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Walk With Me 


The wind through

The trees

Birds singing

Such places serve as churches

Watching the dog

Snuffle see his world

I am capable of fury

My body aches from

Focused labour

Hands as weapons

But also instruments

Of divine exploration

To caress the contours

To open and penetrate

All the world and it’s pleasures

Visible in my eyes

Look as deep as you need to

I am the nexus between

flesh and divinity

Lover and magician

Read this as my spell

Let it sink beneath

Your skin

A drug delivered without needle

No chalky aftertaste of the pill

A perfect delivery of want

I would make you shudder with want

And the supply is constant

The wind through the trees

The birds singing

Would you walk with me?

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In night’s bitter watches


Do not mistake

My quiet for gentility

My manners are camouflage

To disguise the beast

That lives beneath

This skin

I am capable

Of the sweetest fury

To extend the control I have

To you.

Pout and tell me how mean

I am but I see the light in your eyes

How you long for cruel, biting fingers

A rough palm’s velocity

A firm grip of your hair

I compel surrender not submission

And move you

To my needs

As smooth as tide meets shore

I am not mewling need

But determined want

You must prove yourself to me

I see through words

To actions

And actions to release





In night’s bitter watches

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Above Us, Only Sky.


Above the clouds, where the air is as pure as the sunlight, she floats with her arms by her sides, looking out at the sky around her. She can sense that her physical body waits on the earth beneath her, that this is a matter of perception, afforded her by virtue of an education at her mother’s knee.

She looked at the sky around her, endured the bone deep ache of being in the presence of beauty such as the world around her. Her soul trembled at what she had to do, but when she spoke, her voice rang out across the sky.

‘I am Esperanza, daughter of Dona Maria, I am curandera and I come to find something that has not been lost.’

Her voice echoed, but nothing moved or responded. A chill wind blew across her shoulders, wracking her with shivers. Was this the response? Mama had said that they would speak to her. Esperanza took that to mean a conversation, but this was a chil breeze.

She felt it then, a tugging sensation to her left, like a child pulling at the hem of mother’s skirt and she followed it.


She plummeted, too fast to scream and blacked out for a second with it’s terrible velocity.


Beneath her, the soft damp bed of moss laid damp against her cheek. She got up, wrapping her arms around herself as she looked out at a sea of trees, tall enough to pierce the low hanging clouds above her. So thick was the cloud that it made her strain to see the details. She shut her eyes, and listened.

The gentle trickle of running water, and she smiled to herself.

There is the Rio Abjao Rio, the river beneath the river. If you hear it, in the air, the spaces when you hear your true love’s voice, then you must follow it. She got to her feet and began to walk. Her steps were tentative, but she took a deep breath and carried on into the forest.

The noise of the water gained presence and volume as she drew nearer. The air was cool, damp in her nostrils and on her lips. She raked her hair away from her face, and wriggled her bare toes into the moss beneath her feet. She drew courage from herself, and kept moving.

Which was when she heard the roar, not of the river this time. She felt the thump of motion gathering pace as it came towards her, knocking back undergrowth and branches with no more care than you would walk through a column of smoke.

She looked into the bear’s eyes. The warmth of corn liquor, caramelised and liquid. Beautiful, and all the more so, for the grizzled ferocity of it’s expression. It roared and she put her hands up.


The bear reared back on it’s legs, blocked out the light with it’s size.

Which was when it began to chuckle.

Esperanza suffered fools all her life, but she had been unprepared for such mockery to arise in a place as pure as thought. Pure as sky.

‘You do not laugh at me without cause, spirit.’

It guffawed as it licked his left paw with his thick, pink tongue, watching her with an expression equal parts hunger and amusement. It thrilled her to be looked at in such a way, but frightened too.

‘No, it appears that I do not. What do you search for?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I come to surrender.’

The bear shook it’s head and lowered it’s eyes as it moved onto all fours.

‘To me, is it that simple?’

Her stomach grew hot and sour, the bear’s voice was gruff but smooth, burnished by endless experience and beneath it, a warmth like a good shot of tequila began to smoothe out her fears. She shook her head.

‘No, it is not. My mother taught me that.’

The bear looked around and grinned before returning it’s gaze to her.

‘And, what is that lesson? Humour a big old bear, would you.’

Esperanza closed her eyes, took a deep breath and spoke, not from memory but from heart.

‘A woman’s surrender is a gift, a demonstration of power and not defeat. We surrender to the cycles of life and death, the release of purest ecstacy and the duties of the flesh. To surrender such power is a gift and it is done not in the spirit of looking backwards.’

