Enter eyes, peep soft, seek.

Eyes in sockets of cold,

Whole and bald,

Watchful from holes in rotten

Wood and damp. Fungus

Holds you snared in soulfulls,

Shoalfulls of watchful.

Not human, but not quite dead –

Soft socketted heads,

Mouthfuls turned to

Dead hare,

Eyeless Badger,

Sopping toad.

Morsels of death

Digested whole.


Sharp ringing sieve

Soft singing sieve ringing sharp

Sharks, sieve the seas- Sharks! Stinged bees

Poor Jumblies, sharp ringing teeth

Give back the bees, sieve through the trees.

Sharp ringing sieve, many toes to give- Sharks!

Sharks! Singing seas. Brave jumblies

Sharp singing sieve, little feet to give

Toes through the sieve, little feet forgive

Seas full of sieves.


(ft Edward Lear’s Jumblies)



Lungs become steam

Clouding out mouth

Raining down mirror,

Window, leaves of reaching houseplants

Spread calmly, greenly as a forest.

My body is full of lavender,

Like the canvas pouches my grandmother

Would bring back from France.

We had our baths at her house

And she’d hold a sea-sponge at the top of our spines

And sigh over our French-ladies’ necks,

Then Grandad would clip our nails.

I made up a heaven for my little sister

That existed down the drain-

It was where all the bubbles popped,

And toys lost went.

I don’t know how we forget our bodies so easily,

How we resist the landscapes that settle there.

Fields of lavender, and garlic leaves,

Cliff faces and rock pools.

Our grandparents let my sister eat

Crab sandwiches, and I remember not figuring

How that white meat came from such stubborn shells

With sharp limbs and pincers

I alone was brave enough to hold at the beach.

This is why I’m never apologising for my body,

Never letting my food swirl down the drain, half-digested-

Nakedness should be spilling;

A yolky splitting into tactile curiosity;

A wriggling mollusc thing with feelers

And the comfortable wetness of a baby chewing on its own

Fist with determined gums.


I have been nominated for the Sunshine Award by the lovely and very interesting OldePunk and am very excited to get stuck into the following.

the rules are :
• thank whoever nominated your blog! [please check out OldePunk on the link provided above his work is really worth the read ]
• indulge yourself and answer any questions you feel happy to answer.
• spread that radiance to some other awesome blogs to keep the light shining brightly.
• use these questions or make up your own to ask your nominees.
• tell your nominees that they have been nominated.
• put your preferred logo award on display.

What are the greatest inspirations for your writing?

Toni Morrison

Toni Morrison has always been the most influential author in my life and her writing continues to provide the perfect example of how writing can effect people on the deepest level. Please read Beloved and Jazz, they will change you. Other inspirational authors include Jeanette Winterson, Angela Carter and Dianna Wynne Jones.


As I think mainly visually, much of my writing comes to me first as images which I have to translate into language. In as non-pretentious a way as possible I find a lot of art very inspiring, particularly illustrative work such as that of Felicia Chiao.


In the same vein every freaking thing Ghibli creates makes me rethink my perspective on even everyday things like leaves and fire and light- it’s just pure MAGIC! Also I think something that is really difficult to capture in writing is motion and that is where the true wizardry of Miyazaki lies.

I nominate:

Sarah Drozdz

Helen Mitchell


Izzie Simmons


Thanks all :o)



She didn’t fit the girl shape I cut her into,

Snipped out of a picture book,

I scrubbed the ink from her pours until she was skin.

With surgeon hands I examined her oddness,

Trimmed the mushrooms from between her toes,

Skinned the dragon’s scales from her lips.

I tutored her with unfolding discipline,

Scissor snips.

But she wouldn’t sit still,

Wouldn’t stop singing,

Drawing all over her ruined skin.


I did try to love her

But she was so distant

A shade of blue reserved only for horizons.

She was only present when angry

And then her closeness was as ugly as an aliens.

Sometimes she took my strikes with only fierce eyes

Other times we fought-

A tangle of skin almost merging.

One night she tried to kiss me

And I felt her breath in my lungs

I nearly suffocated with the softness of it

So I did it-


I buried her alive under my floorboards

Where there was soil and clay and worms and

Death. The mushrooms could grow

Back into her cold toes. My shadow

Torn from the seams of me.