poetry, Uncategorized

free one

Despite the last few months of conversation,

sifting through the wreckage,

things came up between them

which made him sick to hear.

He had confessed and admitted to everything,

which made it easier to bear.

Allowed her to speak in cold terms of how he had hurt her

Although she was incensed by his betrayal,

the years between them 

lent things a degree of equanimity

What hurt her the most

Was the other woman wasn’t even that attractive

Which stung him a little

As the truth always did

Swelling membraneous regrets

From the anaphylaxis of betrayal

But she had desired him

And, together he tells her

How he loved her more than the other woman

Embarrassed but stronger for confessing

How miserable it had made him

So fleeting a pleasure

Such sustained miseries to pay for

He does not expect sympathy

His weaknesses left their mark on him

But he’s a better man

(Or he’s trying to be)

What stuck in his throat

Was she had gone to his house

Told his former wife all this

And never

Even gave

Her real name

(It meant ‘free one’)

But he knew how much,

In the end, it had cost him,


But not quite


Were he a preaching man,

He would caution against such vagaries

But he lacks the faith

To convince anyone beyond his own halting steps

Towards truth and if no one else thanks him,

He’s grateful to never think, speak or act

In such ways as to draw such things

To him again.


poetry, Uncategorized

garden tribute

Pain flowing

Like ink through water

Down my arm like

A needling supplicant

Awake for hours

And only the words

Hold it at bay

I save my opinions of some

Walled gardens

Made of words

Some are tributes

Rendered in kindness

Others get barren, dead

Crime scenes

Which is which,

Well, it depends

On how well you

Treated the gardener

Before I picked up my tools

And began to write

But even those

Who want my scorn

Seldom get it

Because they receive instead

The gift of my blithe indifference

Not even willing to draw a sickened breath

To wish harm

Upon them.

love, men, short fiction, Uncategorized, women




You never know someone until you’ve hurt them.


What goes unsaid, unmeasured is what does the most effective job.


Combine the two and you create the perfect means to destroy your life.


You’re not thinking about rebuilding as the sky caves in.


The knowledge of how this is all self-inflicted adds to the weight of what comes down on you.


Hell is pressure without the possibility of relief.


Infidelity, like most lies about love and relationships, is less a means to advance your sexual agenda than a chance to experience an acute and voluntary shame. You nurse it like a poisonous child, and it drains you until your bones are hollow and each breath aches with the fear of discovery. You’ll beg anyone who finds out to bear the burden along with you. It is so heavy they will hate you for it.


I don’t say these things to re-frame my culpability.


It was a means of getting the sex which had died in my marriage. There is a terrible allure to being desired, it is like access to a drug which alters your perceptions. If I think of her, or see her, then there is a faint embarrassment at her face and shape. A plain, overweight redhead who seldom wore makeup, wore Triumph bras and fucked me with a ferocity which left me gasping.


She smelled of talcum powder and oranges.


My ex wife smelled of berries and white wine. The good stuff even though she seldom drank anything other than Lambrini or Baileys at Christmas.


My fiancee smells of coconut and butter.


I carry the faint stink of potted meat, popcorn grease and rancid butter. My breath carries a hint of acetone as my body is in a constant state of ketosis from not eating.

Scent is an appropriate way to gauge someone’s health or well-being. 


Now, sir, if you’d like to make your selection.


beauty, poetry, Uncategorized, women


Have they heard us?

Think we sent something

Long ago

Pictures, samples and concepts

Saying ‘here we are’

It cannot contain all we offer,

And here

Is where you’ll list

All the horrible things we do,

We’ve done

Would I look into those tri-lobed eyes

And see redemption offered?

Would a kind tentacle

Recognise the work I’ve done?

Who knows

But I behave as though

They’ve arrived

Or they’ve always been here,

Watching and wondering

Each time I look up,

Blood moon and burning stars alike

Into the deep, velvet dark above

Heading back inside

Safe in the fact

I can say where I’ve been

What I’ve done

Without guilt or deception

And I’d tell those cosmic angels

How Hell is a place we make

And I’ve been there,


No, I don’t be going back.

I’ll wait here

Hoping that somehow

Some way

You hear my signal

Purer as time goes on.

Stronger until you hear this

Wherever you are.

beauty, poetry, Uncategorized, women

State of The Union

Ha, thought

This was

Going to be

A political poem?

Those things age

Like salmon

Smell as bad, too.


And having referred to it

There’s a degree of self performance

Impostor syndrome

(Most days, I think I’m pretty good. Competent,

Like a hat to hide a bald spot

When the smart move is to shave your head)

So here it is:

It’s going to be ok.

There is always a way

There is always hope

I breathe in different colours

But it still bears the flavour

Of your kindnesses

Forgive the relative brevity

I have worlds to save

People chuckle

But, come closer

I have a message

Just for you:

If you read it,

Walk to the window,

Press your palm to the glass

And tap your ring finger twice

Just breathe

I’ve got you.


books, creative writing, Ogden, women, writing

Beta Readers Wanted – Horror/Crime Novella


I have revised the Ogden Chronicle series into a novella.

I am looking for beta readers who can give feedback within six to eight weeks.

If you are interested, please leave a comment below or contact me via here.

The intention is to self publish this then have a similar process with Sir 2.0.

I am less prolific and more precise these days. 2019 is going to reflect the process as I look into getting my work out there.

I am also available for copywriting, writing and story consultancy work.


I hope everyone had a lovely season and is looking forwards to a year filled with possibilities.

Sure, I could flail around, saying we are doomed, but we are not.

In Cunning Talks, Warren Ellis talks about how we look at our technology through the lens of the future, which is always found wanting when we would be smarter to look at it through the lens of the past.

I apply a similar idea to myself. I am better than the man I was, yesterday. He’s my only competition in a great many respects. The responsibilities of such a thing make you stronger and more able to bear the tough times. My writing has been a healthy obsession for a while, and although progress is slow, I think about the things I’ve learned along the way.

The life its allowed me to create.

Whatever happens, we are in this together, walking one another home. The world will continue and we must strive to catch up or stand in place depending on our situation.

men, poetry, Uncategorized

by strength defined

My pretty words

Only took me so far

Like carrion birds

Leaving their scars


And all that matters

Are my deeds

For the truth shatters

And made me bleed


But I have come

To find new strength

No longer numb

To time’s cruel length


So take my hand

Fingers entwined

I have a plan

By strength defined