The bear padded over to her, sniffed and hummed deep in it’s throat, it’s massive chest reverberating the air around it with it’s vibration.

It licked along the line of her neck, the tongue was soft, but rough like a washcloth and it tickled her sending delighted shivers of sensation down her spine.

‘I accept, Esperanza.’

It lowered it’s shoulders to the ground then looked upwards at her.

‘What are you doing, Bear?’

‘I will take you to the rio abjao rio, Esperanza. I know the way.’

She walked around the bear, reaching forward to take purchase in the thick, brown fur on it’s back. She lifted her leg over, until she was astride. It’s heartbeat thumped like a drum and the hot engine of it’s breath moved her like the tides. It was frightening and exciting all at once.

The bear lifted it’s shoulders and turned it’s head.

‘Are you ready, Esperanza? I know that this frightens you, but the truth of a situation often does. ‘

She gripped the fur and smiled at the bear before her. Beneath her.

‘Then you must show me, Bear.’

It began to move, slow at fast but then faster.

It never quite matched the rapid pace of her heart though. Nothing was faster than that.


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Let me tie

Lengths of pearlescent

Ribbon around

Your nipples

A gift of goodness

Needing correction

Bind you with the

Outstretched limb


By degrees

To my rough authority

Be set free

By your submission

I know how you ache

Twisting with want

My stinging blows

Thanking me

After each strike

I see into your darkness

And find not demons

But darker,sweeter angels

I come to free them

And bind them to your service

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Feel me

Until your surrender


Relax in the direction

Of my attention

I am as aroused

By your dancing anger

As by your giggling joy

I remain willing

To crack the shell

Of closure

Lick my love against

The soft heart flesh


My breath is full

My body strong

I enjoy your anger, your tears

Your silent hardness

The world ever gives me that

I do not analyse

I encourage

You who must follow

Heart’s white rabbit

I allow you to go mad 

With love

You must be the ocean

Not the ship that

Waits, tied with fraying rope

To proprietary dock

Oh how I know you

As you know me

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Two Pages (09/10/16)


This morning’s pages were good, took on the challenge of showing a little more description of the protagonist’s love interest/ally  and their house. It is something that I may lift entirely and place earlier in the book but sometimes insights arrive when they’re ready to be written down, and so long as you know where you are and what you are doing, then that is half the battle. I also looked at my list of obligatory scenes and made some notes as to which I have done, and where they are, as well as started to sketch out some of the major ones later. Yes, you can skip back and forth, but I like those scenes to come to me with the force of momentum and a sense of being due, rather than overdue.

I did not work on Until She Sings last night but will do so today, spent some time giving feedback on a friend’s short story that took some detail. Feedback is a potentially dangerous thing, which is why so many people are reticent to give it. Too honest and it appears cruel, too soft-spoken and it appears patronising. I aim to strike a balance between the two. You cast bread out on the water, you get back cake and who doesn’t like cake?

This next part is the rest of the Ten Perfections as applied to a writing practice.

6. Wisdom – Your life is source material. If not the objective experiences, then the emotions that you have experienced or the things that you have learned from them. The life you have lived and live has all the colours you need to paint a masterpiece, sometimes you will need blend colours and nuances to get the shade that you need. You have lived, and learned, the difficult part is in the translation sometimes. Imagination is that path, but it is the wisdom of experience that will give you the strength to walk along it.

7. Effort. There is the effort required to write, or develop a sustainable practice of writing and maintain it. There is the effort required to research and improve your craft, the effort to read rather than watch television or play videogames. There is the determination to market your work as well. Effort is important to the development of an approach to writing.

8. Patience. Writing for a reply to an email that may offer success or feedback. Replies to enquiries or about submissions that seem to take their sweet time in arriving. Seeing people get deals, retweeting fan art and glowing reviews whilst you’re still waiting to find out if what you’ve written is actually any good. Patience is important but do not be passive about it. Work on your material, seek to improve in some small way to ensure that the time spent in patient anticipation was not wasted.

9. Truthfulness. Honesty on the page is everything. Yes, writing is a series of entertaining lies interspersed with truth. Tell the truth through the observations and actions of your characters. It is free therapy, and earnest, unvarnished truth resonates with readers in a way that the most elegant, glorious language never could. If it is uncomfortable, keep a straight face and say that it is just fiction. Stick a hobbit or a ninja in there to distract them. Yes, you’re making things up and having a fine time doing it but hold some measure up to the light of the truth within and about yourself.

