Sorry for my prolonged absence and lack of posting on here. I wanted to take a few weeks away form this, write some more poems (ones which are worth sharing), meeting up with mates and....playing FIFA 17. 

To make up for this, I'll be posting some of my favourite poems I've written over the past month. Here's one I want to share because it ties in splendidly well with today  :) Hope you enjoy!

​You nuzzled into my fresh stubble
Whilst remnants of hardened toffee
Nested in the crack of your lips.
Our eyes following the flares heading sky bound
Until our necks jarred back, upon crackled impact.
 
But then the late autumn frost
Took grasp of our spines
Sending them into numb spasm.
We drew to the conclusion
That now as the hour to perhaps retreat
To the warmth indoors. 

Aha - another song lyric that I have tried to convert into a poem! A silly one to spruce up your Tuesday morning. Please note that this is not based on real events...

A scorching 31 degrees, I stand here alone.
A European paradise compared to back home.
A suitcase and guitar in hand
Hunting adventure on foreign land
Soon I’ll be stripped down to the bone - left naked in Rome.
 
In early siesta hours she caught my eager eye.
Her coffee skin, her LA smile left me mesmerized
Her words I couldn’t understand
It all came clear when she took my hand
And down some streets nobody knows to get naked in Rome.
 
She then force-fed me some chardonnay
That she had smuggled from Calais
But wait – no tannins in its taste-
Her glass doesn’t look the same
She cackled as I passed out on the floor.
 
Woken from a drugged up haze-I’ve been out cold for hours.
My clothes and cash have been removed, my sweat now tasting sour.
My limbs are all that I have left
To get me out of this sodding mess
I’m penniless, nowhere to go, stuck naked in Rome. 

If you enjoyed this poem, and I hope you did, please leave a comment or give it a like and share on Facebook or Twitter. You can also check out all of my other poems here. 

Two posts on a Tuesday? Yes indeed - to make up for my poor blogging last week, I thought I'd share a blog post AND a poem. Here's one that took a while to conjure up, but once I did the first stanza, it was written in minutes. If you want to to make me feel like doing backflips around my living room, please do share this poem and maybe give it a like or comment. Thanks for being patient!
 
The coca-cocaine parties
The weekend spews at 10
The cycle of sleeping and shagging
Repeats itself again
The brown, the crack, the weed, the smack
The remedies of her world
Are a far off cry from the glamorous life
Promised to the matchstick girl
 
A head of hair thatched upon
Walls of weak foundation
The chic new style to fill the aisles
And sweep entire nations.
She’s Bambi on ice in a dress so tight
It would make your mother hurl
But we live in a time where all women pine
For the look of the matchstick girl
 
The big old Pappa Razzi
Guard her every step
From the same hold-hand fanatics
That crave her vinous breath
The punks, the queens, the teenage dreams
Who buy their love with pearls
Stick close to her side and somewhat abide
They’re friends with the matchstick girl.
 
The Sunday evening voicemails
The daily text of pain
From a desolated mother
Who begs to see her again.
The pleas, the cries, the tears don’t dry
While apologies unfurl
For the sins, the aches and major mistakes
Made by the matchstick girl. 

Whey - I'm back. Here's a poem a wrote a while back after deciding to have a play-around with free form style.  I feel the poem kinds of explains itself. Don't forget like, share or comment if you particularly enjoyed it. 
 
I see him
With you
In this iron clad embrace.
His eyes
Scanning your drives and pathways.
 
His fingerprints
Forcing ink
Within your shivering sides
Overwriting all emotion.
His branding sinking in.
 
It kills the current in those deadwood wires,
The what-could-have-beens and dreams within -
Hacked by hardware overload.
 
And you show no remorse,
No joy. Not even a shimmer of warmth
Nothing earthly sprouting from your manner
No pounce, no chase to brighten your soured eyes.
You can’t just stand there -
It barely makes you mortal.
 
I’ve tried to salvage what’s left.
Hell, I can’t arouse you  
From this hibernated state.
But heaven forbid,
Find yourself a fortunate friend
Whose touch would set your soul alight again.

And to here's a friendlier kind of touch. For nostalgia's sake. 

A short and sweet poem I wrote about the morning after the night before. And lying in - I could use a lie in right now. Where's that bank holiday gone again? Don't forget to like, share and comment! 

you’re a snuggler
a tangler
a logistical link of limbs
that end up intertwining with mine
 
you kick me over some of the duvet
in the gentlest of gestures
and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen
as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
 
but as the sun scowls through the window
that frames the four post
you wrap yourself in the sheets
like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
 
you natter to the bedbugs
the only ones who’ll listen to your curses
whilst me?
I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.

P.S. Did you know that I have a Facebook page now? Why not swing by and give it a like? You'll get the latest on Words Badly Woven and exclusive vlog updates every Sunday.