Monday, 31 October 2011

Halloween poem

Something a little more metaphorical for this Year's Halloween post, it remains true to the fact that it was written today and for Halloween, but the rest is for you to make your own mind up about. I really enjoyed writing this poem. It seems these days all I need do is stare out of my window and a poem is born. Enjoy!:

Silent ground. Fleeing sky. The tension rope.

Strong hooks. It’s time again, you know the one.

Ten, nine. Tense ground. Fleeing rope. Nine, ten.

Halloween morning, it’s time, you know which one.

Eight, seven. I’m counting the hours. Seven, eight.

Strong rope. Sky hooks. Fleeing silence. The bird.

Tearing up the earth. Six, five. The hooks again.

They tear both cloud and earth. Five, six. The bird.

He flees from my window. It’s only dawn. Four.

Only this, and plenty less to go. Only four. The bird

Flees. Baskets void of treats. Silence flees. Three, two.

Fleeing hooks. Loose sky. It’s black above. Two, Three.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, Wind. I’ve heard you before.

The bird flees, his basket beak open. The strong ground.

Empty sky. Two, one. It’s almost over. Can you tell? It’s

Pitch black after all. One, two. The bird flees, his basket

Beak open, ready for treats. No more rope. Ground shakes.

The rope is long forgotten. Zero. It’s time again, you know

Which one. Trick or treat. The Halloween poem.

Wednesday, 31 August 2011


Whenever I'm caught reading for days on end, as I have been this summer, I tend to lose my grip on reality. So in keeping with this month's theme, I present to you my love of reading.



You, leaves of white and

Sometimes black between-

A brief hint, of my fantasy

Made suddenly tangible.


They say I’d prefer a computer

But they lied of course,

Why else would your

Golden embroidery gather

Dust upon my shelf?


I still look at you-

Every day, in fact.

Every time I walk in

I stare-


There are many of you

No wonder my mind

Can’t tell- one world

From another.

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Dressing Gown

One of two poems I dedicate to things I can't pass a day without thinking about, everyday objects that go unappreciated by everyone. Today is the day of - you guessed it - the dressing gown.

Dressing gown

I wake up every morning,

From my bed of alone.

Those clean sheets, who

Never sleep, never hug

At all-


The floor is always cold

One foot tells the other,

But that doesn’t stop

The trudging that much-

Even in the summer.


Once your arms entwine

In mine, and your front

Lies over my middle.

I feel your cord-

Always My warmth

That makes us inseparable.

Thursday, 18 August 2011


I must confess to being a tad delicate today, but who can blame me after the summer I've had? I've passed a driving test, written a novel and of three hours ago gotten accepted into Bangor university to study English with French for four years; another step up on my career ladder. So here is today's poem, I hope you all enjoy it.



Your Sculptured skin

All marble white-

With little bumps

Little nooks, sheen

Always so bright.


I remember-

Finger pressed touch

The shivering tingle-

Down my spine.

Beat that heart of

Stone- lips of limes.


Rough touch, slight taste

Little flakes of snow

I’ve loved them so.

How I thanked mum,

For bringing them home.


Spring draws near,

I feel an end,

That disappear

Spring will come.

Unfreeze water.

Another year of

Forlorn summer.

Monday, 15 August 2011

Burst Pipe

I've been inspired lately about everything seemingly insignificant in my everyday life, realising that nothing, is truly insignificant after all. This is possibly one of the most annoying events of the day for me, but when I reflect upon it afterwards I have to question why. So here it is, the poem of the day:

Burst pipe


No longer can I keep it in

That liquid in between

Pipes so coarse and cold

And thin, yet who tear at

Frown and grin.


Sitting on the bathroom

Wall, covered with paint

Why not dirt at all?

Is this why you weep?

As one roughly sweeps-

Your pipes shut once more?

Friday, 12 August 2011


Something a bit more romantic lines up for you all today. This month's theme has definitely been one of the hardest to pull off, having to channel my creativity in a single direction. I really liked this one, as it can been seen as shyly romantic, or mildly erotic, depending on which way your mind works, (I as the writer take no responsibility for this). I simply hope you enjoy reading this as I did writing it.


Here we sat, sticky fingered

Eating creamed buns and

Soggy sweets.


I smelled the sugar

On your tongue- whispered

Come on in, touch me-

Who knows where it may lead?


The park bench pinched

My rump, I think yours too,

Why else would you

Fidget so?


Your breast rose high,

And wouldn’t return to rest.

