Over it!

Tears falling from eyes unseen,
distorted perceptions
of what used to be a dream.

Reality finally settling in,
no longer searching
for what could have been.

Melli fluent Musing

Melli fluent Musing

P K Routray

A man unknown seeking peace and bliss of life as his mission,

left the following message to us for deliberation.

of crickets and grasshoppers …

Hear the little cricket ‘sing’,
using teeth upon its wing
(raised to help acoustically),
‘heard’ by membrane on its knee.

Grasshoppers upon a farm –

Poem of the week

Love and Socialism

We met infront of Marx’s tomb;
watched the October setting sun;
gazed up as stars rose from the gloom.
I chose a star, said “You’re that one”.

And then we kissed and raised a fist



Sitting in the British Library

Why do I love it, why does it get me down?
I like the sheen and the patina and the sloping doors, the slope
of the floors, the romanticisation
of books, of covers, illuminations ... I like

Drunk On A Train From Flums To Nice

Not quite romance, rather self-loathing. Written as I drank my way through Europe in autumn. Those were the longing blues BB King always goes on about.

Rhymes Fathomed On Another Slow European Train

Something I wrote as I left London, leaving my lover, my job and my rented room behind me for nothing but the cold streets of Europe.

A Life Less Romantic

A poem surmising the futile points of life, written whilst drunk in a field somewhere in East Anglia.

the horns of "nevermore"

as the moon howls at the dogs
and the leaves rise into the trees,

skeletons in smart suits with shining pins
shimmy their jazz knees
and swing the skinless ladies about

Sneaky Feet

If you want to sneak
Don’t use elephant feet
They’re not very sleek
And pound out a beat

The feet of a gazelle
Might work quite well
If they start to jump
They might make a thump

The search for Merlin Homes 1/15

Jennifer Jane slid to a halt and stared in dismay as Morwenna’s front door was slammed in her face.


All across the globe
They are seen together


On the north winds they come
Blown in on Decembers icy blast


The reindeer that fly like the birds on the wing

Sleeps Revenge

Never curse sleep or it will have its revenge...

Scythe Swag Side Stalk - Poem 6 (Home)

Señores Guardias Civiles,
Aquí Pasó Lo De Siempre.
Aquí Han Muerto Cuatro Romanes
Y Cinco Cartagineses.

Sun Life - Poem 4 (Home)

I wish I had died a century ago,
It was much easier then.