Night Bus


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A short piece taken from the collection of poetry, prose and lyrics entitled ‘Another Tease’ (links at the end of the post. Enjoy!

I sat on the bus, watching the night-lit streets as they passed by like frozen, shrouded memories. The juddering, stop-start motion seemed to bring an uneasy comfort to my body, detached as it was from my consciousness. Other vehicles, heading in the opposite direction, appeared and then disappeared as if they were on some mythic quest, their headlights dull and dim below my position on the top deck of the bus, illuminating nothing but the first few steps on a journey without end. For a moment it seemed as if only they knew the direction in which to move in order to find some salvation, some respite from the pain, and yet I knew, contained within each metal box, was nothing more than one more lonely figure hoping beyond all hope that something, some miracle, would appear to snap them out of their coma.

Buildings rose up on either side of me now; giant monoliths, some pale and dark, devoid of life, tired and waiting for release, others still humming under the electric glow which gave them purpose. Their eyes stared out without seeing through the dark, and were gone again, lost to me as I moved steadily on. Their facades hung momentarily in my mind like all the faces of people I had met in my life, before fading into a sea of ashen memories. The night around me seemed to tighten its grip as, like an abandoned vessel, we sailed on.

To both the right and to the left of me roads sprouted off from the main artery down which I was travelling. They sparkled and twinkled with the hope of the newborn before even their lights were swallowed by the darkness into which, it seemed, the whole world had fallen. I shuddered as the bus lurched around a corner: not from the cold – I had long since become immune to that – but from the impending realisation that we were, at last, nearing my stop, my final destination.

And then everything was quiet, but for the pounding in my chest and the pulsing in my head. What if I were to remain on the bus? Would it eject me when it reached its destination, its point of termination, or would it show a glimmer of empathy, offer up a hand and cradle me to its heart? After all, my brain reminded me, what point was there to alighting, to leaving the bus to continue without me, if you were no longer there to welcome me home?

Another Tease – poetry, prose and lyrics








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And with each dying breath 

That settles on the breeze,

To dip its head beneath

The horizon that we see,

Our lives become a little fainter

A little thinner to the eye,

And all the things that meant so much

Fall to the ground

Like Autumn’s sigh,

To be replaced by a growth

Whose colours seem,

To weary eyes,

A little paler in their hue

A little less impactful,

And as we mourn

The loss of souls

Whose touch we feel as if it were our own,

We step ourselves,

A little closer,

To the hole they left


The Witness – an extract


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A short extract from the story 'The Witness' which forms part of the collection contained in my latest book 'Consequences '.
Hope you enjoy it (and if you do you might even consider purchasing a copy - details below). Thank you for reading:

Now he was back on the street once more, moving past the buildings as if he were unaware of their presence. Daniel moved as if he knew that he was no longer a part of the world around him. His eyes took nothing in whilst his mind was consumed by thoughts that his rational self refused to acknowledge. He could feel pools of sweat building beneath his arms and across his back despite the cooling breeze that had begun to drift across the city. Daniel found himself walking quickly, as if there were somewhere that he knew he had to be; as if he were trying to escape the thoughts that were battling within his head. Arguments raged within him, his thoughts switching from circles to spirals and back again, neither side able to gain the upper hand, to strike the final blow. 
Before he realized it, he had reached what he had hoped would be the comfort and safety of his own home. He turned the key in the lock and burst through the door as if it were the only thing that could save him. Behind it, crouching on the floor, he realized that nothing had changed but the empty objects that filled his vision. 

Three tales exploring consequences; the consequences of random events, of choices and decisions made and of fate or chance.
A Slow Return sees a man analysing his emotions as he is forced to face up to the consequences of his actions following a random accident.
In The Witness a man's life unravels before his eyes after he becomes an unwilling witness to an event which may or may not have happened. 
But the collection opens with Spinning Wheel, a story of fate creating a situation in which the boundaries between reality and fantasy become blurred, leading a man into a series of unexpected consequences.