10. Determination. Better work than yours will be ignored, lesser works than yours will be feted and celebrated. Some people will do less to get further and faster than you. Your work will sometimes feel like a trudge through a muddy path. Your family will demand more of your attention, at exactly the point that your second act falls to shit and phone calls will interrupt your most sublime reveries. This is where determination comes in. It applies regardless of whether writing is a hobby or a career for you. A strange fact is that the more effort you put into something, the better you will get and then your enjoyment of the hobby will gain depth and find new meaning. There’s something almost perverse in developing a level of aptitude for no other reason than your own pleasure. We’re encouraged to get better for the salary increase, the title but when we do it for the soul’s reward, there is something truly sublime in that.

When your heart is breaking, writing makes sense. It takes determination to write through your pain but it makes it easier to bear it all.


Writing is so rewarding for me that the more I have aligned my life around it, the happier I have become. It has made me rich in terms of spirit and mind. If you can find a groove to set into and you are present with it, it’s a thing of genuine wonder to me, and I feel successful already. My ambition is to build a life that allows me to do more of that. I am investigating the process to get into teaching, with an aim to develop as a teacher of creative writing. I’ve spent decades doing things for other people all the time, and although it was not time wasted, I can see that a future where I am sourced in my wonder and craft would be a thing of joy for me. If that groove becomes a rut, then the solution is to keep digging until you find that the air is fresher underground.

Inspiration is like a moth, killed by the smallest casual nudge so learn to work without it. Then, when it does arrive, you can appreciate and enjoy it’s time with you.

Thank you for listening.


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I Will Continue

Clouds break,

Smudged light emerging from

Between them

I stand and lift my face upwards

Apart from everything

But open to it regardless

I built a suit of armour

From my words

But there are still

Fresh scars underneath

Yet within me

Lies a beast that knows

Pain only in the abstract

No one tells you

The world is only interested

In what you can offer

But you learn it

To the bone

The storm will pass

The sun will come out

I will continue

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Take Care

That restlessness

A sharp toothed anxiety

Politely voiced and mitigated

As a vague sense

Of being lost in familiar circumstances

And the dull eyed men before

Ignore or dismiss it

But I know

That the rough handed application

Of my authority is

A prescription without signature

A quiet certainty to my touch



High walls to keep out

The wailing ghosts

Here, I offer


Space and something strong

To thrash against

A violence of thought

Afloat in the thick cream

Of your desires

In my hands, your perfume

Rising in the air

Bracing against the sting

Come at me with everything

And I will be unmoved

Kicking and writhing

As you seize your pleasure

A pirate queen

Setting the rotten wood of neuroses


In your surrender, a different melodic

Beauty emerges

That only I see

Ushered forth

You’ve been such a

Bad girl, haven’t you

And I am here

To take care of that

A care taken

To bring forth the violent brilliance

Of your desire


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Deep, Full, Brave

My fingers brushing
Oils against
The tenderest canvas
A playful patience
Flirting with the
Delicious risk
Pouting orifice
Bloom beneath
Each careful application
As sunlight caresses
Supine in
Generous surrender
An unconscious resistance
A tingling shower
Of delightful
A play as focused
As surgery
These rebellions
Without a banner
To rally beneath
Other than
Powerful as explosions
And despite the
Has you pushing
My firm, calm touch
A safe comfort
To test how
You can be
And what capricious
As we take flight
From the tangled neuroses
Telluric in taboo’s soil

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Desire’s White Flag

Control serving as

Trust and how my

Strong hands

Create a means

To wave desire’s white flag aloft

The urgency with which

I direct you

Calling forth

The primal seed

Of your flowering desire


My hands lock you down

To release you

I command you to come forth

That here, beneath the

Immovable weight of my

Attention, I find you beautiful

In your freedom

A gift that I give you

Strong squeezing motions

Pulling as you push

Pushing as you pull

Taking and guiding you

Where I want you

The most and here,

Is the woman that you

Would wish to be

Free and imprisoned

These are not acts of

Charitable investment

But a delicious savagery

Where I show you

How a man is,

How a woman is,

And thereafter

You writhe with glee

Against warm sheets,

Never quite so beautiful

As when I possess you

With biting precision

I have made you anew

And you will bear the marks

As badges of honour

Cooed over in secret

Mirror sessions when the

Shadows are longer and

I am far from reach