All I want is that gasp,

Your fresh sugar breath,

The rush will surely

Go- to my head.

Monday, 8 August 2011

Mask (poem)

Unveiling my latest theme of poetry you can touch, I bring to you the poem Mask. I hope you all enjoy it, it is certainly emotive to read.

Life is just a ball-
A masquerade, if you will.
At the door. We take off
Our cloaks, and put on
Fake faces, capes as well.
Business is only a dance-
Where men in suits
Court men in suits.
The boss- obviously
A Ballerina from birth.
Love is blind- so they say.
Yet why do vanities,
Luxuries, get in the way?
Oh look little spider-
That mate won’t even
Eat you up.
Death is just a door-
An unveiling, if you will.
Where we take off our masks,
And let you know what
A great pretender you were.

Saturday, 6 August 2011

A sonnet of Thanks

Now for all of you out there who do not know me personally, there's just one thing you should know about me; I never let a good deed go unthanked. Today's poem is explicitly for that purpose, to congratulate this person on her patience and diligence of following and even offering advice when needed in all areas of work, and some in life. Writing poems for people isn't as easy as you see on television, unless you want to write something that you'd see in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, (recites-you eyes are green as a fresh pickled toad), definitely fun, but now is not the time for that. This month's theme is set, and some poems are written, in between obsessively scrambling the end of my novel together. Now, without further adieu I give you, my thanks:

Sonnet to thine Starri Knytes

Men have learned to read betwixt the night stars

All have gazed upon them, they never glare

The sun, how he shines, unholy centre

Of the heavenly host commands, ‘all seas,’

‘All see, Athena, Aphrodite, knights -

Of the realm, Starri Knytes will drape her hair

Over your gold ambrosia. This rare

Womanly host guides us, these are her stars.


Such golden deities are almost glass

Never asking for worship unlike gods.

Lazy tyrants- why could they not be Knytes?

So we could live under the bright night skies.

Without this host, just what would come to pass?

Nothing for gods are truly second class.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

A blog of Comedy


This post will be a little more informal than most mainly due to two weeks of sleep deprivation and a thirteen hour marathon of Dr Who just before writing this, they are not a good cocktail. I’m going to try and incorporate my comical ambitions with today’s post, yet stay topical with my usual themes of the writer and influences.

While we’re all young we question what profession we’ll go into when we’ve finished with education. I personally have always fancied myself as a writer; I know I’m an abomination, but your letter bombs haven’t found me yet!

Up until the age of about fifteen, I’d worked on poetry alone; with adding stories and articles to my repertoire, it shows obviously how I’ve diversified over the years. I sound like a business, I just lack a manager, but let’s face it, there’s no woman crazy enough to share a room with me let alone a shackle.

For the last few years I’ve been fascinated by comedians, or at least trying to break into the world of comedy. I have to avoid watching the Apollo otherwise I begin to think, very wrongly, I can be a gag writer after an hour of someone drivelling on about their genitals. In honesty if that makes me think I’m any good I should just try secondary sex ed, cucumber and a condom anyone?

You know how we all laugh at what children say no mater how idiotic it is we find it hilarious, only because we’re thinking the exact same thing? I feel it’s a shame that’s beaten out of kids at secondary school, it’s no wonder good comedians are a dying breed, still, you have to learn how to give a decent wedgies at some point, or your kids would miss out.

I feel that the most bonkers people in society today are comedians and English teachers, or in the case of Mr Frankie Boyle: both. It takes a man with a real set of balls, or a sense of humour that could crack up royalty to sit in front of a class of young hormonal girls and read how a man has been screwing them all over for years. Personally I’m more in favour of throwing the book at them, not being biased; I’d lob a dictionary or two at the lads and head for the hills. But mum said I’m not allowed to do that again, I have to set an example, and hand out the pitch forks, one each before legging it. Apparently it’s good practice for later in life.

On a more serious note, I’m still wishing I were one of those, maybe not handsome, or cool people on stage, but I’d love to do what they do. It may never happen, but as with the catch phrase this generation has opted for, ‘I do it for de lulz’.

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Erotic poetry

Sometimes something, or someone catches our eye, it's only natural that we desire things. I've been watching a lot of star trek lately, so this is really a pure hearted Star Trek fan's thoughts on some of the cast. Enjoy.

Sexy Star Trek Girl


Sexy star trek girl I’ve waited so long

Temptress of five seasons, it’s wrong,

I’ve survived your skin tights and uniform

Surely you’ll be mine before it’s all gone?