Book Depository  
Barnes and Noble

Like Animals


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Like animals

They parade themselves

Showing what they can’t maintain,

Preening, pawing

Dancing in the light

Try to catch another eye,

Brightly coloured

Always on display

Nothing left to keep behind,

Pick a trinket

A fleeting treasure

And hold it for the world to see,

Until the sun shines

Patterns repeated

Is this the only game we know?



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There was a time when I was your hero; your idol, your deity. It was a time when nothing could take my place – there had been nothing before me and even the thought of anything beyond me was unimaginable. I was the first thing that your eyes saw when they opened and the last picture that they held as they closed with the days end. It was a time when I filled your every waking thought and gave meaning to every moment of your life, no matter how small or fleeting. I was the star around which the planet of you revloved; I brought you light in the daytime and dreams which filled your nights with wonder, joy and promise. There was no sacrifice too small, no challenge that you would refuse with me by your side. Your blood ran with my words, my thoughts and my desires, and you took them all as your own. I was your hero, your idol, your everything.

But now, as the turning wheel has worn the threads thin, and the veil has begun to slip from your eyes, you see me with clearer sight. My face has lost its magic, its magnetic pull weaken by over-use. My words, the music that once plucked so easily at your heartstrings, has lost its tone, its melody merely a feeble imitation of what it had once appeared to be. The etched pane has cleared, as if a sea mist had lifted, and you see me now as I truly am. And you realise that I am nothing more than a man, and all that I had to say was nothing more than words; no more or no less than any other.

And the thought remains that I was once your hero, your idol, your everything. 

Something Blue – Nine Things Blue


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A crumpled card
Seaside view,
A sapphire ring
Not quite new,
The evening dress
Never worn,
A loving note
Newly torn,
A bluebell wild
Favourite bloom,
Hanging moon that
Fades too soon,
A hidden stream
Once was known,
A star-lit night
Secrets shown,
Cool eyes bright now
Soaked with tears

Something Borrowed (not really) – Borrowed Time (a song)


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Ran on down through the night

Passed the high shot pusher on the corner,

A hundred hungry faces cried

A thousand tears of sorrow.

Saw the lost on the pavements

Met the all-day fallen on park benches,

Watched the closing of cafes

The all night sanctuaries.

A street light lit the alley

Old man crying in the gutter alone,

Hollow girls in the doorways

Promise of escape for some.

A wallet slips into the night

A thousand hands reach for offering,

A knife shines in the road

The broken hearts reach out.

Night time lovers flit across the sky

Don’t hear the dying breaths downtown,

The misplaced and abandoned

Souls that can’t go on.

The downtown joys of such men

Can’t feel the pain of life,

Too many broken hearts

Which live on borrowed time.

Something New – I Wrote Your Name


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I wrote your name

Upon a page

Within a book

To keep it close to me,

I locked it up

Inside a safe

Within my heart

So no-one else could see,

I wrote it with

An ink so black


So it would never fade, 

And kept it with

My treasure trove

Of precious gifts

Safe deep within the shade,

But then one day

I took it out

With gentle hands

And held it to the light,

And felt my eyes

As sorrow fell

Fill up with tears

As it had left my sight.

Something Old – Remarkable Things


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The pulse of a wing on the wind,

The print of a foot on the sand,

A Sun-borne wink on a frosted morn,

A halo-ringed moon, pure and full,

First kiss of the day

Last word of the night.

The breath of the newborn awoken,

The memories of age newly shared,

A waterfall cascade shimmering stone,

A desert thrown mirage horizon blurs,

Soft-whispered sounds

Looks that speak love.

The caress of the wave on the shore,

The towering ice-hearted peaks,

A beast in the full flight of chase,

A life-spewing forest of green,

Eyes that say nothing

But mean all the world.

And if none of these things are written,

Do they simply just cease to exist?

A sort of update


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Well, it looks like Amazon have (sort of) addressed the pricing issue regarding my book of short stories ‘Consequences’.

Unfortunately they have added a link to an edition for Kindle WHICH IS NOT MY BOOK! So, if you were considering a purchase please don’t go for the e-book as (a) it’s not the same and (b) you might be disappointed (or not!).

I have updated links below.

Thank you!


Three tales exploring consequences; the consequences of random events, of choices and decisions made and of fate or chance.


Book Depository


Barnes and Noble