beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Play

Remember

It is all a game

With one rule

You must never be boring

Whilst also being

Calm and stable

Able to bear chaos and confusion

With a warm welcome

Wrestle the titans to the earth

And bring their arms behind

Their back

Until the snap of bone

Louder than a frustrated teacher’s

Chalk

But it is a game

Played with such focus

It is impossible to tell 

Whether it is a game

At 

All

But you play nonetheless

Resist the temptation to change

soften

Because when the lines snap

And the silence realised its 

Potential as the signs

They’ve checked out

A roll of the dice

Thrown by your intuition

But all the games

Bitter and dark

Have one weakness

You’ve never

Played 

Against

Me

Before

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beauty, love, men, poetry, women

lost in a house of hours

Exhausted seconds

Spilling from my fingers

Into a thick bed of minutes

In a house built from hours

I wander these rooms

A purposeful ghost

Alive to make

My mark on these walls

Crumbling as they are

I hear you

From another room,

But this house brings

The scent of you to me

And it is the bedroom where

We find one another

And our kisses

Stop time

Breath

And thought

Like a child’s dream 

Of lightning

And we don’t waste

A single

Beautiful

Moment

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beauty, love, lust, men, sex, women

feral ballet

We are at our most inventive

Transgressive

When there is no thought

Only action

Wrestling around

A spark of conversation

A bonfire of consent

My hands, large and dark around your wrists

The right angle in the dark

A feather breath of pressure

Soft laughter and then the tight grunt

Question

Answer

Experience

On languid waves of sensation

Your pale skin against my fur

Shivering with need as we wrap around

One another

Some mysteries are solved

In the warm, damp dark

Laughing like children

A feral ballet

Hills of the sheets

And I touch your face

Sending the ache you

Inspire through everything

I

Do

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books, creative writing, Ogden, women, writing

Beta Readers Wanted – Horror/Crime Novella

Hi,

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.

https://www.fiverr.com/mattblissett858

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.

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

You And I

We sit

Same warm brown eyes

Equal amounts of silver

In the beards

‘So what did we learn?’

Persistence

I think I found God

After a fashion

And beneath his gaze

Real or imagined,

It did not matter

Some parts of me

Receded 

Others thickened

I am leaner

Kinder to myself

But new hungers awoke

Whilst the compass 

Pointed to my true north.

And still

I remain

Acute to the bitter bubbling away

Of chaos

But couched in the armour 

Of purpose

I can lift my sword in defence of

Myself

Those who I love,

Near and far,

‘What about you?’

I still exist,

A tenant somewhere,

Perhaps a ghost in a dream house,

But leave me with your interest in

Self destruction

And the taste for t shirts with logos

‘I love you ‘

As you should,

I’m gorgeous. 

One fades

And well, 

I’m not even here,

Except

(And this will get me exiled from

Many a perfumed garden)

I

Am

Read

A single word,

And we can never be strangers

To one another,

You 

And I.

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men, poetry, women

Terse Counsel

there are some

I trust with my secrets

Nothing corrosive

For I’ve been to the ground with

Those

But still

The council of quiet men

Advice which cuts away

Weak and rotting thought

So I return

Hard and strong

Terse counsel

Growling in my bones

Sit with women

Knowing I spare her

My weaknesses

But not 

My attention

Masculine energy renewed

In their company

Or in solitude

Both the same

Both the same

Both the same

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beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Shelter

To remain

As a tree remains 

Unreacting

Yet responsive

Supple in intuition

the subtlety of

How we interact

when all my work is done

And I can then

Turn my attention to you

Because as glorious a distraction you 

Are. 

Nothing shudders to a halt

Because I bear it with a smile

Stronger for the resistance

And my root seeks the fertile soil

finding purchase

Your bedrock shifts

And you feed

Sustain something rich

As summer night

Shelter beneath me

I have you:

Just

Breathe

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