Since transcribing the last two poems on this site I had a somewhat painful realisation. In all of 2016 I only wrote two poems. Two. Fucking. Poems.

I mean they take me what, a couple hours to write?! And that’s if I am struggling with them. Often times they just flow out onto the page, I say, yeah that’s good enough, and the job is all done in five minutes.

So for my new years resolution I have pledged to write four poems per month in 2017. I have already failed at this. But failure has never stopped be before, so I will continue inflicting the world with my bad poetry none the less. Herewith, I present my first effort of the year.

Written on 20-01-2017. Posted here in February 2017.


A pushing need drives me toward the abyss.
In an endless trudge I move forward with no destination in sight or in mind.
I climb the staircase I have made of blocks pulled from the Jenga tower of my hopes and dreams.
I try to tread softly. But the blocks are beaten into flat and boring shapes despite my efforts.

At any step I know I could exhale, flop down and exclaim, this’ll do.
But the need pushes and pushes and pulls me onward.
It cares not if I stumble or falter or fall.
I protect my eyes from its blinding rays of hope, and carry onward.

I bring with me only the barest of essentials and I fear they are not enough.
And even though I trudge next to those I hold dear the journey is a lonely one.
Fraught with worry for my tiny bindle of belongings and principles.
I scramble at every turn to keep them held tight and not to lose them along the way.


This is one of those more rambly poems I must admit. No real sense of rhyme or rhythm. But that is a reflection of its content really. It’s about the slow, often dreary process one goes through as they age wherein each novel idea one has had, when properly examined or tested, ends up being just as pointless or worthless or poorly executed as the last. Depressing perhaps. But to quote a thief who is considered clever just for putting on body armour; such is life.