Sword and Dagger

Poise, bend, analyse

Tennis samurai,
orange-shirted tai-chi,
disciple with strong knees.

How to best move through the air
to get to where you want to be.

You have your Way,
I’ve my coffee (and cigarettes
zipped in my bag) it’s
all I have,

plus this green pen,
to fly through life
with the skills and brain
and body, we have
to get that ball
to hit your bike
parked in the corner of the world.

Poise, bend, analyse

Trace the process step by step.
That’s technique​! Joyce ‘Donato said
to the young soprano, ​Mix and mix
inside the stomach. Open!
The snake of air whose trajectory
must not, by unnecessary
bits in your mouth
and mind and body, be
encumbered.

Legato, le-gaaaaah-toe!
Legato vowels​, then ​go go go
and follow through​ be Ursula the
villain who is you on the stage,

for there is only true
and only false,
and everyone can see when you are true,
and everyone can see when you’re not you,

says, Tap-Tap-Tap​ the racket and the ground
going ’round the ball to contain it in two
worlds, but the ball just giggles
away, pulls her tongue out and says,

Hey! Hey!
Imma listen to the man,
so let me roll
and let me play!

Come ​ON​, yells the samurai
when he fails to shape the sky he wants.
Gotta listen to the man,​ says the ball, You see,
‘cos he wants his stripe of movement to fall​.

Maybe
he performs for me now? says she.

Stabs her dagger in the bench,
Smells her own blood’s stench.


Written to be read aloud. Inspired by a man practising tennis in Cartwright Gardens called Tom, and Joyce DiDonato YouTube videos. 

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“All the world’s a stage.” – A Letter to My Pre-University Self | An Ode to Life

Friday 21.04.17 – 10.27AM

I’ve just submitted a law essay which I believe has redirected me onto the path to Enlightenment, and I need to stop everything that I’m doing in order to write down what’s in my head. Brace yourselves…

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And then he said to me, ‘Isn’t it funny we’re all just people walking around trying to put on appearances. . .’

‘I’m gonna grow a moustache and start smoking. It’s just another way to meet new people.’


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I Am A Queen

I am a queen
in a scarlet nail varnish chariot
the shade of No. 168.

My people – mine
because they are seen
by me and are as mine as thine
own vision and curiosity –

do they see
me as an inquisitive
neck, or as a pair
of uncomfortable
wrists and glaring nostrils?

I am a queen off
to the King’s to spend my day
with his walls, lifeless
soldiers and servants

In his chambers. I pay
my courtesies and fulfil
my duties all
for some mere respect

In return. I am lonely
and awake; I must find a way to entertain
myself – play with toys on paper, bruise
my hands with ink – to remember that I am

The Queen
of the greasy crown
and sleepy eye curtains
hooked behind my ears,
of chapped heels
and spring onion
fingernails that hover over my lip

When I am waiting.
Obedient and secret,
like Hermione I am

brut on the face but
blushing. Since 16 years
no carver can slice out
the air singing through
my teeth, no painter can
try my life and sand down
the bones of my muffled interior.

I will wear the amethysts my mother gave me
and invent spells as wonderful as eating.


Also re-wrote Orange with some new line break ideas and extra words. Can’t seem to insert spaces between words on WordPress so here it is in PNG format.

Orange (II)


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February 26th 2013 – Sick in Bed

A friend challenged me to write my next blog post
In (Shakespeare’s) sonnet form. Bed-ridden, I force
Coughs, heaving breaths to pass hours and boast
Weak English skills to speak my mind’s discourse.
The sick waits in my chest. Bombs burst black fire
From lungs, pierce heart, grip throat. Within the walls
Of music’s madhouse, quavers cut the air
Mocking the girl who dreams for concert halls,

The gratitude of crowds and a red dress
For her amusement. But I see a sky
Whose plaster grey brings not hope, but distress,
A cup of acid, hassled hair and sighs.
As I’m pushed back down, silenced, far away
The mighty world flies through another day.