Goldfish.

Well...Yeah....Goldfish are important too I guess...I don't know what inspires a lot of what I write, but I like goldfish anyway.

I am a goldfish.

I am small and insignificant.

I have one life and it is short, unimportant and fragmented by my own memory.

In the grand scheme of things,

It would be easier for you to flush me

Than it would be to pick me up,

Take me home,

Care about me.

He was bored,

As usual,

And his feet get itchy,

Staying in the same place for too long.

He decided to go for a drive,

And it was beautiful;

Peaking at sixteen degrees,

Highest it had been for at least four months.

He took a chance on the roadside,

When he saw the lights

And the stalls;

As usual, he didn’t really care

That he was on his own.

"Roll up, roll up."

He did.

He tossed the ring.

Time stopped.

Somebody, somewhere, made the decision,

What would happen, why it would happen.

Knocking the world off balance.

It bounced off of the peg.

The vendor shrugged,

Throwing a lop sided grin as some sort of apology,

Allowing him to choose his booby prize.

A selection of soft toys,

Bubblegum, sweets, a paddleball,

A deck of cards.

At the back of the stall were a selection of bags,

Filled with water,

And orange segments,

Placed in the shade

So they wouldn't overheat,

Or glint too much in the sun,

And blind the punters.

He shrugged once more, stepped back and let him look;

Perhaps it was fate,

That he chose the one he did,

It wasn't like the rest,

But he saw the beauty in it all the same.

He smiled.

I am a goldfish.

I am small and significant.

I have one life and it is short, but important.

In the grand scheme of things,

It would be easier for you to flush me

Than it would be to pick me up,

Take me home,

Care about me,

But you care anyway.

ransom note.

I am holding my love ransom.
Maybe for a week or two,
It isn't a necessity to you,
Like you are to me.
The snake on my back found its way to my chest,
And it's fork tongue unravelled
And fed it's way around my heart like a belt,
And it squeezed until I couldn't take it any longer.
You'd think it was impossible,
To think about one person so much.
I am holding my love ransom,
How long will it last,
Against you and your charming smile?

God created Jammy. and she's good.

In the beginning, God created Jammy.

And she was without form, a faint flicker of potential; potential that could be bottled into one individual and distinct package that made up all beings.

And God said, Let there be flesh: and there was flesh. And God saw the flesh, that is was good: and God divided flesh from bone. A body was formed, and he became content as he spread pale skin over bone and flesh. And the evening and the morning were the first day.

And God divided the flesh and the bone to make limbs; moulding them into proportion, enabling his creation to take the first tenuous steps alone, proud that the limbs could withstand their function. And the evening and the morning were the second day.

And God shook his head with the restlessness and clumsiness of her, he presented her with the gift of senses; plucking colours from nature and mixing them to a fine green, becoming to her face, allowing her to see herself, God's creation for the first time. He gave her a nose, a mouth with a warm and gracious smile and ears that appreciated the gift of sound.

And God, not content with the appearance of her, pulled fine strings and vines from the trees and placed them atop her head. The creation shrugged her shoulders, staining the vines with red, and she was content with her involvement. And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

And God began to enjoy interacting with his creation, proud, gaining an appreciation and love for such beauty. Pronouncing that, to accompany her qualities, she needed more; and so, gave her the final gift of a brain and a personality. A shining attitude that was welcoming and forgiving, but with enough of the same spark of potential he saw in the beginning to be strong, to stand up for herself and to be an individual. And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

And God watched what he had made, and it was very good. For what he did not anticipate when she spoke to him, a first, melodic call; not that of a dove or anything similar, but something unique and better because of this. And this, the moment when God's creation took his breath away.

The Duck Egg

Blue backed smile,
Toothless grin.
Fingerprints smoothing the curves;
Covering the scratches beneath.
It was a rough upper cut,
Knocking him right between the eyes,
Because they can't see him the way I do.
Under a fixed smile
And smudged, moulded lines,
White speckles,
Large freckles plaguing bobbled skin;
A duck egg, but not so, not as sweet,
Not that cuddly, baby blue,
But a deepness, like that of a lake,
A guarded, cold blue
Haunted.

