Disclaimer: This post is primarily to share my own poetry, but it does contain an affiliate link to a poetry collection by John Gallaher. If you choose to purchase Gallaher’s book, I will receive a commission at no cost to yourself. ‘What’s it like to be a bat?’ he asks. And then, before I canContinue reading “Batted”


Inside my outer layer is a little girl, another version of myself, being half-born again and again, never quite making it to the outside – just hesitating, just thinking about it; mulling it over, before … burrowing back in.   Copyright owned by Jay Cool, February 2019   Image courtesy of   Inspired byContinue reading “Half-Born”


Sweat clams up my facial pores, drowning my being in a deluge of fast-playing age, like a sweaty-sibling’s palm, it taunts me, blocks my immediate vision and blurs out the splayed-out fingers on its periphery. Its a winter midnight but, even so, I fling off my summer-togged duvet, and sit up – abruptly; willing myContinue reading “Exposure”

The Burnout

‘Plasticine’ image courtesy of I pull plasticine out of my ears. On and on and on it comes, seeming to have no end to it. It’s coming out so fast, I don’t know what to do with it, how to manage it, so I wrap it around myself – until my body, like myContinue reading “The Burnout”

Doldrum Blue

‘Butterfly Blue’ image by Stergo ( As doldrum blue adorns the sky Frost, the poet, tattoos my thigh His butterfly, I try to shoo It’s ice-cold burn bites me right through It’s not my thing to have the sky Complete with bugs upon my thigh I try to say I love it not But doesContinue reading “Doldrum Blue”


I take her on a journey through the mess in my house: the sweet wrappers, looking pretty, with a shiny red glow; and the cereal boxes, turned in on themselves, and painted white; and the half-full bottles of spinach juice; the glitter sparkling; and the beige foundation – crumbling and sinking into salmon pink. SheContinue reading “Therapist”

To You For Whom They Are Made

‘Globe Trotter’ image courtesy of Songs, unfinished. Novels, half-written. Journeys, unblogged. Poems, unrhymed. Words, mish-mashed. Randomness, untamed. Workocks, nirked. Copyright owned by Jay Cool, February 2019 Inspired by ‘Fishmonger’, by Marsden Hartley.


When my sanity shattered, and my soul gave up, I stood there and stared at the stars. A faraway fragment, a shard of my mind, did sparkle and shine, quite dazzling and fine. I watched it take form, as its eyeballs danced; saw it open its mouth and take up its stance. It captured andContinue reading “Macrophage”

What do I buy so many books?

‘Narrative’, courtesy of Why do I buy so many books; far more than I can read? The answer’s simple, you will see; a look is all I need! I spy The Catch (1) upon the shelf; of Smith’s in Colchester. I did not come for this to buy, so why not let it rest?Continue reading “What do I buy so many books?”

The Geography of Myself

Image courtesy of Myself has migrated, leaving hints of itself, in old towns and locations, where it used to be. In the dirt floor of a sandstone cave, in the soil of a grandfather’s vegetable garden, in the cracks of a concrete driveway, in the drains of a tarmacked road, and in the cornersContinue reading “The Geography of Myself”