Before going on stage


Papers shuffle then shake

Arms go to liquid

Lip is gnawed


A thousand eyes hidden behind red curtains

Eyes watching, waiting,



Deep breathe

Stand straight

Chin up

Shuffle Papers and remember one thing,

Don’t fuck this up.



A sudden rush hits.

Perhaps I’ve already reached the ground.

But wind is cutting me with its knife edges,

I’m still falling down.


The clouds look blinding in the sky.

Is this heaven that I see?

If it is, is God doing this out of spite,

When he knows Hell’s gates await for me?


The rush is gone now.

I know that I’m still falling.

But suddenly I’m weightless,

Perhaps I’ve sprouted wings and am soaring.


But I know what is still coming for me,

The hard-open ground.

Still I’ll try to fly away from it.

But for now, I’m still falling down.

Good Morning!

The sun rises upon the morn,

Igniting the sky red with the dawn.

Crisp air of night thaws,

The life slowly returning to the fields and moors.


And with the fading of the night,

Comes the neighbours, out in spite.

To rudely waken me from my lumber,

With the wretch sound of their lawnmower.

The world once alive again,

Is a beautiful sight for all men,

To witness the trees bright with colour,

Makes all heart humbler.

The dawn will come today and what do you know?

It’ll come again tomorrow, for all the people that go,

To work too early down my street,

And wake me from blessed sleep.

But the birds are singing,

The world is waking,

Why won’t you join them?

What are you thinking?

I was thinking of flying with fluffy pink sheep,

But now you have woken me from the deep,

So, I’ll tell you this once and hope you listen,

Shut the fuck up and let me sleep!

Desert Dance


The desert was lifeless, a barren hellscape, where only bones made home.

The wind howled, and the sand rose and danced.

When the wind didn’t return the sand danced again. They rose, intertwining together before falling under their own weight. The wind howled again enraged.

They tried again, this time the wind taking the dust under it. The dance started, spinning and twirling each particle holding onto the next. They held tight on to each other, needing each other. This had to work.

The arms formed then the torso. She breathed once and collapsed again disappearing back into the desert sand. The desert became silent before the wind whistled, wanting the dance to begin again.

The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump by Rob Sears: Review

36167187Synopsis: What if there’s another side to Donald Trump? A sensitive, poetic side? Driven by this question, Rob Sears began combing The Donald’s words for signs of poetry.

What he found was a revelation. By simply taking the President Elect’s tweets and transcripts, cutting them up and reordering them, he unearthed a trove of beautiful verse that was just waiting to be discovered.

This collection will give readers a glimpse of the Trump’s innermost thoughts and feelings, on everything from the nature of truth to what annoys him about Halle Berry ? and will reveal a hitherto hidden Donald, who may surprise both students and critics alike.


Review: This book if fucking dumb and that’s why you should buy it. It’s absolutely hilarious because this is the president of the USA and then becomes scary because this is the president of the USA.

It’s short and sweet, give it a read.

Writing Tip: 107#

Read your work aloud.


You’ll notice more mistakes that way.