An army of ants
moving as one in rank and file.

A glaring of cats,
affection always second to style.

A school of dolphins,
second smartest animals on Earth.

A cackle of hyenas,
laughing and screeching from birth.

A pride of lions,
heads held high, surveying their land.

A parliament of rooks,
judging us all from their towers grand.

An array of hedgehogs,
spread sadly as they are across the roads.

A pandemonium of parrots,
nattering on in nonsense prose.

A scourge of mosquitos
A murder of crows

And what of us?
A ‘what?’ of men?

A deceit, an attrition?
A pollution, a torment?

A plague, like insects?
An unkindness, like ravens?

A torture, a cancer,
a misfortune, a craven?

What should we call ourselves, when we’re en masse?
Or should we just leave, and give the world back?


Today’s Prompts

August 19, 2014


A hero doesn’t need
magical powers
or even great strength.
A hero is one who tries,
knowing they have neither.


Simple pleasures,
so easily forgotten or denied.
In truth so important,
for what is life without them
but hard work and misery?


I bleed not because of you,
but for you—
that you might know
the pain you’ve caused
and vow to be more careful.


If you wish to be my hero,
do not charge
to die for my honour,
but stay by my side,
and keep me warm.


As a hero,
it is not your duty
to hide your pain,
but to bare your scars
for the good of all who suffer.


Occasionally, he sifts his fingers
Through the ashes of a life long ago,
But all he remembers now is the fire.

Prompts by: @HeartSoupPoems, @ThatPoetrySite and @TheSavageHearts

The Prizefighter

August 17, 2014

He was rugged,
Never lost in war;
never played at love.
Solid to the touch
and to the test.
But in that first kiss,
she saw behind the intricate veil
of his public persona
and into the delicacy of his soul.
In that first kiss,
she felt her prizefighter soften.
When she was in his arms,
they lived together in a magical kingdom,
where his strength and his love
would keep her safe forever.


August 10, 2014

Beneath the skin
Is an entire universe
Of beating heart
And trembling soul,
Where good and bad
Play soldiers every day.

Beneath the skin
Is where I live,
Is who I am,
Is what I mean,
Is everything I know
To be true.

Beneath the skin
Is a topsy turvy,
Turbulent, treacherous,
Tremendous treat.
But I know you
will never tread that deep.

Today’s Prompts

August 4, 2014

In my eternal absence,
do not feel alone.
But rather, feel me around you
In the very pulse of the universe.

Let the wind blow through your hair,
and let the rain wash down your face;
let the Sun warm your lips,
for I am the wind, I am the rain, I am the Sun.

Inspired by #fieryverse.


August 3, 2014

After all the love,
all the laughter,
all the life has run dry,
will it matter what we were
to an empty, silent world?

He lives in a junkyard. Scraps of other people’s lives litter his home.

His heart was long since broken, so he fashioned a new one from junkyard scraps and tacked it in place with sticky tape—he figured it should hold out for one night.

Inspired by prompts at #HeartSoup by @HeartSoupPoetry


October 22, 2013

He liked bubbles.
I remember that well.
They made him happy,
something about them being round.
Something about how a circle
represents perfection.
He used to say
that the world could be perfect,
if only we’d stop looking for flaws.
He used to say
that our perception defined our abilities;
that impossible was a boundary we created
for ourselves.
He felt that love was the answer
to all of the important questions
but that the world only cared
about the petty ones.
He felt that God was the reason
for most of the hate
and most of the hope
in most of the world.
In his early days,
the world didn’t know the truth about him
but eventually, that truth died
when he drew on the lies
and pasted on a smile
that didn’t reach his eyes.
I saw him painting in the dark one night
with only shades of grey.
I asked him what it was
and he said, heaven
and when he let himself bleed dry,
I prayed that’s not where he would go.
He liked bubbles.
I remember that well.

Come to Me

August 23, 2013

I close my eyes a thousand times a day,
Because in the dark, I always see your face.
You get me through all my darkest hours,
In the dead dry desert, you’re a bed of flowers</p?

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

’cause it’s your memory that keeps me going;
Though you’re gone, I feel your presence growing.
I never thought that I could live without you
But if I close my eyes, it’s like I don’t really have to

In a crowded room, I can feel alone—
You always knew when to take me home—
But if I turn off the lights, I can feel you near,
And when I go to sleep, well you’re still here.

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

When I’m asleep, come back to me.

The Full Moon

May 13, 2013

With his back to the door,
seated, shrunken on the floor
in dim yellow light
and deep obsidian fright,
he listens to the heavy thuds
thumping hesitantly, unsteadily closer—
at odds with the beat of his heart
racing faster and harder.
The final footstep falls
just inches away from where he sits
and the door pushes against his back,
and as it opens he shuffles forwards.

And now he is running,
without looking back,
knowing too well what he’ll see.
In the distance he sees the full moon
that has brought the beast here,
and he runs towards the pale disc,
claws thrashing at his back.

Our brave adventurer runs on,
amongst the carcasses of those that went before,
those that could not outrun the beast,
could not evade its long arms,
but our hero is determined.
Ahead he sees salvation:
a black hole in the ground,
surrounded by gnarled, heavy roots.
If he can make it inside,
he’s sure the beast will not be able to follow.

The lion-hearted champion holds his breath—
he knows that timing is everything;
he steels himself, siezes his chance
and dives headlong towards the burrow,
not knowing what might lie therein
but sure nothing can be worse
than the beast on his tail.
He’s almost safe, almost escaped,
but he shrieks as he feels the thick roots
curling around his ankles.
Alive with evil—carniverous—they pull,
and he cannot resist their strength.

He is dragged from the tunnel,
arms outstretched towards hope,
losing his grasp more by the second.
Backwards he is hauled,
nothing more to be done,
and then the beast twists his body
to look at him.
He clamps his eyes shut,
to look is to give the beast what it wants,
and though he knows he has lost,
he refuses to give himself up.

He hears that dreadful sound,
the thing he fears the most,
as the beast unsheathes its blade.
And though he doesn’t understand it,
though it makes no sense,
he knows what is coming.
He whimpers as the beast impales him,
trying to control himself,
to hide his weakness.
He wants to fight it, even tries,
but he is just a boy,
and the beast is too strong.

Eventually, the poison-tipped blade is drawn from him,
but the damage is done,
its blight left inside his body,
and he wants to cry for his mother,
but he knows better than that.
He knows the beast will listen for his cries,
and seek her too, if it hears.
All he can do is stay silent,
and prepare for the next full moon.

He is just a boy,
but one day he will be strong—
One day he will win.

The Party

April 21, 2013

Surrounded by friends, he remains silent.
There are people here he hasn’t spoken to for years;
people he had forgotten about;
people who had surely forgotten about him.
And yet they have come.
They are here for him
but he remains silent.
He never was very good company.
If anything, he would have preferred no party at all.
But then, that’s not the done thing.
So there is a party
but he remains silent.
It really is a rather good party;
but he has no idea;
he never was a lover of parties.
He’d always preferred quiet time,
private time,
and if not for these guests,
whom he had not invited,
that’s what he would be doing now.
They talk about him
but he remains silent.
Some talk to him,
but he remains silent.
Several weep at his very feet,
but he remains silent.
Now and ever.