Your nightdress was a jacket, not fine

Was there nothing other to wear that night?

Why do you all wrap up like Victorian Vines?

Yet without the need to shield your thighs.


Your eye’s phaser me, always on stun

You blame me for looking, though dumb?

At those hair styles, tightened buns,

Not to mention your rounded sums.


Sometimes as a telepath, or a Trill

You may be human, once in a while,

But the Borg certainly knows how to move

She would waltz that floor, swaying well.


The voice varies, from your cherry lips

The councillor, the fighter, my woman.

So where do I fit in, in this world?

At my console captain, where else?

Thursday, 21 July 2011

Poem of Quartets: Inspiration

Something nice and simple today, about something all us writers can't get enough of. how did I think of this one? Well believe it or not I had a mixture of Katy Perry's California girls, Peter Pan and this month's theme in mind, not to mention whatever else I've now forgotten. So here it is, get inspired!



Let me take you on a journey,

Please extend your little hand.

Together we will slip gently

Into the maybe wonderland.


Music of the mind, meld lovely

Scenes of films, dressed in dust suits.

All along they were hidden away

They freshen up with your memory soaps.


Here the land of inkwells, no computers,

Nor biros in this land. Here we fly

With pirates and boy catchers,

Locked in battles, we pass them by.


Through the window, without a broom

Here is your next adventure to tell,

You saw it, yes the little Jay

On the ledge of your old bedroom.

Monday, 18 July 2011

Free Verse

Possibly the most liberal way to demonstrate rhythm in poetry, and easily the most popularly written form, I present the free verse. This poem is probably the head liner of this month, the question is, did I pull this one off? Let me know!

Rhythm of poetry


Poetry can be river, and of stone,

It is both of these things and still more.

Inside of the body, perhaps the soul-

Feel that beat? It’s poetry you fool!

Poor little musician, writing tool

You’re giving birth to puppets you know?

Songs of saints, and soldiers the same

You hear what we have gained?


A smile, a tear, a child’s bashed ear:

Shakespeare did it for life, you for profit.

A man in a suit to tell you what’s ‘fab’

He who disowned the little yellow cab-

Limos are of course the way to go.

Our words ride with him, on we go.


Haiku’s for the beat, sonnets for souls

Villanelles for women, and ballads for all,

Each one with their own tune, you know?

I leave you with this, Poetry is all!

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Harry Potter poem

I've seen numerous attempts at writing poetry, dedicated to he man with the lightning scar. However, I've seen very few I would call 'poetry', do offence to those less able at writing this stuff, it just requires a certain finesse which they lack. Themed poetry is possibly the hardest to write, seeing as your choice of words becomes ever narrowed by what you're trying to describe nevertheless, this is my tribute to Prof McGonagall's speech, before the final battle for Hogwarts. NB all those who have not read Deathly Hallows, please jump in a river, climb out and ask yourselves why you haven't read it before reading this!

Rage against the Voldemort


Wizarding world unite, now I speak

We stand tonight, no longer meek.

Outside Voldemort waits, creeping

Through out defences, scheming

His way inside, well we say no!


It is time to defend our school.

Young ones follow Mr Filch, no fools

For our army, Mr Creevey, you too!

Mr Potter has business here tonight.


It is time to close the doors.

Fight not for pride but for all.

I will lead the way, will you join me?

Tonight, Hogwarts will not fall!


Filius, cast your charms, Horace

Take the grounds, I will cover

The towers, now all, let’s go!

Rage against Voldemort finally tonight.

Sunday, 10 July 2011

Villanelle: Broken Record

Continuing the theme of Rhythm, to a more traditional sense, I bring you this sonnet. Its style is the embodiment of what I'm trying to capture this month, and is also my preferred style of poetry perhaps because , I am a broken record.

Broken Record


I am a record, broken of course

Never changing my tone, same note

By that needle, always so coarse.


I play Jazz, though nothing morose

I survived the jukebox but-

I am a record, broken of course


I’m even a grandparent, loose

Are my CD children, unhurt

By that needle, always so coarse.


Though the dust settled only once

Will Rap or the robot end my lot?

I am a record, broken of course


They still listen, smiles toothless

Partying no more in the night light

By that needle, always so coarse.


I repeat lines like a river’s course,

I will always proudly put-

I am a record, broken of course

By that needle, always so coarse.

