Chemical Knuckles..

Love wrapped in the spite of a woman
but none so bitter.
You offered me white wrapped chemical knuckles
given easily to mass destruction.
Me your prisoner – barbed wire snares –
Spitting hissing antidotes:
dining on your empty words.

Yet here I stand pleading on my knees
hunting us, to where the sea meets
its land of all ending.
What utter insanity dares to delegate,
that here, is where the final hierarchy
of our death shall be.
There is no miracle waiting to set you free
for when I descend; then so shall you
to that spiralling vortex far below.
Where once we stood to be divided –
We alone shall be; that final witness – on this
our endings: re-united downfall.

Poppy May 2013



Never was it said; that you
should consider me your futures survival.
Welts in the wall
smiles lost, in the long, long grass.
Empty lone vigils, night ambushes –
now marinated in rancid breath.
You speak to me in black and white
outlining the last laugh of satire,
stippling its decoys –
surrounded by life’s once rainbow of colour.
A painted primitive illusion; for those
who still believe in fairy tales.

Apple blossom white, centre ices your life,
as year upon year you torch the melted candle.
A gathering of birthday’s, livings only proof:
that you still do exist!
Skylarks erupting upwards
open ever smaller cloudless windows, looking down
upon the self-possession of existing.
How loosely woven it has all become – this
the once binding fabric – of everyday happiness?
Lights of dappled shade –
penetrate to burn the now blemished skin.

Beat your pillow; for it will never fight you back.
Be glad at least that some triumphs –
still survive; however small the conquest may be.

Poppy May 29th 2013


Orchids White…

I am attired in blue eyed wide imaginings
trimmed with distaste.
Like some silent movie heroine
clasping each one to her breast.
Then she, slicing their umbilical – with cut throat
precision gives them back their liberty.

In silent victory, she watches as to the earth
they soak; this to be their freedoms final flight.
Ring out sweet merciless exposure, soaked barren to the skin –
red lipstick – black hats – mourners feign all tears.
See how easily they drown amid the flotsam
a red rose wooden frame – smiles back their recollections.
Fracture open this make believe insanity
for who is left that chooses to even know my name.
Move over; let me lay myself at odds with time.
Am I too late?
How can I know?
My worn out flood gates they bow to the weight.
Left alone I slice myself irregular chunks of gathering pain.  .
Will someone raise the lights offer me an interlude
– A prelude.
The atmosphere is upon me to cower and hide.
I do not desire anyone’s name accept my own.
My retreat has gone absent without leave.
Should I now be amazed to be lost in this maze?
What else terminates with death?
Outside that is, the never knowing who it was
that placed those orchids white
beside my endings path.




I want to communicate my disdain
Therefore; I shall tie a
mockingbird to your waist.
Paint its wings in silver stippled
dust then it shall earn its crust
mimicking your sterile laugh.
Well I –
Well I shall wear my pleasure
with new found liking.
Christmas gift wrapped –
  joyous out loud in splendid refrain
Sweet bonbons on the tongue ascribed by
any other; would be a bitter relish for my
mockingbird and I, to cherish…


Big changes to Dagda Publishing coming in the next few weeks – read on.

How Fantastic..

Dagda Publishing

Hello all, we have a few big things to share with you. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin.

First up, for those of you not connected to our Facebook page (go on – its on the left there), we can finally announce the release date of our anthology “Western Haiku: A Collection”, and some more details on it.

This collection of Haiku and non-traditional “Western” Haiku will be released on the 4th of June, and it will be available as a paperback copy on Lulu for £4.99 and as an eBook on Amazon (and hopefully other sites) for £2.99. With a great, crisp, clean cover design by A D Warr, and edited by our editors Reg Davey and Elena Hulme, it includes poetry by some of our regularly featured writers and new writers who you will want to check out.

With proceeds from the sale of the anthology…

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The Clock…

Sometimes my bones cry out in ache
already they miss the warmth of your touch.
Feelings of isolation watching as the
silent men and women move across the room.
All  to remind me,  just what loneliness is –
that searing pain of emptiness
with nothing in-between.
Look at me I want to scream
yet know that whilst you sleep
my selfishness should not disturb your calm.

