#Instaverse is on Hiatus

July both started and finished as something of a personal disaster area for me, and so inevitably my work ended up suffering. Therefore, the decision was taken to call a halt to the #Instaverse, by which time I could not find the means by which to reintroduce them successfully back into my workflow.

August was always planned to be a month off (as there is no Short Story, either), and that’s still very much the case going forward. Therefore, the daily poetry is now scheduled to return on Monday, September 6th, which will also include the by now standard audio accompaniment.

Thank you for your understanding, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.

Poetry Archive :: Inside

Here’s the first of two specially-written pieces for #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek: as discussed last Monday, body image is a big deal for me and is something I’ve struggled with for decades. Now, however, it is not nearly as problematic as was once this case.

I suppose, as a result, you could consider this piece autobiographical.


Afraid of myself, skin tight
fights image others present,
content with themselves: not here
inside, conflict remains.
Body, not who I am.

Constant, persistent beat
‘life not good enough’
repeats, eat more, ignore
conflict, inside remains.
Mind, not what to think.

Understanding, emerge
chrysalis breaks, expanding
wings; inspired desire
love yourself, unbound.
Love, now what you are.

Without filters, building
inner confidence, no
co-incidence, expanding
horizons, new options.
Grasp what can now be.

Result: evolution brings
joyous optimism, ignore
criticism, other’s beauty
not my duty to uphold.
What I am: strong, bold.

Poetry Archive :: Olive

Just as a reminder: daily poetry, with a weekly archive will be going away in May to make way for my Project of Awesome.

I’ll see you again in June.


A branch, offered: shady
grove, Mediterranean
sun providing unique,
tiny ovals of joy.

Core cuisine, oleaceae
cultural cornerstone,
biblical sacrifice;
sign, disaster at end.

Greek medicine, anoint
athletes and kings, crown
glory; sacrament, poetic
Odyssey carves cults.

Such humble fruit, devolved
ingredient, component
ancient history: cornerstone
pitted, removed; discarded.

Hues through green and red,
tastes across tongue, remind
warmer climes, happier times
tree of life, past combined.

Poetry Archive :: Fern

Again, huge fun from a static start. Enjoy.


Tiny, fractal
universe unwinding;
Euclidean space,
Mandelbrot growth.

except, close up
noteworthy mathematics,
expansion, precise.

Most uncommon weed,
ancient arbiter, history
except, in truth
bifurcation a lie.

Such a tiny plant,
significant in context;
coal’s building block
Victorian motif.

Pteridologist, step up
fern expert: educate
wondrous species,
spiral history.

Poetry Archive :: Mantis

This week’s micro-poetry was, it has to be said, summat of a triumph. That first line is what does it, of course: start strong, they say. Amazingly, the rest then pretty much wrote itself.

Some weeks, you just get lucky, I suppose.


Confession: I ate him,
slightly tart, filling
sex, then stomach;
no regrets remain.

Brave bug did his duty,
species preservation;
he died happy,
I made sure of that.

As mother of futures
responsible pleasure,
sacrifice made;
continues our line.

Consumption essential
conception so stressful;
really peckish
his head hit the spot.

Ultimate sacrifice
gone with true feeling,
missed already:
what can I eat now?

Poetry Archive :: Jungle

April for poetry isn’t just themed, it is the beginning of an intentional process of detachment. My brain, built as it is, has an almost obsessive need sometimes for order and control. However, increasing amounts of current poetry is anything but: free-form verse, little or no controlled structure, simply feelings falling from brain to page. What matters far more than a framework is the emergence of a unique poetic ‘tone’, rhythm of vocal presentation that only really manifests when the works are read aloud.

Therefore, I’m working hard on the process of attempting to decouple brain from structure. This week’s the foundation point, and Twitter’s restrictions make this a lot more conventional than I’d like, which we will address with next week’s subject matter. For now, however, it works as a means of environmental protest.


Chlorophyll canopy, dancing
sunlight, humid motes
thousand-hued boughs:
welcome to the jungle.

Insect population, living
ecosystem, multicoloured
sensational overload:
moment in crisis.

Over-zealous farmers, stripping
green’s worth, bulldozing
entire species, extinction:
all for profit.

Planetary meltdown, stripping
colour, diversity’s
green turns to dust:
variety extinction.

Joint responsibility, changing
money-driven attitudes
preserve the jungle:
secure Earth’s future.

