Am I nothing?
Do I mean something?
Can people see me?
I ride through life wanting more.
No one is listening to me.
Do I have any thoughts?
I’m questioning my intuition.
I walk past the river, listening to its noise.
I can hear the fish talk, and see a single water-fly making ripples with its toes.
Do I live here?
Where is my home?
I feel lost, standing on this billion-year-old stone.
Life isn’t logical;
I don’t feel biological
as energy rolls over a lost hill as clouds.
Maybe I was born before my time?
A distance I will never climb.
So, I will carry on thinking, amongst this flavoured green thyme.


We are all illusions of our inner self.
Life is empty without the voice in our head.
I talk to him, and he talks back; then I laugh at my self, it’s all tit for tat.
I’m mad, and a narcissist – in love with myself.
The centre of the universe exists where I tread.
Is life an illusion, hiding under my bed?
I speak to my friends who laugh in my head.
Maybe I should talk to my dog? Who I need to befriend.
All my ideas get chucked in the bin;
maybe I need to start again so this time I can win.
My dreams die – with the three witches who whispered to Macbeth.
Money disintegrates as light hits my breath.
It’s all an illusion, built as a distorted delusion –
(for a futurist tourist – pretending in his head).

Repetitive Compulsive Disorder

I look at my phone; then I look at it again.
Message sent.
The conversation went.
These words will never end!


I wrote two sentences and told the world it was poetry.
They believed me and called it magic.


The sound of Scottish bagpipes resonates with the listeners; for they seek joy as visitors.
Smile, laugh and dance through the cold sky; the coloured kilts want to take you for a ride.
Through Edinburgh and the Glasgow den, all who visit want to come again.
Drink the warm whisky and drape yourself in tartan; dip you your toe in the waterfalls of the highland gardens.
The sound of Scottish bagpipes resonates with the listeners; visit Scotland and become her friend.


The alarm on my phone turns on.
That deja vu sound is in my head.
Slide the bright icon right.
Eyelids feel like 200kg falling through mobile-space-time.
Eyes open.
“You need to get up.”
So I do.
But I remind myself which I have to do.
The day will come when I don’t have to.

One Way Spaceship

Softley, we speak through the air;
watching the day fall through sounds of happiness.
Unravelling string theory to resonate with Mars;
realism feels lost while dancing with the stars.
Darkness, now colourful – sharp light,
just beyond the warm glow of Titan.
Saturn becomes small, and blue Earth is out of sight.
I’m lonely but not on my own, cold but we can keep warm.
Ready to travel just under the speed of light,
which means everyone I know will grow old before my flight.
Proxima Centauri is our first orbit.
Wait, hahaha! We will never return
because we just found out that black matter is absorbent.


I look through these brick walls, and they invite me to leave.
I look through the LED lights on the ceiling, and they meditate with me.
I look through the thick window and see shapes that make no sense.
I want to leave but I can’t until 5:00 pm.


Time moves slowly when I wait for it to move.
Time moves quickly when I want life to stop.
Time is me; time is you.
These words never need to move.


Thu 16:47
Sunny with clouds.
Twitter, Instagram, Email – Icons.
Illuminating screen.
Life has become notifications!

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