pain.