Friday, 8 July 2011

Sarah, a loose sonnet

Sometimes we all look back at our experiences and ask, what if? Well earlier this week, I stumbled upon that question when thinking about a girl, as most men do. I looked at where I am today, and wondered if I'd ever really gotten over that old heartache, the conclusion: probably not.
The first piece I produced to get my back into my old writing habits is titled and written about someone who was always out of my league, and probably always will be.


I surround myself with all pretty things,
I enjoy each time your face hides within,
Recovering from a torment, akin
To teenage crushes, naive youth pleases
Itself calling the abstract: real. Pitiless
Sorrows still haunt memory of her; trim,
Slim, of face and mind always maturing
Clearly left me behind, I am waiting.
I surround myself with baubles that shine,
In ever imagined rapport with you
Devout of course, how else should I pass time?
You bauble, your face shines that bright blue hue.
You don’t see me of course, I'm the lowly dew
What did I expect? Never, rests my moon.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

Writing season has arrived

It has been far too long, months and months in fact. The last time I attempted poetry was back in November, as I’m sure anyone who’s kept track here will notice. This month I hope to bring my reader(s) at least five brand new and very different poems.

So, why has it been so long I hear at least one whisper out there ask, in short, finishing college and a lack of self esteem, rejections obviously hit harder than a curve ball in the chest. This week I’ve tried new themes of poetry, and some old, all in the sole aim of bringing my skills forward and thrilling anyone who comes across the name Realmskipper on the internet, which I’ve noticed has generated quite the buzz.

What have I found to inspire this month’s theme of poetry? I admitted that there was a new theme this month, or at least an attempted one. I can say that as I’ve been teaching myself piano with all my free time, it is actually all things that give us Rhythm, as just rhythm is too narrow. This includes; love, life and of course, our passions.

I look forward to taking all my readers on a journey, and as always thanks for finishing this article. Leave your thoughts and maybe suggestions for what you’d like to see more of in the future!

Thursday, 2 June 2011

How to Beat 'The Chopping Block'

Once or twice, you will put your head on the block, so to speak, and when you do you will either be short back and sides, or a little too much off the top. This interlude is really to talk about how I prepare for ‘the block’.

We all tumble upon writer’s block, more often than we’d like to admit sometimes, this phenomenon exists to separate the wheat from the chaff. Personally I have never encountered ‘the block’ for more than an hour, not due to my well of imagination, or because of the endless bollocks I can spout, (though they’re both invaluable tools). I’m talking here of course, how to knock out writer’s block, with a single blow!

I can already hear the crowd divided, ‘has he the miracle cure’, ‘he’s just another blow hart’ but NO, I kid you not people. There are two similar things you need for writing poetry and literature, firstly, and foremost, is silence! No talking children in your ear, no partner demanding a romantic candle lit dinner. The experience you’ve sat down to create for your audience will be a private and intimate date between you and your paper, whether virtual or tangible.

From this point on, simply stick on your favourite, blood pumping music, whether it be to move your soul or quicken your pulse: it’s just trial and error.

For poets

  • They say you must suffer to write, the truth is you certainly have been truly touched to find the beauty in what you convey
  • If you’re stuck, find the original source of inspiration, feel free to day dream at this juncture
  • You’re never wrong when it comes to this field, but yes there is good poetry and likewise!

For writers

· The novel is putting a bit of yourself into the world, show you through your characters, and be unashamedly judged

· This, I admit, could take years; have an unshakable dedication to what you start.

· Daydreams are your friends!

· If you know any artists, or you are a dab hand at the pencil, or modern day software, then draw, paint doodle!

· Disney has probably inspired most of our ‘modern day’ writers to some point, don’t be at a disadvantage!

This of course brings into perspective, that I myself am always inspired by many things at one time to write, whether from stress of examinations, the having a good old skive with my sister to Beauty and the Beast, if you can only take one inspiration at a time, you’ll be at your first masterpiece for a long, long time.

Sunday, 3 April 2011

Life on the Line

I thought seeing as I haven’t posted in a long time It was about time I let my readers discover the dirty secrets of what I’ve been up to.

But where do I start? I can never call my life quiet, despite having no social life, at least in person.

Alright, let us start at the beginning, it seems only logical January arrived in the form of exams, which if I haven’t mentioned already, were a nightmare, I doubt I did much in the way of productiveness at that point except work myself to the bone catching up with college work. I may be alone in saying; I don’t enjoy something until I find myself in a steady yet fast paced grind at it, naturally that’s my addictive personality shining through. But as February dawned I achieved that mountain and caught up with my classmates, surprising a few teachers along the way.

