An Impossible City…

This is rather embarrassing, but, I’ve been conned. Some twats have pissed over my life’s ambition and passion. Pissed all over Adrien Brody and Johnny Depp then? No – but they might as well have. They’ve pissed on my writing…

On searching the web for poetry competitions/poetry publishers etc. I came across one that was dishing out dollar prizes for poems and I thought I’d give it a go. A few weeks later, I was told I hadn’t won the competition, but they would like to publish my poem. AMAZING I thought, until I read further… They would like to publish my poem, but ONLY if I was willing to buy 5 copies of the book they would be published in (an extremely overpriced, glorified pamphlet)

And then it hit me… this was full on, no bullshit vanity publishing. The only people that were ever going to read this book ‘Spotlight’ were other poor poets like me: on the game, struggling for recognition, only interested in seeing their own name on the page, and bankrupt from buying endless books that aren’t actually books.

So I aint’ paying them to have my words, I’ll put them here instead:


An Impossible City 

Crumbling curtains of sky high bricks

hide a palace of rotting sparkles

and monkeys, who swing from bridge to bridge,

over a stagnant river which lies 


like the cafes, who char your panini 

your pocket jingles while your head shakes

dust gathers on laws who are frustrated

and stuck at traffic lights,

the radio rendered speechless by a clown

crying in the rear-view mirror

white powder dripping and marking tarred roads,

who smoked Benson & Hedges at the age of eight

and cough up men in uniforms

and they, with the government body of lies

form teardrops in the beholder’s eyes.