The Russian Man


Led through a Finnish forest

The slow, ankle high, crunching underfoot

A russian man, unnamed, laughing

With such peace in his heart

It almost feels warmer

He knows what is coming

The war will finally end when he is gone

At least, for him

He accepts the death that awaits them all

Thinking through his life

His mother and father

Smiling at him through a window

Waving goodbye

His little sister

Playing with her toy doll

Near the fireplace

Singing songs with his friends by a bonfire

Getting drunk for the first time

Vommiting violently after drinking games

Laying with his sweetheart in bed

Letting the hours fly on by

Staring into her eyes

The Finnish man readies his pistol

Raising it to his forehead

The Russian man still laughing

Lost in his memories


The blood seeps deep into the snow





A Seedling in a Vast Sky

I am soft spoken with a hard crust

I trip and fall over words

As hurdles are presented to me

I ride through the wind

Shaking like a leaf

But I’m sturdy as a tree

My Gran always said!

“Be bamboo, flexible, bend with the wind, don’t break!”

Through the strong smell of wine

Chase your dreams, they say

Well I just can’t seem to pick one

So for the mean time I’ll float like a dandelion

Germinating where I land

Word Bubbles

I’ve got so much to say

I spray foam words from my mouth

Not intelligent words

But clear, striking and authentic

They float off in the sky

As bubbles

Exploding into rainbows


Sometimes I use words that are false

That are overly complicated

That confuse

My mouth emits a soggy fog

that lays a mist

On everything I see

The sun tries to break through

While I’m left in a mist

Of my own making

A Samurai’s Tsunami

Helmet of insect horn

Armour made as hard as ants

Mask crafted by demons

Deep in their seven hells

And a long sword

Restrained within it’s scabbard

Smithed from the smoothest of waters

Calm yet vicious

He releases it

Upon his foes

It’s waves hit enemy after enemy

A relentless tsunami

His dead opponents

Hang from his sword

Adding their weight to it

A ghastly gift

Each wave harder to send

But hitting even stronger

Wanting their blood to mingle

Within its shores

Sometimes when father lets me

Touch his sword

I can hear them all moan in unison

Begging for more blood

Skeleton on a Dune Buggy

Driving a dune buggy across the desert

There’s a sandstorm ahead

I drive right through it

The sand bites at my skin

Waging war

I don’t mind so much about losing

So I let the sand win

It takes my flesh away

Beating it into the ground

Burying it

Into the shifting dunes


An Arabic guitar

Plays off in the distance

I drive towards the sound

Like a moth to a flame

I drift to a halt

He seems rather shocked to see me

“Shouldn’t you wrap up? it’s awfully cold”

I guess I can’t feel it in my bones

An Acorn’s Life

I suppose it’s only fitting

That I am born an acorn

There’s nothing wrong with being one

You see,

There’s no judging or judgement

No Sadness

Or even happiness

I can’t talk to my fellow Acorns

Or Mother Tree

But if I could

What would I talk to them about?

I bask in my own existence

And let the elements

Guide me to my new home

I let them decide my fate

While I simply soak it all in

I wonder when it will rain again?