In layers of sediment

are our pasts mapped out,

body upon body,

mind upon my mind.

Within each nook and cranny

lies a potential me, you, us

to be discovered and diagnosed,

mulled over and assumed.

But I do not wish

to be laid down so easily.

I do not wish to be compacted

into future turf.

Instead, I wish to be the grass on the brim,

the tree on the precipice,

or better still the angel

that hovers from above.

No, not sediment for me,

but the amalgamated colours

with which it shines.

Tic-Toc Grandfather Clock (Finale)

 Tic-toc goes the Grandfather Clock.
 “They are yours to care for now, sir.”
 I had made it to the attic almost completely thanks to Dunlop’s aid. He had pulled and tugged and beckoned me on until we stood before the old, padlocked door. The ticking that I had thought my own sole infirmity rang tenfold there. When Dunlop threw open the door and lighted the oil lamp it had increased beyond aural capability. I had almost cried.
 There were hundreds of them. From pocket watch to carriage clock, carriage clock to pillar & scroll, the dusty floorboards was littered with them. Each individual timepiece looked to me in turn all with once human eyes. They had lost their master, their Grandfather, their maker, the grandest clock of all; I was their new Lord.
 Generations of automaton lay before me, as Dunlop drew back musty curtains to reveal them for what they truly were. Some would have damned them, others destroyed them, I would cherish them. Some needed slight adjustment, others just a few caring words, but at my arrival and positioning at their centre the disparate noise grew synchronous and I had a reason for being. For the first time in my life the boy born with a silver spoon knew what it meant to have purpose.
 My life would be one of preserving that which humanity cherishes most: Time. For what is time without clocks to measure it?
 Tic-toc goes the Grandfather and his clocks.

 (Image courtesy

Tic-Toc Grandfather Clock (Part Three)

 Tic-toc goes the Grandfather Clock
 I felt the change take hold over the period of just a few weeks. Dunlop said nothing of it. I sensed he’d seen it all before. He fed me when needed, and allowed me time to myself when not. The passage of days became marked by my…I can only say alterations.
 My skin took on a burnished tone as brass newly polished, my eyes unblinking and dry. It was fascinating, although I should rather have viewed it on another. But it was what took place beneath the epidermal layer that jarred: blood oozing, more sap than flowing life; heart moving to a pendulum-like motion, no longer a pulsing organ.
 I rarely left my Grandfather’s chamber. I simply did not wish it. Instead, I luxuriated in the opulence of Grandfather’s gathered curios. Sun and moon dawdled beyond the leaded windows and I lost the desire to care which was which. It got to a point where I preferred the darkness. So standing straight for the first time in a week, I rose to close the curtains and found I could not move. That is when Dunlop entered, dour-faced and solemn.
 “Sir, I do believe it is time to meet the others.”
 Tic-toc goes the Grandfather Clock

 (Image courtesy

Tic-Toc Grandfather Clock (Part Two)

Tic-Toc goes the Grandfather Clock.
 I burnt my Grandfather’s body with the aid of Dunlop, his butler. The man did not bat an eyelid when seeing the construct whose employ he’d been under. Dunlop must have known from the start, but he would speak nothing of it. We watched the acrid smoke and white-hot flames together as amalgamation met pyre. It was a send off less than befitting for any mortal man let alone a duke, but I dared not risk more.
 My brothers and sisters did not understand. How could they? Their anger at my unusual behaviour was compounded at the reading of Grandfather’s will: he left everything to me. I was the new Earl of Westhaversham and held the estate to show for it. I knew I would probably never see my siblings again.
 The day Dunlop collected me in the Bentley was one etched into memory. A day that I tried to forget, but knew I would not.
 We reached the manor close to midnight, Dunlop holding open the manor door, my manor, and bowing respectfully. I strode in trying to remain stalwart despite my mixed feelings for the place, when I heard it. Dunlop said nothing leaving me without another word.
 It was to Grandfather’s favourite chair that I ventured collapsing into its cold embrace with the tic-toc sound of clockwork assailing my senses. No matter how I covered my ears, nor hummed, nor listened to the newly falling rain beating against the windows could I escape it. That’s when I realised the noise stemmed not from memory, nor madness, but from my own ticking chest. It rose and fell in perfect synchronicity to the metronomic sounds of tic-toc ticking. What had I become?
 Tic-Toc goes the Grandfather clock.


 Counting down the days
 Until I’m gone,
 It could be short,
 But it won’t seem long.
 You see:
 I fear I won’t amount
 To much either way,
 I just hope my words
 Will live to see the day.
 When people remember,
 My preference, a child,
 That something I’ve written
 Made them feel wild;
 Fantasy enthused
 For at least a short while,
 I think that I’d like that;
 I think I would smile.
 So, I’ll strive to pour out
 The words that I hold
 And regardless of critics
 Always be bold,
 So when that clock strikes
 My final hurrah,
 Perhaps, someone will know
 My name in that hour.


 My sojourn
 In a place, I’d rather
 Not have dreamt.
 That is my reason for writing,
 So that my real home,
 The one I reach for
 Through my keyboard,
 Is never
 The dreams that flow from brain,
 To fingertips,
 To reality,
 Provide the berth,
 I so desperately need.
 Their flow is relentless,
 As is life,
 But in opposing view.
 Yes, temporary I may be,
 But my words shall remain,
 And with them
 A little of myself.

No Regrets

 I’m trying to listen
 I’m trying to cope
 But what good’s a life
 In a world with no hope
 Tears are falling
 To join with the sea
 With billions of others
 Who feel just like me
 Endlessly striving
 That must be our creed
 Just think to the children
 And what we must leave
 So when we’ve departed
 And look back at blue
 We needn’t point fingers
 And say, I told you

 (Image courtesy