Dave was the smallest of the trees. “Barb,” He shouted across to his auntie, “They’re coming!” He screamed, the alarm rose up a notch in his voice.
“Who is?” Barb trilled, a blue tit perched on one of her branches.
“They are!” Dave pointed behind him with one of his branches.
“You’ve got so many branches, Dave! How am I supposed to know which way you’re pointing!”
Dave rolled his eyes, “They’re coming to chop us down!”
Barb’s eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O shape. The blue tit that was perched on her flapped its wings and flew into her mouth. “Ya iccle shit,” She struggled to say as it’s feet padded along her tongue.
“Hurry, auntie Barb! They want to make books!”
Auntie Barb stopped in her tracks and spat out the blue tit. The bird landed in a pile of leaves and looked around dazed and confused. “What book they making?”
Dave rolled his eyes again, “Listen, Barb! We really gotta catch up with the rest! Do you want to be a book!”
Barb continued to dawdle her eyes heavy from lack of sleep, “Depends what book I’d be.”
Dave formed an O with his mouth now, his eyes blinking in astonishment. The bluetit had since caught up with them and flew into his mouth. “Oh ya….” He started and spat out the little cheeky git.
“What book do you suppose I’d be?”
“You wouldn’t be one book! You’re too big!”
Barb gasped, “Are you calling me fat?”
“NO!” Dave shouted in irritation.
“Oh, you’re saying I’m tall.” She smiled and puffed up her afro of branches, “One of the things your uncle loved about me!” She looked up to the heavens opening above, “Oh for the love of all things!” She cursed, “Have you got an umbrella?”
“Why would a tree have an umbrella?” Dave asked appalled.
“You don’t have an umbrella then?”
“No! Trees don’t use umbrellas!”
“Well,” Barb closed her eyes and lifted her face proudly, “I do!” Barb huffed.
“Mum told me you were weird.”
“I bet she bloody did!”
Dave looked behind him at the men driving their big machines, “Hurry!” He started faster.
“I hope I don’t become a Stephen King book!” Barb blabbed on with herself.
“If you hurry up no one will be turning you into a novel!”
“What about a scientific textbook then?”
“Or any kind of book!”
“If I become a Stephen King book it’ll be a real fright!” Barb said, picking up her pace to catch up with Dave who was now running on ahead.
“Where is ya dad?”
“He’s at the front!”
Barb leaned closer to Dave, “Do ya think,” She whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Do ya think that If I were a book, I could be the bible?”
“Bound in leather?” Dave humoured her.
“Oh my god! With gold at the edges of the pages!”
“Poor old cow.” Dave shook his body and trudged along sadly.
“Did you just call me an old cow?” Barb huffed, “I’ll have you know I’m an old dear, not an old cow.”
“I’m talking about Shelia.” Dave reminded her of the field across the road.
Barb took a glimpse, “What about Shelia?”
“She’s gonna be wrapped around you when you’re a holy bible!”
“She wouldn’t wrap herself around me!” Barb said dismissively.
“I didn’t say she’d do it voluntarily.”
“And I won’t be holy that’d ruin the aesthetics.”
“Come on mad Barb,” Dave started to usher her along faster, “Let’s keep up with the others now!”
“If I could choose what book I’d be,” Barb continued drawling on, “I’d be a Matt Johnson book.”
“Who the fuck is Matt Johnson?” A male tree in front of them piped up.
“You know! That Gorilla!”
“A gorilla?”
“Yes, James! A gorilla!” She tutted.
“A gorilla that writes, that’s insane!” James beamed.
They stopped talking as the army of trees came to a sudden halt. An eerie stillness settled over them and a breeze flitted through their branches. The sky became grey with a pregnant silence before the shudder of thunder and a lick of lightning, but the sound of the marching trees outmatches the storm. The trees have risen and are on a rampage of vengeance; we humans shall become pulp fiction!


The words come
easy go
because I feel hard done
Oh woe is me woe is woe
Got a blue heart
Thrashing against my bones
Feeling thoughts, I don’t even know
The way the words are supposed to go
Building walls
Without foundations
Climbing ladders
With falling rungs
Maybe if I just smoke
All these things into my lungs
Till I’m bluer than grey
With my name etched in stone
More permanent than my existence
Are the words on my tongue.


Wired by the violence
That mars our existence
Your face is stormy silence
Drafted into this war
Dragging guilt through the sands
Of the desert
Dry lips
Grenade in your belt at the hips
It’s a gamble
As you grapple
Life at the end of a barrel
Keep your eyes on the medal
Framed on the mantel
One wrong move
Watch your manner
You don’t know who might wield the hammer
Eyes wide
Never closed
Can’t afford to be a star after death
You want that cigar at the end
Clenched between your teeth
Instead of bullets.






Let it snake through my veins
the ink of yesterday’s
Delinquent stupid ways
Ebbing mortality
In the hiss of its forked tongue
Venom and white noise
We’ve been dying all along
transplanting hearts
To prolong
This presence in the throng
Suspending life
Already withdrawn
Suspecting no where to belong

Let it snake through my veins
What’s at stake for today
Life could never be wrapped
Strapped or trapped
Life finds a way unmapped
Till death comes to detract
The world carries on
Which ever way the odds are stacked
It’s all the same impact
Whether broken or just cracked
It’s die, or adapt
But in the end
We’re all just paper trail artefacts

Why not let us know you like my writing? Much appreciated if you do Thanks, Mucker


My ire

Trying not to be angry
But fuck I’m full of heated fury
Got a book about how to deal with ‘difficult people’
Got an app that guides me through meditation
A shit load (and that’s a scientific measurement) of guilt after the irritation turns to insults
But I’m like a dog with a bone
As this ire surges through my blood
Adrenalin, heart racing
The devil in my head wants to get up to no good
In revenge, you’ll find glory
It says
But I know it’s a lie
But I’ve got this monster in a cage
and I don’t think I can keep it forever contained
It’s spinning and whirling in frenzied, energetic bursts
Colliding with the bars and making my stomach lurch.
Take a breath and count
Down to madness
Take a breath and count
the hours
One more little niggling doubt
One more little niggling hit
One more little stab in the back
And i’m gonna burn, i’m gonna blow
Till i’m back in the abyss
And it swallows me whole.
I know this storm is my own
But it seems to me It’s always a one way street
And I’m back to thinking the same things the books tell me are wrong
Because I can’t put my finger on it
Can’t find the words
But it sounds like bullshit
Since your fucking advice only works
If EVERYONE ELSE reads your fucking words
And took them to heart
And made a new start
Otherwise, somehow my anger is never justified
And that makes me better, because? Because why?
“You shouldn’t think your anger is justified it continues the cycle,” I nod in agreement
Till I realise these words are holding me to a standard
Impossible for humans
And you’ll tell me everything I’m saying here is the problem
And we’ll go full circle because I’m “Wrapped in myself.”
I’m tired of seeing it from their point of view
It’s all I ever seem to fucking do

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