A poem for the many.

Today’s the day, the time is now to have your say in this political row.

It’s up to us, we can’t back down. This isn’t the time to sink and drown.

If you do nothing else today, go outside. Make today the day you tried.

People have given their lives to make our voices heard and see the ground shake.

Change won’t happen without your say, and things don’t have to be this way.

Yes alright, we might not win, but Jezza believes in me, and I in him.

Do yourself and your future a favour. Get off your butt and #VoteLabour

Stockholm Library

They say that libraries drive you crazy
And you can lose all sense of self.
Leaving behind any concept of time
And your mind, right there on the shelf.

But in my case, it’s the work that makes
Me start to question it all:
Why I started? Will I finish?
Double, Grande or Tall?

I’ve been here six days straight now,
And I can’t really complain
About the lighting or the vending machine,
Or that enormous coffee stain…

But staring at this page again,
And the ache behind my eyes
From sitting at a computer screen
is how my motivation dies.

Enough is enough! I whisper to myself,
After all, I’m in the Quiet Zone.
I can’t take this anymore,
It’s time to head back home.

But there’s that knock on the door again,
And that guilty feeling comes back.
Every second not spend doing this
Feels like I’m losing all the slack.

And so, I read on in silence,
Hoping someday, I’ll be free.
Hoping to be back in the light outside
Stockholm Library.



Promises have expiry dates,
Consume within three days.
Store in a cool, dry place before
The secrets have their ways.

Always keep them upright because
Every so often, they break.
They aren’t designed to take the strain
Of a lonely soul’s heartache.

Once broken, they lie still upon the ground,
And for some, it’s a force of habit:
Evading, ignoring or running from them faster
Than a white, waistcoated rabbit.

If you make a promise, you face a battle,
And the fight may not be fair.
Circumstance comes dressed in a suit of armour
With a white-hot, resentful stare.

Hardly know.

Nothing beats the fright of love
at first sight.
It is a painful dance, leaving it to chance.
Heart beating to a ten –
Here we go again.
A kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.
You hardly know her.

A Nightly Trip.

Somewhere near a town called Somnia,
Not far from the land of nod,
A girl finds herself counting sheep,
Sitting all on her tod.

“How the hell did I get here?”
She wonders to herself.
“All I want to do is sleep
And not be left on consciousness’ shelf.”

More time passes and she grows impatient,
The sheep begin to lack.
Her prayers are yet to be answered,
But still she uses the same tack.

“For crying out loud!”, She moans once more,
“Just let me fucking sleep!”
But who on earth is she yelling to,
But the lowly, countable sheep?

It is a town I have visited often, in the night,
A little too often, I would say.
But once you find yourself Insomnia,
You are prone to return, or simply stay.

New Duvet

3.30 am and I awake in a cold sweat.
With an aching head,
confused instead.
Tiredness has bled right out of me
In bright red.

It is the floor, I discover
With a discarded cover.
What I would do now to be with another.
Even my mother.
I shudder.

The man on the plane
Clearly insane
Made them jump into rain
And then the explosion’s pain jolted me awake

Forgetting my place
I stand and embrace
The room with which I am now faced.
To return to normality is a mental race,
Second place.

Six years today,
I say.
No nightmares have come my way
Since six years ago on this day.
Must be the new duvet.

A Moral Glitch

Insomnia is a freaking bitch,
I wish I could throw her into a ditch.
Or bury her underneath a football pitch
Insomnia is a freaking bitch.

I lie awake at three a.m.,
Sick to death of this mayhem.
My eyes won’t close, I can’t make them.
Please god, let me sleep soon, A-men.

Her words echo around my head.
For god’s sake, can’t I just go to bed?
My limbs feel like they’re made of lead
As the night continues on, ahead.

Why, Sleep, do you evade me so?
Sleep is the step on which I stub my toe.
anger hisses from me, this is a new low,
I’m inches from being crankier than Moe.

Insomnia is a freaking bitch,
To the point where I’m actually considering that ditch.
I’d tie her up in a bag with a clove-hitch
Just one momentary lapse, a moral glitch…
Insomnia is a freaking bitch.