Blood of the Volcanic Sands

Sulphurous decomposition leaves a conversation of desiccated remains

and milky white bones beneath a parchment skin.

A rictus grin tells of pain and a tear falls from my eye.

My eye is drawn to a yellow biro pen in the jacket pocket of the corpse.

I wonder who put it there, for later, when it would prove invaluable.

Now I take the pen from the pocket and see it has the lid on still.

I remove a notepad from my pocket, remove the lid of the pen and am amazed to see

that it still works.

Marooned as I am between dessert and volcanic eruption it is all I can do not to cry.

What will become of me?

©2017 Andrew Watkins

Image result for red sand



Fish pie
In the everlasting…
We can only bow and take the strain
As they reign victorious
Mercy for those deep in transgression
In the house of God
Strength to those suffering
Joy to those in bondage
Freedom to those in chains
Epiphany to those in darkness
Pray that we may see

Wild horses shin Pegasus
Father unto Father
into the domain
under the ground
Where you may reign
in darkness
Light the fire of life
after that which drains you
and lifts you up in splendour
to new heights
Catch that plane tap that vein
Walk tall and don’t mess up.


©2017 Andrew Watkins

Jig Poem

Jig-saw jig-seen

Jig been there

Jig will try it…

Jig been…

Jig self upwards


Hands together

Going nowhere

Jig on, Jig out

Jig yourself out of a hole

Jig-me a melody

Jig inside to a tune

Jig on anywhere, anyplace love has been

Jig to the future, jig to the past

Jig going forward

It’s gonna be a blast!


© 2017 Andrew Watkins

Songwrite 6

Song For Sirens

Looking at my monitor in despair
Listening to songs I wanted to write
Maybe if we were together
I’d start to get things right

Now it’s so great to see you
And our friends are the magic glue
Baby I’m starting to believe
there’s nothing better than me and you.

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

Got my friends on my back again
Lost track of where we were heading
Oh Oh Oh! Oh Oh Oh!
Perhaps we should pack in for a while
this is doing my head in

Where, where, where
is the stone, stone, stone?
I’m gonna groan groan groan
All over this poem, poem, poem,
Oh Oh!

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

I feel it starting inside
that urge to get things right.
Oh Oh Oh-oh
Oh Oh oh-ho
This is so good were getting back together oh-oh.
That should do it for tonight. Oh.

Now it’s so great to see you
And our friends are the magic glue
Baby I’m starting to believe
there’s nothing better than me and you.

Now it so hard inside. Can’t seem to get things right
What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?

What happened? Oh Oh Oh?
What happened to our love?
©2017 Andrew  M Watkins


Inside a dream
Picking up mothballs from the carpet
Haven’t you heard yet
They do it inside
Impossible leanings
make no difference
to the tide
as if flows
Metaphor and simile
Carpets of Persephone
make glad-will for all men
Persephone will be done
Come to me and to hell
Don’t pass GO! Will there be
another CHANCE for me?
Persephone will be done
Thy Kingdom Come
On earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
will be done. Persephone comes
wearing nothing. There somewhere
is grace enough for me. Come and see
believe somewhere is real and will be done.
Where can you see that I cannot?
Did you come here heavenly
Upon a chariot of fire?
There is place for me by the open fire.Will
you sit next to me Soul in penury?


new flesh, specious crawling, on and off, touch

stories fall like dominoes into the quiet rush




Brought out by music, a beacon of happiness

perchance to meet and fall in love again. Squash.


1999. Value. Begotten Son. Him. Them. You. On The Crew.

Past forgot but not forgotten Into another new

Situation comes and surprises you again something

must be wrong with this program; glitch again again

train moving slowly out the station destination known

standing on the seats of care, money on the seats, sex within reach

another living cliche walking the streets, the epicene streets, this game

moves slowly like chess pieces given the gift of life the board expanding quickly

out of sight is out of mind. How can you be ready? You are ready. (to meet…)

Movement. On the move. In retrospect, it was probably sweet to experience

while I followed ten steps behind, biding my time, being the vine, drinking the wine.

It Tastes So Good…

Imagine, if you will…all the people standing there like statues at a dance.

Then the music comes back on and the party continues. Somewhere else without me.