Poetry Archive :: My One and Only Love [Parisian Remix]

We’ll be going back to writing new verse next week, having learnt a significant amount not only about myself, but how this entire process works best. A lot has been taken from not just my original working practices, but also how words are changing over time. Needless to say, there’s plenty of stuff left to go back and alter, if and when the mood strikes (or I’m in the position where reality does not allow me the ability to be so free with my time.)

I’ll see you bright and early on Monday for the new gubbins, for now take a look at this poem’s evolution from the original published last February.

My One and Only Love

Will never fail to understand
always willing, just take their hand:
my one and only soothes dark soul
returning peace, beating heart whole.

Her arrondissements surround
life weary girl, effect profound;
agreement between life and death
remain strong even when bereft.

The Seine will calm inherent fear,
bathes understanding strong and clear:
snug cafe warmth to Tour Eiffel,
sing Notre Dame’s distinctive bells.

Strong sounds now heal all broken parts
both mind and body, hope restarts;
life’s reconstruction through belief
toxic elimination, brief.

This city never cheats nor lies;
brings joy, both greeting then goodbyes,
my one and only, staunch best friend:
Paris, beginning without end.

Poetry Archive :: The Sensual World (Redux)

It has been mentioned elsewhere that this week has very much involved an improvement to process, but that was primarily wrapped around short story writing. This piece has not significantly altered from it’s original, when all is said and done. Crucially the verse benefits from an increased awareness of my inner poetic ‘voice.’ That has been subsequently lent to short-form fiction this week too: finding the means by which descriptive passages can gain that same lyricism is a skill that was previously lacking.

Also, crucially, capital letters are no longer a Thing.

The Sensual World

Smooth, grasping hand pulls forward need,
equal pressure soft lips then feed:
upon sweet fruits these bodies yield
whilst layered warmth ‘neath cotton shield.

As coupling cements joint dance
desire sires passion, both advance,
beyond blood’s simple pulsing beat
each small release; orgasms fleet.

Quiet coalescing, strengthened whole
compelling mind, intertwined souls:
together locked, deepening tryst
no pain or doubt ever exist.

Successive sparks of passion flare,
between two hearts burden declares
smooth strengthening, our final form:
life redefines accepted norm.

Our sensual world, never far
within whatever space we are
requiring simplest care to fuel;
eternal fountain, love’s renewal.

Poetry Archive :: Hate

Welcome to Week Two of ‘Editing my own Work for Fun’ and not only is this still true, but it’s becoming very much the learning experience. This, structurally, was a bit of a challenge: working to strict syllable counts has the potential to do my head in on difficult days. As a result, there is a bit of difference between original and the new, updated version. Extra snacks if you can see where the change has been made.

The micropoetry sequence selected for next week is already making me sweat…

[The original of this poem can be found here.]


Standing still, attentive:
yet somewhat sarcastic,
love no longer fantastic.
What was possessed, departs;
passion evaporates,
relationship predates.

So overly cheerful
increasingly grating
becoming nauseating.
Acting quite the grown up:
no need for words twisted,
might yet have persisted…

Were it not for hard fact:
you’re still sleeping with him
lies wound around, kith and kin.
Grasping one’s not enough,
taking risks, pleasure both
harsh abuse, marriage oath.

Sexuality’s fine,
not where objection lies
relishing first girls then boys.
You married me, alone
not brother: so therefore
high time, show you the door.

Hate, not strong enough word,
two lives combust, apart
harshest truth, destroying hearts.
Happiness, disappears
pulling deceit too close.
mass deception exposed.

Poetry Archive :: Transition One

Welcome to the first of what will be four week’s worth of recycled content, looked at with what probably counts as a more mature set of eyes, considering the original of this piece was first written just over a year ago. The brief for all these ‘upgrades’ is simple: improve on the originals. In this case that means a significant reduction of personal pronouns, and a rearrangement of narrative flow.

This feels and reads better than the original, so we’re going to mark this first week as a success. Also, that’s a FAR better accompanying graphic…

Transition One

No way I change
moment to better;
stop panicking
pull self together.

What gives heart joy
lifestyle arranging:
bad thoughts dispensed,
worry, exchanging.

Remember truth
easily salvaged;
fighting each fire,
restricting damage.

Finally fixed:
dust motes cling, settled:
facts filed, life saved,
from ideas levelled.

All problems solved
objective destroyed;
disaster ends,
worry… unemployed.

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