old growth

humanity’s death started as a fashion.

bodies stained dollar bill green,

and cells verdant with foreign genes

growing into us, as ivy grows

into old brick.


escape from city life

with the clean air seeping from your pores.

greenhouse gases – now your slaves, and your sugars.

better to farm yourself than to rape the earth.

saving the world – a side-effect of free food,

and guilt-free minds.


but those seeds took root too deep.

forests grew from our flesh, swollen and rough.

when it rips, count rings –

new skin for each year passed.


hands that once held chainsaws and coffee cups,

now splintered.

a cascade of skeleton branches, and leaves

quivering with sunrise

that bleed when broken.


This placed in the finals of the Parallel Universe Poetry Competition.

old growth


Faced with modern age

I will myself to ignorance.

Bleach all doubt, and lyse

hard-earned wisdom

‘till I stand zealous

in a world where Darwin’s finches fly unseen,

and Satan stands a fallen angel,

not mere symbol of human vice

and Roman subjugation.


Let me hunt Saints relics,

cross green and pleasant land

with skin anointed

by lightsworn priests.

Give me the hope of heaven

and I will treasure life

with the fervour of a child

turning thrice for Bloody Mary.


The night holds no terror now

with stars finite and distant, our moon


to a Cold War ambition

and the insolence of a footprint.


This was originally published by the Turl Street Arts Festival.