He stands, a hand quavering up and down his face,
Nestling in an ever decreasing hairline,
He finally did it.
And He likes it this way;
On his own with a vast plane of anything,
Unamazed by it;
As long as it keeps the advancing space between him and the rest of the world.
An almost twilight sky closing in on him,
And the promise that, as it did,
He would find himself lucky to be alive tomorrow.
He appreciates it.

A dent in the silence leaves him to wander,
Not one for venturing,
He perches on a chair.
In front of the stairs,
Under the window,
Close enough to the kitchen to be shaken by the hum of the fridge,
All to observe to stars,
As he always did.
The moon threw shadows against his whitewashed face,
And made the clock spin, dizzily, showing many times at once.
As the stars shook themselves,
Hooking onto the dark blanket of the night,
Like bats, waiting for food, a victim.

Solitary, which here meant, a relished feeling,
A wrapped up, warm emotion,
Rather like that first overwhelming "I love you more than chocolate" feeling,
You got when you were a child,
That first thought that takes your breath away,
Something that you never thought could happen,
Don't understand,
But enjoy, in a strange way.

Light charged from the clouds,
Churning up the wheat,
Moulding the sky into a sinister pool,
Swirling the moon, cutting it into pieces,
Separating like rice in a pan,
Or a smashed mirror.
It was a reflection of himself,
A reminder of decisions he had made;
Something he detested,
The inevitable hermit crab.
On finding something that was not 'ordinary' in himself,
Hiding from it all, including those ugly,
Deep insecurities,
Like scars, they wouldn't leave him.
He threw off his shell,
Started anew,
Had a chance living with the 'sea slugs',
Who saw their faults, but hid behind nothing,
But, becoming afraid, he retreated back to the familiar.

He felt changed,
No longer his dark, deep blue,
Mysterious and interesting;
Instead, a mustard yellow,
The sickeningly, cowardly yellow.
Transformed from a possibility,
Sinking swiftly beneath the water,
Waiting for an opportunity to rise to the surface.
Now, the underbelly of the serpent,
Misunderstood,
Deceptive and evil?
The apple now rotten to the core,
Seeds remained healthy,
Willing and wanting of change,
A chance to finally prove something,
Hidden and buried beneath skin and flesh,
Ever hurtful reminder of surrendered possibilities.



Thank you Katt and Jammy for teaching me to spell serpent :) .. And I know you said it was pips, not seeds, but seeds sounded better :P

My favourite thing in my room.

The telephone
That perches on my shelf
Signals two times;
One past, one present.
An advance in technology;
An ability
For all things
To be reproduced
And sold in bulk,
For those who take a fancy
Of the 'retro' and 'kitch'.
Little phone
Feels unappreciated
With ten thousand
brothers and sisters
And parents who own so much
And care for naught,
Perhaps with the exception
Of their prodigal son;
Money.
He comes and goes,
Makes them elated one moment
And deflated the next,
But they love him
Not caring what he puts them through.


Little phone
Cries out for attention
For a time when all little phone's looked like him
That my parents were born and met in.
They smiled at my Little phone
And picked him up and took him home
And gave him to their youngest daughter
And didn't realise they had bought her
A Little phone with sixties character
That fit the space on the shelf
And with the music that she loved
Perfectly.


Little phone,
Reminded that daughter of a man
Who had taught her a lot
Who has witnessed all of these times
And still laughs as though he's the same age as her.


A while ago,
When both of us
Could snuggle comfortably together
In your lap,
You could de-weed the garden,
And shout about the dissappearance of your 'spuds',
You looked at me and smiled,
Thinking you were superman, to me.
You still try to keep the appearance
Although your muscles and bones
Give you away,
Your back hurts
And your legs are sore,
You still let me sit on your lap
Make me laugh
With anecdotes that make me miss
Times I wasn't born in
And I smile
When you keep your £20 notes
Because you think they're 'pretty'.
Talking to your sister,
She tells me about how,
When she was little,
You used to give her your rations for sweets
Because you didn't eat them
(And I know it's a lie,
But you love her so much you didn't care)
How when she was born
And the nurse told you that you had a sister
You asked her to take her back,
Because you already had a 'stupid' sister,
How you laughed when your son, Tony,
Reversed your friends car
Into a telephone pole
When he was four.
I can see when he talks to you
He thinks you're superman too.


Little phone,
You are just half a year old
I want you to know that you are appreciated;
Remind yourself
You are loved.




I don't know what inspired this...but yes; I love my Little phone...and my Grandad :)