Once upon a time I was wandering the rooms of a house where I used to live where I came across a strange fellow who wanted to play me all the records in his music collection. I acquiesced to his request and soon was listening to music ten hours a day for not any particular reason other than it was good music and worth listening to. All the time he sat by my side.

I grew fond of the fellow and soon we were BFF’s of the unshaven farting variety but I got the feeling that the feeling was mutual as we began socialising outside of this house we lived in.

We went to pubs and clubs, shops and galleries too if you count his friends house which was decorated by I might say his friends mum and father who was gay apparently in a style not uncommon in fine art magazines the world over.

I was quite happy and content to meet such people and to socialise but forever there was a sense of doom. Doom hanging over me and my failed attempts at rebooting my education in my mid thirties. Doom in that I couldn’t see that the local authority would pay for me to live in more than one bedsitting room.

Doom in that it always felt that hammer would fall on my hed precisely splitting it in two like melon.

All that came to pass in the end was a fist fight, started by my erstwhile friend who upset at being not invited to dinner did take it upon himself to wreck my room, computer cat litter tray and everything.

The mutual music listening came to an end and I buggered off to Paris.


Certain parts of this story have been omitted to allow for brevity and flow.

Lust and Louvre


Now. Do I feel prepared?
Today I will be perusing some of the nicest visages known to man
I will be walking, trotting, dawdling around and something may catch my eye
What will I do? What will I say? Without my old faithful there to protect me?
I might just look away to another world one filled with the same
But it would be an illusion all the day long.
What if A picture came to life and talked to me? Would I be afraid?
Why not? One should keep one’s sense about one. At all times.
The cobbled arches, the bricked streets, Whats not to like about this place?
Grab a picnic under a tree and forget about life’s gaiety and relax and unwind
in peace at last…
Got a ‘what about tomorrow?’ frame of mind as I try and unwind in the grass, at last.
What is there to do but breathe and swallow what life has to offer.
And forget about the same old things that cause us pain.Lives lead in vain.
Tears and heartache. For what? A Glass of white Chablis?
Take my card and forget me when blame is your mindset. Remember me when you choose to lose again, another fifteen minutes…to gain.

Something Else Hard

There are some things that are harder to write about than others. Emotions are complicated and transparent and reflect light drawing you off down alleyways that although they may be full of words do not result in the subject what you had intended to write about. Suicide is one of those things that conjures up all sorts of stuff and while it may be true that it is the number one killer of men under a certain age and that facts like this can make interesting or at least, readable copy I feel it does not do justice to a problem of society that is literally killing people off.

I tried to tackle this subject in my head prior to beginning writing but found a feeling akin to being hit by a two by four instead of the empathetic considerations I usually reserve for the subject. Why is there this block?

Am I alone or is it just me?

Why does suicide elicit the response that all roads lead elsewhere?

Unless you are famous a suicide is not treated as a news event. Why?

Is it because suicide point the finger at society and ask difficult questions about the way in which we live our lives?

Is suicide sanitised by the media and explained too perfunctorily as something to do with poor mental health rather than the result of preventable social causes?

Why does society allow people to get rich from death, cool from depravity yet ignored for giving up the chance of success on the ladder of riches promised to us as children by voluntarily taking their own lives?

Is society twisted enough to kill our most talented artists who at the peak of their powers decided that to end it was the only viable option? Think of Kurt Cobain.

Could the media do more?

Is suicide ever the answer?

You Are Not Deficient

You are not deficient. You may not believe this fact. You may not know it. When you brush your teeth you might feel it. It works both ways. Good and bad, right and wrong. In the words of Weezer ‘Its automatic when you know/feel it’ Like a machine. like a living thing. Liminal not actual. On the cusp of…something. Greatness maybe. ‘I can’t control my brain’ is another Weezer lyric. And if you are trying to then maybe you can’t relax. And this can be remedied by relaxing. If it’s so simple then why doesn’t everyone do it? What? Relax? Yes. We are a long way from living a hunter-gatherer society although some aspects remain. Hunter-gatherer behavior. ‘You can choose to go your way, if you want’ Another Weezer lyric. ‘This is the dawning of a brave new world’ Maybe. ‘There is so much out there, if only we open our eyes and see’ Guess who sung that?