Piece by piece we  have come to letting go.
What we hold today shivers
fragile in this clinical breeze –
Reminders of how transient, these hours can be.
Though not absent from me yet, your
pale-like features, echo whitewashed doom.
I search non expectant for someone to tell me please
should I be the one,  who lets go first.
For what rules dare come into play; when a loved one
remains in body – yet far from home in mind.
Would it be so incredibly selfish of me to ask
that you  sail that final voyage.
For I do not think I can sit to watch
another day go slowly by.
My whole life bound up in the ticking of
this hospital clock.

I dare not close my eyes
not turn to face away.
Your ending – my grief
Our story is ever far from being complete.
Therefore in a whispered promise; with all that I am
I shall tell you more
when next we come to meet…


Poppy May 2013

Burning Both Ends…

Would you have me
a guest at my funeral?
Smiling from the top of
my rain bowed battlement.
Scavengers and ravagers kissing
in mock, the hem of my gown amidst
a thread of tangled vines.
Death does not live in the taste of
a sweetened red cherry.
Do you think, everything here – is alive
should demise be kept in reserve.
So that I may grace your trodden steps
anoint your fevered brow.

Party’s end – now must come the time
my friend
Even those whose candles once met in
the middle bright –
must take their final curtain call.
Ask me where I have been, if you care
for then I shall reply – here and there
plus no where at all.
I have never been in – love.
Who, I ponder to enquire will remember my name
once the tide has washed the shingle bare.

I am frozen faced by the coldness
of the heart.
Something of yesterday –
clings to today.
Empty mirrors why do they always stare
back at me.
This apple she has already fallen far –
Expect, no season’s – windfall here…


Poppy May 2013 ~xx~

Break In…

Spread me lightly
for I have sinned.
Chant me a tune while
I bang the hammer.
Pump up the hookah pipes –
just a little party, nothing swanky
only the bar stools look
slouched and lonely – solitudes
a slayer.
I have the knack of being immune
so no more of your sick notes on poverty –
defunct coinage and hunger.
You climbed in through the window
didn’t you.
Then please be so kind
as to exit round the back, via the
door marked no entry.
Don’t sulk rejections are never
pondered – in suburbia.
Be warned – we always bury our dead.

Poppy 2012 ~xx~

No Kissing…

She shed her glory
like a tree in autumn fall
painted ruby mouth – blushing
over painted sallow skin
Was it for love – no – never
A misconstrued secluded sin
once, but no more.
She provided, they took,
let your own puritan thoughts
put to bed this ageless act
It was hers to peddle,
though never knowingly under sold
just fixed by the price of the street.
with her back against the wall.
the familiarity of urgency
sold – always with no kissing.
Poppy 2013 ~xx~

AA Annie….

She is the winged woman
sitting at her piano playing not a tune.
She never could –
even if appearing lost in the rhapsody
though only in her head.

Yesterday she popped a pill
making all the clouds stand still.
Someone came to knock on her door
only to go away again.
Not, exactly what you would call a very
exciting day – but then she likes
it that way.

Why do people complain when
their life is hum drum – yet refuse
to do anything about it.
Not a problem she recalls encountering.
Surfeit of drugs – then get pulled over
by the police.
Who in return sentence her to rehab
won’t cure the habit but
it will put and end to all the moaning.

Today is her first date with sobriety
everyone remembers their first date.
Followed by, every single meeting there after.
Hallelujah temperance Annie –
she sings it undiluted from the rafters.
Mind you, check your AA badge as un-permitted
breakdowns are illegal – even when you are
stone cold sober.

In her head, she is not mad far from it.
Everyone one else could well be, even
Shakespeare, who she is sure is now dead.
Anyhow, it’s all simply a matter of degrees.
To you she might well be holding up four fingers
when in reality she is only raising two…

Poppy May 2013 ~xx~