Half (Poem)

Creativity is the amoeba concept
splitting yourself in half
producing
something
new.
You have to be vulnerable
splitting yourself in half
trying
anything
different.
The past isn’t optional
splitting yourself in half
making
nothing
unalike.

‘Desert Son’ (Poem)

I was once a desert son,
surrounded on
all sides.
I lived in a square
with barbed wire edges
and bronze gates
and smoking guards
and machine gun turrets.
The sun was always hot
and the air was
always dry
but when it rained, well,
you should have been there,
you should have seen it.
I was once a desert son,
under palm trees and wind
song,
in a city
which rose from old sands
and shone out long
and radiated faith;
a shining metal oasis
for the lost and depraved.
And hours away the red sea
lapped older still
against the line.
I was once a desert son,
armour plated and homespun,
with eyes for speed and
I was afraid
of guns
and masked intruders
and healers
and those who wished harm.
I was once a desert son,
but those days are gone.