February, I briefly mentioned with my visit to Bangor, the ringing of that inspiration carried me through the whole month in my first quarter (as I describe Jan-Mar for obvious reasons).

March has been an incredibly Jam packed month full of highs and lows to suit all varieties; this is where bullet points are invaluable people!

  • Exam results- Remember January? I sure do! I improved all my grades, in short, Maths (one module in both years) and Chemistry saw me receive D’s and in French the Holy Grail (to me), a C.
  • Second point of interest would be receiving a rejection letter for my poetry book Chon-Ji from Carcanet. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it’s never a step in the wrong direction, even rejection is a step forwards.

Okay, hopefully someone’s still following, we hit mid march with preparation for my two French orals in April, and at the same time the distractions, yay!

  • Learning the finer points of chess, I became tired of being spectacularly beaten every time I play, and so I’ve been practicing so much I’ve found it easier to leave my board out, have I improved?...Have I hell, but I’m enjoying it nevertheless.
  • And of course, the unproductive distraction, Pok√©mon! A little friendly competition against my sister keeps me going back for more when I know it’s naughty.
  • We reach the end of march with my reading list, very short, but shall do better once the exam periods are over. 1001 Arabian nights, I thought was amazing, so vibrant and heart touching I could feel the sand and retell the stories to everyone around (which I have done once or twice), Currently I’m reading the complete works of the Brothers Grimm to my sister, who is enjoying then, though not as much as I
  • finally I bring you steady reader to March 31st a Thursday I kid you not, bringing the cloak of death upon my household and taking away my dear dog, He shall be missed

Now looking ahead, I see vain attempts at writing again in the future, but when I know not, for I don’t have a crystal ball but I do know you will all hear from me soon enough, but Until then, thanks for reading!

Friday, 11 February 2011

Juggling Time

Have you ever had so much to do you’ve left the things you love to do for months at a time? Forgotten to stop and smell the roses lately, rather than the coffee beans that is? Ever worried so hard that when you’ve just finished a small piece of that dreaded all consuming thing and you feel you’ve barely scratched the surface? No?

Well I regrettably have. Writing has been put on hold for far too long, and I can not say with good conscience it’ll be regular yet for a while, but until then this is close enough. I’m still in waiting for a publisher to get in touch with me, (who isn’t I know), and with exams imminent in just 8 weeks, I’m buried under all the things I need to do to give myself a running start at life, I’m pleased to say I’m making some progress.

But how does this affect you, you ask? Simply, no one is perfect at managing their time, but as this article should be useful, let’s see if I can give some advice from experience.

· Don’t stay up all night working, the next day it’ll hit you hard.

· An early start energises one for the day ahead.

· Coffee needn’t be your only source of energy!

· Classical music clears the mind.

So OK I cheated in the last two, it’s just my method, for prosperity, who knows, someone in twenty years will ask what kept me going. Just remember a good piece of work doesn’t write itself, though, nor does a bad one, and you can’t produce either if you’re too tired to spell your own name.

Until next time, happy writing!

Saturday, 29 January 2011

The writer, The surroundings

It may not be evident to all, hence this latest article, that the writer’s main source of motivation is his/her surroundings. I pose a question to you, if you will indulge me, where was Dracula written? And where were the Bronte sisters said to write? And Charles Dickens, each to their own place, and to their own style and success.
I suppose this has been inspired to my day, and as I write, this is my outlet. Bangor university open day, to the everyday student, not exactly glamorous. Just a backwards little city in North Wales, in fact, I felt as I neared its boundaries, that its tranquillity and serene scenery are something to be admired by anyone with eyes. Two geographical things that motivate me to write, between you and I, The mountains, never a problem to find in Wales I assure you, and bodies of water, preferably salt, not so common here. Each writer will have something different to my own preferences, and I advice you to take full advantage of them, it is one’s natural feng shui.
So what was it about Bangor that inspired me to contribute to this old thing again? Bangor is surrounded by the steepest, mountains I have ever seen, not the biggest mind you, the Maine straight is right on the doorstep to the university. And almost everywhere you go you have open woodland, the college gardens and I could almost feel the happiness resonating from the students, not something I’m accustomed to!
So, writers out there, if you want to be inspired, don’t restrict your feng shui to your house, don’t simply take up an exercise plan or increase your caffeine dosage to stupid extremes: take a day out to visit somewhere truly beautiful and quet. Any writer worth their quill will know that feeling from a place that creates total peace within them.
Look out for me soon, I hope this will be the first in a long line of profound thoughts.